Trophy

Author's Note: Many thanks to my happily returned beta on this chapter, Robert! Love and kisses. Now, who has their invites to the party?

Chapter 7 A Shift in Perspective

All of Harry’s Gryffindor willpower was at his beck and call tonight, but still his stomach churned at the idea of hanging onto Malfoy’s arm, talking to him –dancing with him all night long. An involuntary groan escaped his lips and Hermione chastised him for the umpteenth time that evening.

“Really, Harry, if you’re so repulsed by the man, why did you agree to go?” she huffed while trying to smooth the crease Harry’s frowning had created in his forehead.

“Your husband was keen on the idea,” Harry grumbled while allowing Hermione to adjust his emerald tie.

“Ron’s just trying to live vicariously through you,” she mused with a delicate chuckle.

“Ron fancies Malfoy, does he? I’m sure I could put in a good word tonight,” Harry teased in return, causing the bushy haired brunette to swat his arm playfully.

“He still thinks you’ll get laid tonight,” she responded tightly. “Since I haven’t been in the mood much lately,” she gestured toward her swollen pregnant belly, “he’s just hoping one of the Golden Trio keeps things steamy I suppose.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Harry scoffed. “I have no intention of even granting Draco a kiss, let alone fucking him on the first date.”

Hermione’s grin widened as she took a step back, both to admire her handy work and to get out of Harry’s immediate anger range. “So does that mean you think there will be a second date?”

With pursed lips, Harry shook his head. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Why are you both so relentless with this nonsense anyway? You and Ron of all people should be telling me to ignore the Ferret, not sleep with him –or did you both get Obliviated and forget that you hate him? Or perhaps someone Confounded you both?”

“We didn’t forget and we are not confused,” Hermione replied, her chocolate brown eyes taking on a sharp glint at Harry’s words, no doubt recalling the way Malfoy treated them all in school, “but it’s not as though he’s the same person he was at Hogwarts.”

“That’s true enough,” Harry offered reasonably, “he’s worse.”

Hermione scowled at him. He knew she had a reason to respect the person Malfoy had grown into; the former-Slytherin ice prince funded a large portion of the research department Hermione headed, but that didn’t mean Harry had to agree with her altruistic view of Malfoy. He wouldn’t allow himself to be bought.

“We just want you to be happy, and as of late you haven’t been. At least this Malfoy chase amuses you, if nothing else. Just go and have fun. Stop worrying so much; it’ll give you gray hair,” she warned playfully.

Harry didn’t answer because he didn’t agree with his two best friend’s assessment of his life, or his need not to worry over this Malfoy situation. He was thankful, at least, that he’d worked out meeting Malfoy at the Manor instead of having the Slytherin come and fetch him like some sort of real date. Meeting up with him there just felt safer somehow, as if they weren’t together so much as merely occupying the same space.

He took one last look his reflection in the mirror and sighed. His hair –with the help of Hermione’s personal hair potions- actually fell tamely around his head the way it was meant to. His freshly shaven face seemed to glow in the light of the room, and his dark gray suit, which had been a recent purchase and altered by Hermione to fit Harry just right, actually made him look rather dapper. He refused to wear dress robes because he assumed that would be what Malfoy expected from him; since the man finally won his date, Harry would make certain the greedy blonde got nothing else that he wanted tonight.

The green tie he wore was a late addition, a gift from Hermione actually. Truthfully, she seemed to have more of a say in what he wore than Harry himself did. Initially he had objected to the tie, feeling that the color might appeal for Malfoy’s Slytherin nature and cause the blonde to think Harry was trying to impress him. However, now that it adorned his chest he was forced to admit –albeit grudgingly- that it looked rather nice, actually. What’s more, it made the color in his eyes –the one physical feature he was most proud of, being the only from his mother- pop.

“You look dashing, Harry,” Hermione mused with a sigh.

“Maybe I should smudge up my face a bit, make myself less attractive so Malfoy will bugger off,” he suggested, only half-kidding.

Hermione simply rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully yet forcefully toward the stairs. “You really should be going. The Gala started nearly an hour ago.”

