The first week of working at the Ministry had gone decently well. He was respected and trusted on the sheer basis of his last name, and so long as he did his work on time, he would have no problems.

He was surprised, however, to discover that it wasn't the Augury who brought attention to the Greengrass scenario, but Mr. and Mrs. Nott. They were appalled and shocked that the Greengrasses were aiming to put their bloodline in jeopardy. New hatred blossomed inside him. How they acted as though the Greengrasses were the devil's spawn. The Notts were pompous and arrogant and self-righteous --

And he was starting to sound like Astoria. He smiled at the thought.

Astoria. He was so ridiculously worried about her, even he was telling himself how over the top he was being.

But he couldn't help it. He had no idea how she was, how it all had affected her, what her family was going through --

And. It. Was. His. Fault.

He was so exorbitantly worried about her that there was a constant tapping of his fingers and gnawing at his insides. Anywhere he was was not where he wanted to be, for it was where she was not.

It was the not knowing that was killing him.

But, at the end of the week, there would be a party at the Bulstrodes.

He was completely unaware (surprise, surprise) as to whether or not she or her family would be in attendance -- part of him hoped they wouldn't be, so she wouldn't have to endure the stares and whispers and judgement that would, without a shadow of a doubt, be waiting for her. But then, how he wished and hoped for her to come -- to know the situation, to maybe finally quell the ever present apprehension buzzing about him.

And so, the party came and --

She wasn't there.

His level of disappointment was jarring. Even after he'd told himself it was probably better for her this way, he was still completely disheartened.

And so he went to work for another week, tapping his fingers, tapping his heels. Waiting.

The next party would be at the Flint's, and he told himself time and time again that she wouldn't be there. There was no way she would be there. And though he tried to squash any and all expectations, there was still a peeking hope buried deep down.

So he stood in the Flint's ballroom when the next Sunday evening arrived, off and away from the rest of the party, receiving countless death glares from Pansy, and looking dispiritedly down at a firewhiskey that was only serving to give him a headache.

His eyes absently fixed on his drink, the room quieted, the chatter replaced with harsh whisperings. He looked up --

She was there.

She was there and he felt like a fool for the outrageous amount of elation that washed over him. She was there, and she looked so beautiful that he had to suppress the flush that threatened his cheeks.

She was there and she looked utterly miserable.

Gripping her sister's hand, she and her family sat down silently at a table far off in the corner, the room easing back into a semblance of normality even though all eyes were still darting to them.

He willed his legs to move, but they were lead and unyielding. His ecstasy was completely deflated when he remembered all of the doubts and worries and the cruelly simple fact that this was his fault. When he remembered Astoria's disgust when she had discussed Lawrence Avery -- his arrogance, his blood purist views, the pride he felt in his last name, and wondered if he too was just as bad as Avery. Too similar to ever win the favor of Astoria. He'd realized, prompted by Astoria's proclamation that night, that he didn't want to be any of those things.

He watched their table, waiting for a proper moment, or perhaps just stalling. After all those days of impatience, there he stood, completely unwilling to proceed.

He noticed her attention snag on something -- or someone. He looked to see Pansy, eyes just as focused as Astoria's. His eyes darted between the two of them for what seemed an eternity, smiling to himself at Astoria's poised stare that Pansy's was no match for. Finally, Pansy was the first to look away, and his small smile flashed into a wide grin.

Pansy walked over to Theodore Nott, and Draco couldn't help but scoff. Oh how he detested the both of them, and how perfectly suited the two would be for each other.

Seconds turned to minutes and he still hadn't moved, his stomach flipping with nerves.

Then, he noticed her attention stolen away again. He followed her line of vision, his lips curling into an involuntary snarl when he found himself staring upon Lawrence Avery. The two of them stared at each other, Draco watching with bated breath. Then, Avery turned on his heel, a superior air about his face that gave Draco an almost irresistible urge to punch him square across the jaw.

Looking back at Astoria, there was an obvious pout on her face and slump to her shoulders. Her attention was no longer diverted. There was absolutely no excuse for him not to just --

He was walking over there before his mind could fully compel him to. For a moment, he hovered a good few paces away from the table, before he finally said, "Astoria --"

She turned slowly toward him, and they locked eyes. Her eyes were wide and face contorted in mild confusion.

"Uh -- hi. . ." she mumbled. Even this tiny response sent him reeling. Was that a, get away from me, I utterly detest you, type of 'uh -- hi', or a, what are you doing you moron? Type of 'uh -- hi', or a I don't care about you either way, but after all you did ruin my life, type of 'uh -- hi'? All of the possible outcomes he could think up had a similar sort of negative connotation.

He glanced quickly at her family, all staring up at him with equal amounts of confusion. Not overly consoled by their expressions, he persisted, "Would you like to dance with me?"

He felt stupid for asking her, but he had to talk to her, and he knew that she'd said yes to a dance with Lawrence even though it was not her idea of a good time. Perhaps she would extend the same courtesy to him? He outstretched his hand toward her.

She was just staring at him, her lips parted, and he wondered if she could tell that her silence was entirely slaying him. Her eyes darted from him, to her parents, to him. "Draco -- I don't think that's a very good idea --"

"Please?" He was saying the word before he could think twice about not saying it. He shrugged his shoulder, a lump in his throat and an unnaturally fast beating to his heart.

She was moving her mouth but no words were coming out. After a long, long moment, in which the quiet was killing Draco from the inside out, she slowly took his hand in her's. His face softened, a small allowance of relief presenting itself, and the two walked toward the center of the room, where a few couples were dancing and twirling in a lazy sort of waltz.

