❝ Why can't we be more than friends, Draco?
-Why can't we be more than friends? Merlin Astoria, figure it out. I am fucking social pariah. Your friends, your family, your fucking parents who adore you, would never approve. ❞
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cw: the end of this chapter may be a little difficult to get through, please treat yourself kindly and only read if you're in a good headspace. love u guys sm, my dms are always open if you need to talk.
" U N C L E R A B A S T A N ? "
The man sitting by the fireplace flicked his wand, and a tin of apple biscuits Andromeda had made for Draco flew into his lap. The man grabbed one and bit into it, speaking through crumbly bits of cookie, "Glad to see you've remembered your old Uncle Rabastan, though your skills of hospitality are certainly a little rough. Your father would've never greeted me in such a... nonchalant way."
Draco's grip tightened on Astoria, as his anxiety slowly began to spike. The texture of her burned hand, the one she had burned when she revealed the reality of her life, was rough against his smooth, cold skin, and it spurred even more fear in Draco. He stepped forward, blocking Astoria from Rabastan's view.
"I never realized you and my father were close."
Rabastan chortled, and it was an ugly, resounding sound, and it echoed off the solid stone walls of the kitchen.
"I always knew you were a bit dim-witted, but honestly Draco, this is simply despicable. You never bothered to ask him about his school days, about how the Malfoy's and Lestranges' hunted the mudbloods of the school? We were quite the rage, back in the day, and it certainly seduced two of the Black sisters."
Rabastan's failure to disclose his purpose at Malfoy Manor seemed to create an abyss of unending unease in Draco, for unexpected guests were hardly friendly. Unexpected guests seemed to always lead to torture and eventual death. It reminded him of Death Eaters and The Dark Lord and unending dread. He wouldn't let that happen again. Draco stepped forward, closer to Rabastan, feeling for his wand in the pocket of his cloak.
"Why are you here? I didn't invite you and this is mymanor. And what is in that fucking box?" Draco pointed angrily at the eerily familiar gift box on the table.
Rabastan raised a brow at Draco, his hands still folded across his chest, crumbs of apple biscuit strewn across the darkness of his robes. He tilted his head, so that he could finally gaze upon Draco's girlfriend. His eyes skimmed over her, in her pretty gold dress and hand connected to Draco's. His lip curled in distaste.
"I suppose, I'm at fault for this," he murmured, "you dating a blood traitor and all. Though, I can't say I'm at fault for you, a Malfoy heir no less, becoming a blood traitor yourself."
Draco withdrew his wand, intent on casting a shield between Rabastan and himself, but almost instantly, it was flying across the room to Rabastan, who casually caught it in the air. He looked down at it, bored.
"I really wouldn't do that if I were you."
"Why?" Draco demanded, his temper flaring from Rabastan's nonchalance. "Why the fuck should I care about what you're going to do? I've met you, maybe four times in my life, and I fail to see why you should be bombarding my home in the middle of the night, lecturing me about my father's bleeding school days and insulting my fucking girlfriend."