With a heavy sigh and equally heavy steps, Harry kissed his friend on the cheek and took his death march to the front door, whistling a cheerful dirge as he went.

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Draco smiled tightly at yet another guest who asked where his date had gone and gave an elegant shrug. “Truthfully, Marissa, he’s yet to arrive.”

The older woman raised her eyebrows and smirked playfully. “So it’s a boy this time?” she asked scandalously, a simpering, gossipy smile stretching her face.

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes and barely won. This was the Marissa Clearwater, after all, and she held a chair on the Wizengamot as well as the power to influence several other members. “A man actually,” he replied with a smile instead.

“Who have you picked this year?” the aged woman inquired. “A date with you to a function like this is quite the honor.”

“I’m afraid I’m the one who should be honored this time. He’ll be along shortly, I’m sure, so you’ll get to see for yourself,” he replied. Honestly, he was beginning to wonder if the Gryffindor hero had stood him up -he certainly wouldn’t put it past the man. He had received Potter’s owl that morning with instructions that by no means was Draco to pick him up from home and that he would come to the Manor directly. Potter cited that he didn’t want to inconvenience him, and, though Draco knew that was a load of tripe, he played along and agreed to Harry’s terms so as not to spook him into canceling altogether. Now, however, he was regretting that decision.

If Potter didn’t show it would dash all of Draco’s plots to woo the man securely into his clutches. In an almost stereotypical show of Slytherin cunning, Draco had pre-planned the entire night to that he could introduce Harry to his numerous rich and powerful friends. The former Gryffindor wouldn’t be able to help but be impressed, and while he was distracted by the pomp, Draco could move on to his subtle attempts to make the brunette revise or entirely drop his ‘no touching’ rule.

Just as Draco was about to summon his house elf to see what was keeping his date, the large doors leading into the ballroom opened more dramatically that usual –a feat in and of itself. The flurry of activity at the party halted while everyone looked across the room at the breathtakingly handsome man entering the room, and it was all Draco could do not to gape at the sight before him as everyone else was doing. Some of them had probably simply never seen the man so cleaned up; some of them were probably even grumbling about his non-traditional attire. Draco, however, was just astounded that his date was by far the most gorgeous man in the room. That was the way he always preferred it to be, but, unfortunately, it rarely ever worked out that way.

“I had no idea Harry Potter would be coming,” Marissa chimed from where she still stood beside Draco. “He never seems to make it to any of the events I attend.”

“That, Marissa, is my date,” the Slytherin told her proudly, the false smile that had plastered his face previously suddenly becoming genuine as he responded.

It took a moment for Harry to find his way to Draco’s side, but when he finally did Draco could feel it like a change in the air all around him. Suddenly his nostrils filled with a spicy fragrance and the blonde’s body tensed in anticipation of being able to twine his arm with the Auror’s.

Draco looked over into Harry’s brilliant eyes and couldn’t seem to wipe the grin from his face. Harry smiled back, though the emotion seemed forced -something which injured Draco more than he cared to admit. It had always been the other way around for him; he’d always been the carefree and aloof date –people should simply be happy to have him there with them- and now the tables were turned. Draco was genuinely pleased to see Harry, especially this dark and dapper incarnation, but clearly the powerful Gryffindor felt differently about him.

The disdain was fairly clear on Potter’s face as Draco held out his arm for Harry to thread his through, though the Gryffindor eventually obliged nonetheless. As soon as he felt the warmth of Harry’s body beside him, Draco relaxed. “Harry, this is Marissa Clearwater,” Draco introduced, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face.

“’Rissa, how are you?” Harry asked as if they were old friends. “How is your husband Geoff?”

The woman blushed lightly and bustled up to shake Harry’s free hand. “We’re doing well, just smashing, Harry. We’re so grateful for you coming through on the Bernard case. He was a right nasty fellow.”

“Anything I can do to help, you know that,” Harry replied easily, his smile much wider for the Ministry woman than it had been for his date.

