As soon as Daphne's gaze met hers, however, they both dissolved into giggles for the third time that morning. It had been charming at first. As soon as Daphne had sunk into her preferred seat in the kitchen, a tawny owl had swooped in through the open window, dropped a bouquet of vibrant red roses on her lap, and promptly left. The sender had been none other than Theodore Nott, and Astoria had spent a good five minutes teasing her sister over the blush that had bloomed in her cheeks.
And then another bouquet had arrived. And then another… and another. Daphne had always been more popular than she would have liked.
Sweeter than Roses
Even during their Hogwarts years, countless roses had been given to her on Valentine's Day: Have you met him? Astoria shook her head, then smiled wickedly. Daphne sighed and seemed to deflate like a balloon. Daphne chucked a handful of rose petals at her. And don't you dare leave me alone.
- Purcell’s Revenge: Sweeter than Roses?.
- Sweeter than roses : songs by Henry Purcell in SearchWorks catalog?
- Purcell’s Revenge: Sweeter than Roses? | theranchhands.com.
- Sweeter Than Roses, a harry potter fanfic | FanFiction!
- Presented by Marta Fontanals-Simmons and Lana Bode..
Astoria stuck her tongue out at her, then grinned. She liked her sister best on mornings like this, when she couldn't be bothered to look decent and just stumbled into the kitchen with her blonde hair unbound and rumpled, wearing a Holyhead Harpies t-shirt she'd stolen from her. You'll be surrounded by your dozens of admirers and I'll be left moping in a corner. I know you, little sister. Astoria smiled sweetly at her, then went back to buttering her toast.
Her eyes flickered to the bouquets every now and then, and she watched as Daphne tried to put them all in a neat pile, which didn't seem to be going too well. She shoved half of the bouquets at Astoria. No one had ever sent her roses. She'd never had admirers, let alone boyfriends—though that had changed recently, of course.
Purcell – Sweeter than roses
It suddenly occurred to her that Draco might give her flowers. That was the sort of thing a boyfriend did, wasn't it? But he didn't strike her as someone who'd wait until that specific date to show her he loved her. He did that every day, in his own quiet way. A gift of roses and chocolates, though sweet, would mean less than all of the other things he'd given her: But still… It would be nice, she supposed, to receive flowers just this once. Even roses would be acceptable, despite the fact that she found them dreadfully boring.
A petal had fallen into her coffee mug.
- Atlas of Thyroid Lesions!
- Touche pas à mes deux seins ! (Le Poulpe) (French Edition)!
- Sweeter than Roses.
- Sell Your Own Home: What You Need to Know;
- Pausanius, Z (Purcell, Henry) - IMSLP/Petrucci Music Library: Free Public Domain Sheet Music.
- CD is temporarily unavailable for this item;
- La Guerra de los Cielos. Volumen 3 (Spanish Edition).
She fished it out, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger gingerly, and wrinkled her nose at it. What are the odds? Daphne rolled her eyes. Should I put up a sign? Or write it on my forehead? Best to make use of that while you still can…". A clever girl like you shouldn't be wasting her talent on Muggle-borns …". She smiled and laughed and tried to be as gracious as she'd been taught to be, though it got harder every time.
As much as she enjoyed talking to people, hearing the same old empty words and backhanded compliments grew tiring after a while. Catching a glimpse of platinum hair out of the corner of her eye was like a breath of fresh air. She felt herself relax instantly, and a smile bloomed on her lips before she'd even caught his eye.
After promising the Rosier twins, who were only five and insisted on playing with 'cousin Toria', that she'd find them later, she carefully manoeuvred her way around the foyer, gathering her long cobalt robes in one hand so as to stop people from stepping on them. Draco saw her approach, and a small smile played at the corner of his mouth as he noted her disgruntled expression. He inclined his head. And just like that, her irritation melted away. She barely had a moment to appreciate his midnight blue robes a welcome change from the black he usually favoured and the spark of amusement in his grey eyes before a nearby voice made her jump.