He placed one hand at her waist, the other lacing through her fingers. Chills shot down his spine when she placed her other hand delicately at the back of his neck. Still looking baffled, her eyes pinged around to everywhere but his own eyes.

There was so much he wanted to ask, and so much he wanted to tell, but finding the first words was proving more difficult than he'd anticipated.

"I got a job at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he blurted. It sort of just came out, and he wasn't too thrilled with the outcome of his words (afterall, if she really did hate him then why should she care?), but they solicited a response from her.

A small smile appeared on her lips, her eyes brightening as she began, "Oh, that's, that's. . . ." The smile subsided and her eyes hardened as she continued, "Is that what you want?"

How was it that she always managed to find questions he wasn't prepared for?

He looked at her for a moment, then said, "Well, it's a respectable position, so --"

"But is it what you want?" Her tone wasn't challenging or prying, but a genuine, sincere question. His lips parted as he tried to think of what to say.

Of course he didn't like working with all those ministry blokes and carrying out the Augury's bidding and cleaning up their messes with the muggles. But, afterall, he'd had to carry out the Dark Lord's wishes for years now, and those 'ministry blokes' were the same prats in the room with him now.

But, did he like being present for the Nott's complaint about the Greengrasses, hearing what was going on so he could figure out how best to protect her? Yes. And so, though the situation was not perfect, it was worth it.

"Yes. It is," he finally responded. She nodded, a small smile on her lips. She was quiet for a while, her face in concentration as though she were thinking deeply. Thinking deeply of how she would inform him that she hated him, and that he ruined everything for her. He waited for breathless moments, feeling like hours.

She closed her eyes tightly, as if bracing herself for impact, and she said, "I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

His jaw went slack. He just stared at her, completely thrown off course. She must've misread his silence, because she said, "It's not that I didn't trust you, or I thought you'd tell anyone, it's just --" she shook her head, looking down, and sighed. "It's just, you talked to me like I understood what you were going through with the whole Pansy thing, and I thought that if I told you the engagement was fake, you'd be a lot more reluctant to talk to me about. . . anything -- and then of course if I told you about the engagement, then I'd have to tell you why it was fake and --" she sighed again, and continued, much quieter now, "And it was nice having someone to talk to who didn't know. Who didn't treat me like I was made of glass, or like I was a chore, or a child."

She finally looked back up at him, her eyes sorrowful and downcast. He was utterly at a loss for words. She had just apologized. She apologized, even though he was the catalyst for Pansy's telling their whole social class of the secret that dismantled her entire family name. It was completely ludicrous.

A new resignation saturated her demeanor, and she nodded, mostly to herself. With a breath, she said, pulling out of his grip on her hand and waist, "I'm sure you have the answers you wanted now," she was about to turn back to her family, "so I'll just leave you to --"

He gripped her hand again and pulled her closer, wrapping the other hand around her waist. Pulling her into a kiss.

He was completely unaware of the hushed room, once again completely rapt by them, as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. After a moment of her initial shock, she kissed him back.

When he pulled away from her, she looked completely and totally astounded. A smile worked its way to his lips, and his hand found her jawline. Her lips were parted and her eyes widened, her cheeks glowing pink.

She shook her head smally, but didn't move away from the hand cupping her face, or tear her eyes from his gaze.

"You can't -- I -- we can't --" she stuttered, the flush of her cheeks still not receding as he brushed his thumb softly across it. She took in a breath, but looked just as awestruck as she said, "I'm dying --" she searched his face, though the words didn't dissuade him whatsoever. "I'm -- I'm cursed, and, and sick, and that's -- you can't --"

He smiled as she still searched him with mystified eyes.

"I love you," he said, the smile apparent in his words. He was hyper aware of a fluttering sensation in his chest and just hoped she couldn't hear the racing of his heart.

The furrow in her brows disappeared and her exhale was audible. She blinked a few times, studying every inch of his face, as if searching for some clue as to what was going on.

Then she swallowed, and said, her voice vague and misty, "But, I'm cursed, and, and -- dying --" the last word was practically mouthed in a distracted whisper as her eyes lingered down to his lips.

Then, without warning, she cupped his jaw in her hands and pulled him into another kiss. He blushed against the embrace, his arms drawing her in even closer.

She pulled away, only slightly, her eyes dancing over his. "I love you too," she whispered, as if she couldn't believe she was actually saying the words out loud.

He smiled, his fingers tracing a loose curl behind her ear.

After a moment, she rested her head on his chest, her one hand finding his again, the other retiring to the back of his neck.

He tucked the side of his face in her hair, his eyes half closed.

In that moment, he didn't tell her how horribly sorry he was for abetting the publicizing of her curse. He didn't tell her how the Notts had wanted to settle a score with her family. He didn't tell her that, after their meeting with the ministry, he'd bribed Theodore and his parents considerably to drop the allegations against her and her family. He didn't tell her that he would do anything to protect her from the Augury -- related to the current debacle of her curse or otherwise. He didn't tell her that he would one day ask her to marry him, despite whatever qualms his parents would have because of it. He didn't tell her that the only real, important, happy moments he'd had in what felt like forever were spent with her. But, one day, he would tell her all of it.

But in that moment, neither were preoccupied with the eyes still staring pryingly, or the trials and misgivings tomorrow would bring, or the haunting unease the last few days had cast. They weren't thinking of the broken, fractured world they were living in. In that moment, they had each other, and that was enough.

A light in the darkness.