Drastoria: established relationship, flirting at a party, for anon.
The parties are starting to wear on him. He’s not sure how much longer he can put up with the routine of dressing up, wining and dining, exchanging pleasantries and courtesies with people he couldn’t care less about. But he has to maintain the Malfoy image, particularly given how much rehabilitation it needs. Skipping out on events like this would make him seem everything they sought to avoid: self-centered, haughty, pompous.
How far they’d come.
So he puts up with it, because his mother and father put a great deal of hope in him. He isn’t going to let them down—not this time.
Truthfully, though, the only way he manages to get through these things is thanks to the young lady at his side. Astoria, though at first he’d been skeptical (his mother had practically hoisted her on him, and her enthusiasm had done little to faze him), very quickly wormed her way into Draco’s life. Though certainly not a loud individual, her presence is undeniable. You notice her. You notice her easy smile, her bright eyes, her poise, and—when she did speak—her even and clear-as-a-bell voice.
At least, Draco does. They’ve been an item for a few months now, and were it not been for her he would have gone mad.
Take now, for instance, the pair of them having just extricated themselves from a terrible conversation with some Ministry official Draco will inevitably fail to remember in an hour: despite his insistence to remain impatient and generally frustrated, Astoria is unfazed. Smiling, even, amused at the crinkle in his brow.
"Sparkling conversationalist, that one," she remarks.
He rolls his eyes. “Bright as the sun, even.”
"Clearly no match for your silver tongue, though," she continues.
"Now you’re just taking the piss," he mutters.
She laughs openly now, and his heart warms at the sound (he smiles openly, too, and it’s thanks to her he’s learned how to do that). “What do you say we take a break?” she asks.
He sighs. “We can’t leave.”