Astoria felt personally offended—she'd been the one who'd found a use for Daphne's roses, which now adorned vases, curtains and the frames of various paintings, and she was more than satisfied with the result. But Callista wasn't happy if she wasn't complaining, so she supposed she'd done her a favour. Merlin, she'd missed him. She'd last seen him two days ago, but it had felt like two years—time had the habit of slowing down when they were apart and flying by whenever they saw each other.
If she was quick, she could take a step closer, perhaps steal a kiss Someone patted her on the shoulder. Be a dear and show her to the ballroom, won't you? Draco coughed politely, but to Astoria's ears it sounded like a laugh. When she turned to look at him, however, he was the picture of innocence. She made a face, promised she'd come back for him as soon as she could, and left in search of her great-aunt.
Not long after that, with Callista's perfectly manicured nails digging into her forearm, she stepped into the ballroom. She'd put roses there too. They were pretty, she supposed, though the room was stunning enough on its own and needed no additional decoration. The mirror-like marble floor, the wide windows that overlooked the gardens and offered a beautiful view of the pond, and the impressive chandeliers that gleamed with teardrop-shaped diamonds were enough to take one's breath away.
It was one of her favourite rooms in the manor.
She had vague memories of her father bringing her here and letting her stand on his feet so he could spin her around until they both got dizzy. Unfortunately, Hector Greengrass had died soon thereafter, so she'd had to learn how to dance properly on her own. She still loved the ballroom, though, and she went there occasionally to listen to music and let herself pretend she was one of those ethereal Muggle ballerinas.
But there was no dancing for her that evening, even though she would have liked to waltz with Draco. Instead, she lingered by the windows, patiently listening to her great-aunt Callista or chatting to the few witches and wizards that approached her. She was struck, once again, by how familiar and foreign it all felt. She'd attended dozens of parties like this one throughout her life, but it had taken her years to figure out that she simply didn't fit in, and never would.
She could mingle with guests and flit from conversation to conversation like the social butterfly she was, but she wasn't one of them. She knew they talked behind her back, too. Little Greengrass, the Muggle-lover, the cursed one. Incorrigible and odd and not worth anyone's time—she wouldn't last too long, anyway.
Occasionally, her gaze would wander around the room until she found Draco, who appeared to be enjoying himself a great deal more than her and was in deep conversation with Blaise and Theodore—they weren't friends, strictly speaking, but they'd bonded over a shared disdain for this sort of event. Draco still sought her out, though. She caught him looking at her more than once, and whenever she did, they gave each other small, secret smiles and carried on with whatever they were doing, waiting for the right moment to slip away.
Finally, after almost an hour of chasing after the Rosier twins, explaining to half the guests that she was quite proud of her new job at the Wizard-Muggle Relations Office, and listening to Great-aunt Callista rant about inheritance issues that she couldn't care less about, Astoria found herself free. She didn't waste time; with quick, determined steps, she made straight for the mahogany doors that lead to the vestibule, pausing only to 'accidentally' bump into Draco along the way.
Nobody noticed, apart from Daphne. Her sister, who was talking a man Astoria had never seen before was this the mysterious Atticus Rowle? Astoria blew her a kiss. The vestibule was considerably cooler and darker, for which she was grateful.
Share with us using hashtag
She took a moment to breathe and rub the back of her neck. The sound of music and laughter grew muffled when the doors closed, until all she could hear was the echoing thud of expensive shoes hitting the marble floor. She recognised those particular footsteps, naturally, and smiled to herself before turning around. It was hard to make out his features in the dimness, but Draco's signature smirk was unmistakeable. She moved closer, until their noses were almost brushing, and looped her arms around his neck.
Sweeter than roses - Britten-Pears Foundation
Her intentions were obvious, and yet she still heard Draco's sharp intake of breath before she kissed him, as if she'd caught him by surprise, as if he'd hoped for a kiss but hadn't really expected one. She leaned back a little and looked at him, at his grey eyes and pale lashes. At the soft smile that was meant just for her. She kissed him again. Her eyelids fluttered shut as he gave her a chaste kiss, then another.