Draco blinked, trying to figure out at what point he had stepped into an alternate dimension where Harry was the more attractive and honey-tongued one and he was just a meager hanger-on. “If you’ll excuse us, Marissa, I have a few other people I’d like to introduce Harry to before we sit down to dinner,” Draco said, practically interrupting her conversation with Harry.

Without another word he slipped his arm around Harry’s waist and led him through the vast crowd. “That was rude,” Harry hissed after shooting an apologetic look back at Marissa Clearwater.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but if you wanted to dally and chitchat with everyone, you should have gotten here when the party began,” Draco quipped petulantly.

“I was getting ready,” Harry huffed.

“And my what a splendid job you did,” Draco remarked, pausing them for a moment so that he could take in the full effect of the man at his side. There was no denying Harry’s beauty; that dark and windswept hair, that tanned and muscled physique and those emerald eyes – Draco feared he wouldn’t find their match in all the world. A faint pink tinged Harry’s cheeks and it cheered Draco immensely to know that a simple compliment from him could cause such a lovely reaction. “Really, Harry. You look very handsome tonight, and I absolutely adore that suit.”

Harry looked away at the remark, trying to hide his deepening blush no doubt, but it was too late. Malfoy had already spotted it and it thrilled him to the bone.

“Okay, who’s next?” Harry asked after clearing his throat slightly. “I’m starving.”

Draco chuckled and pulled him toward a couple standing near the beverage table. “This is Trevor Graves and-“ Draco began, but Harry cut him off sharply.

“Xander,” he whispered, and then bit into his bottom lip roughly as if chastising himself for the reverent tone he’d used.

The man Draco was going to introduce as Xander Scott walked directly up to Harry and pulled the Gryffindor into a hug. Harry disconnected from Draco completely and wound his arms around the other man’s waist before kissing Xander’s cheek in a manner that Draco found far too intimate for his liking. “It’s been-“ Harry began, whispering.

“Too long,” Xander finished for him. “I’ve owled you.”

“I know,” Harry replied, looking bashfully at the floor and stepping away. “I just didn’t know what to say.”

Xander touched Harry’s chin with his thumb and let it fall a moment later. “I understand.”

Draco cleared his throat sharply. Harry turned around to look at Draco as if he were coming out of an awkward yet pleasant dream. “Sorry,” he whispered to Draco, then, to the other two men, “This is my date, though you probably already know him since he’s the host.”

Xander scowled openly but didn’t say anything more while Trevor seemed quietly pleased by Harry’s announcement of himself and Draco as a couple. “I’m sure you two are busy. Harry, do you mind?” Draco asked, gesturing to the crowd behind them. He wanted to get his date as far away from this pair as possible. Clearly there was history between Harry and Xander; history Draco would need to ask his date about right away.

“Sure,” Harry said, nodding quickly and grabbing Draco’s hand. The flesh on flesh contact made them look at each other for a moment with slightly startled expressions, but Draco was glad for the contact as he wove Harry back through the crowd.

“Care to tell me what that was all about?” Draco asked as pleasantly as he could muster.

“Xander’s an ex of mine,” Harry muttered, somehow still managing to make his tone sound matter-of-fact.

Draco’s left eyebrow lifted dramatically in response. “Is this going to happen often?”

“Well, as it seems you’ve invited all of England to your party, it just might,” Harry replied with a roll of his eyes. “Though I’m sure you have plenty more exes here than I do.”

“Once they become an ex they don’t get invited to the Gala,” Draco corrected. “That would just be awkward.”

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “Are there really this many people you haven’t slept with?” he asked in mock surprise.

“I’ll have you know there are at least twice this many people I haven’t slept with,” Draco replied with a smirk, poking fun at his own reputation. The laugh that met his ears afterward was musical, and Draco suddenly realized that all the others he’d heard from Harry’s lips had been forced. Draco would never mistake the difference again, however, and knew at once that he wanted to hear that sound from Harry over and over.

