Nowhere else to turn Chapter 58: Spring Equinox Gala - The Girls’ P.O.V.s
‘Astoria Greengrass pushes past Ginny at the counter; the petite blonde makes a big production of checking her flawless maquillage, her candy-pink long nails pulling a thin cylinder of lipstick out of her silk purse. Her elder sister Daphne silently follows. She looks uncomfortable, but at least greets the quartet of women with a slight nod.
“Well… isn’t this cosy? Tell me, are the wizards at your table running some sort of competition to see who can bring the most pathetic witch?” Astoria goes on the offensive immediately, her snobby tones dripping acid.
“Astoria, please– there’s no need to start trouble– ” Daphne mutters quietly.
“Shut up, Daphne. If I wanted your moronic opinion, I’d ask for it,” Astoria snipes, as Daphne’s face falls.
“What’s your problem, Astoria? You should listen to your sister – you don’t want to get into it with us,” Ginny warns. “Walk away while you still have the chance.”
Scoffing, Astoria finishes re-lining her pursed lips before she turns around to face them properly. “My problem? The Ministry’s woefully low standards for admission to what should be an elite event – that’s my problem. Look at your ragtag bunch: a notorious slut, a penniless jock, a tragic lunatic… and a jumped-up Mudblood,” Astoria points to Pansy, Ginny, Luna, and Hermione in turn.
“Draco’s clearly just amusing himself with a bit of common strange before he settles down – there isn’t any other plausible explanation as to why he’s bothering with the likes of you,” Astoria continues mercilessly, her elegant finger stabbing perilously close to Hermione’s irate face.
“As if you’d ever be welcomed at Malfoy Manor… Lucius would just as soon tar and feather you as grant you admittance through the front gates,” she sneers. “You’re as cheap as your knock-off dress, Granger. And you’re not half as smart as you think you are, since you can’t see that Draco is just using you for temporary sexual gratification. I feel sorry for you, truly,” Astoria remarks triumphantly. “He needs a Pureblood wife, not some bushy-headed guttersnipe whose dopey parents gave her a name as obnoxious as her face.”
Oh, bitch… you didn’t. Hermione rises off the velveteen stool, cold fury replacing her hot indignation. She waves off her three friends as they move in.
“Guys – I got this,” she assures…’
https://archiveofourown.org/works/23994118/chapters/67094572