It would have been easy to lose herself in it, to run her fingers through his silky hair she'd mess up his ponytail, but she didn't think he'd mind and forget about everything for a little while, but this wasn't the place for it. Even though their relationship was no secret, she didn't want anyone to walk in on them—she'd had enough of being the main topic of interest for the Pureblood gossip mill.
She led him up the white marble stairs to the first floor, then along one of the manor's seemingly endless corridors. It was lined with paintings of various Greengrass ancestors, and some of them smiled kindly at her as she walked past. She'd enjoyed speaking to them sometimes, before she'd gone to Hogwarts, because she'd been lonely and they all had fascinating stories to tell. She'd also liked to run from one end of the corridor to the other, sliding across the marble floor with sock-clad feet, but her mother had soon put a stop to that, insisting that Astoria was 'too sickly' for such things, though Astoria hadn't really understood the Greengrass curse at that age.
They finally reached the oak doors that led to her favourite place in the manor—her refuge, in a way. She pressed her palm against the aged wood, and the doors swung open of their own accord, revealing rows and rows of books. Daphne thought the library was creepy at night, but Astoria had always found it enchanting, like something out of the fairytales she liked to read.
Moonlight spilled into the room, courtesy of the wide windows that faced the gardens, and it made the silver and gold designs on certain books gleam invitingly. It was surprisingly quiet, as if the library were a world of its own, removed from the bustling activity in the floor below. Astoria liked to think it was. If she closed her eyes and breathed in, the scent of parchment and lavender could take her back to simpler days, when she'd been little and had sometimes fallen asleep on that old armchair by the Potions section, surrounded by heavy tomes that she'd used as pillows.
She waved her wand. Little pinpricks of light flew from the tip towards the many lamps spread across the room, filling it with a warm, golden glow. Satisfied with her handiwork, she wandered over the nearest table, which was littered with open books and rolls of parchment that she probably should have put away, and perched herself on the edge.
The feel of the aged wood beneath her palms was comforting in its familiarity. Draco had stopped by the doorway at first and was now slowly making his way towards her, analysing his surroundings curiously. She knew he loved books as much as she did, and there were some German alchemical texts tucked away somewhere that she intended to translate and gift to him at some point, but she'd save that conversation for later. While he examined the nearest shelf—the one with little grooves etched into the wood, put there by Daphne and her to mark their height throughout their childhood—Astoria took the time to look at him.
She admired his sharp cheekbones, his slightly pointed chin and straight nose. His hair had grown quite long now, and he wore it well. She'd always been vaguely aware of his good looks, but had found them—and most of him, really—supremely uninteresting until after the war. It was only after many conversations, the realisation that there was more to him than met the eye, and the beginnings of a crush that she'd noticed that Draco Malfoy was actually rather handsome. He had been raised to believe he was royalty, and he certainly looked the part.
One could look at him and think his beauty made him cold or distant, but he was never like that with Astoria. No, he always regarded her with a spark of warmth in his stormy grey eyes, and his usually indifferent expression melted into one of genuine affection when they were together, all soft and gentle and a tiny bit curious. That seemed to please him. There was a hint of smugness in his smile now. Mere months ago, he never would have dared to be so forward, so… flirtatious. Kleiner weergeven Groter weergeven Hoog contrast.
Zoeken in de bijzondere collectie: Liederen ook met orkest. The Caledonian pocket companion ; Moonlight on the green. Rule a wife and have a wife Z. Abdelazar, or The moor's revenge Z. Now that the sun hath veiled his light Z. Fantasie voor gamba's [4] nr. A new Scotch tune Z. Pausanias, the betrayer of his country Z. The fairy queen Z. The division violin ; Old sir Simon the king. Second part of musick's hand-maid ; Jigg.
Close thine eyes and sleep secure Z. Oedipus, King of Thebes Z. The Prophetess, or The history of Dioclesian Z. When first Amintas sued for a kiss Z. The married beau, or The curious impertinent Z. Gerelateerde artikelen Basiscollectie klassiek: Engelse koorcultuur Bij Engeland denken sommigen wellicht vooral aan tuinen, thee, voetbal, bier en fish and chips.