The rest of the evening played out in much the same manner; Draco would introduce Harry to someone that the Gryffindor would already know more intimately than Draco himself did, thus showing the blonde up at every turn. When it was time for dinner the couple sat at a table full of the most prestigious Ministry officials including the Minister himself. Unexpectedly, Harry charmed the pants –or skirt, as the case may have been- off of every single one of them, much to Draco’s simultaneous pleasure and dismay.

Draco always complained that his dates could never hold their own at a party like this -that they were never funny enough, or charming enough, or even attractive enough to warrant the constant attention that it would take to keep that person around. Draco had expected his date with Harry tonight to go in much the same fashion; that he would be the one captivating the attention of everyone; that he would tell all the fascinating stories while Harry brooded about being cast into the public eye.

A lump formed in Draco’s throat as he realized for the first time that this brilliant man beside him was completely worthy of his attention, and worse, that Draco just might not measure up to Potter’s standards. All of a sudden, it felt as if a lump the size of a Remembrall had formed in his throat.

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Lucius tried relentlessly to get out of his room but hundreds of spells, hexes and even charms fell flat against whatever wards Draco had hired the security team to install. He was furious that after years of experience and the world’s best training he was unable to break even a paltry ward on his own bedroom door.

In a huff, Lucius paced the wide expanse of his generous quarters. He had everything and anything he might need in the rooms: a luxurious bed, a fireplace with a comfortable sitting area, an expansive bath and changing room, as well as a fully stocked library –he even had the eldest House Elf at a mere summons. The one thing he wanted, however, was not in his quarters. While Lucius was stuck in his bedchamber making burn marks on the door from various spells he’d tried, Harry was downstairs no doubt falling under the allure of his charming yet malicious son.

This was the only foreseen chance to be able to warn the boy in person and Lucius had no intention of wasting it reading yet another book on potions.

“Oddment!” he called and a moment later the telltale pop of a House Elf Apparating into his room could be heard clearly. “I’d like you to get me out of this room,” he requested of the elf. He would have called for the servant sooner but Lucius preferred to find an exit on his own; he refused to ask for help until all other avenues were exhausted.

“Oddment is afraid he can’t, Sir,” the elf replied with a low prostrating bow. “Master Draco made it clear that any elf caught helping you during the ball would be promptly given clothes, Sir.”

Leave it to his son to stoop so low as threatening them with clothes; ever since the Dobby incident, the other House Elves had been terrified of being released into freedom. No longer would anyone need to kick or throttle the creatures to get their way around the Manor, all one had to do was hold up a sock. “Bloody useless,” Lucius huffed.

“This is my house, mine, do you hear me?” he ranted. “That blasted boy has crossed me for the last time. Why, I ought to string him up by his toes and thrash him raw for this insolence. When I was his age I had more respect for my father!” he bellowed further.

“We all know that, Dear. Draco is simply having a difficult time adjusting to the Malfoy name and all the power that goes along with it. He’s much younger than you were when you inherited the title after all,” his wife soothed beside him, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“I know,” Lucius grumbled. “He could handle it better- wait, how did you get in here?” he asked suddenly, looking from his wife’s luminescent face to the now open doorway.

“Draco wouldn’t dare lock me in my own bedchambers,” she replied softly. “I simply promised that I would refrain from attending the Gala.”

Lucius’ eyes narrowed in anger at the idea of their son treating Narcissa so differently than himself. Not that he wished his wife to be locked away in her quarters, but it was a matter of principal. Draco no longer feared his father the way he used to and when the fear drained away, so did the respect. He suspected that a small part of his son still feared Narcissa, which was wise. She was a very mysterious and powerful woman; her true emotions better hidden than any Malfoy. Still, Lucius knew there was more to Draco’s differential treatment than simply fear. He also loved his mother more than he loved his father and it was perhaps that knowledge that stung Lucius the most.

Had he really become so disconnected from his son that Draco no longer even cared for him? Or, perhaps, he wasn’t disconnected at all but had never been in Draco’s good graces without the benefit of punishment to hold over the boy’s head. It was difficult to break through his son’s icy exterior, but perhaps once the boy dropped this Potter nonsense, Lucius might try to win his son over with kindness.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get downstairs and speak with Potter,” Lucius goaded, reminded of his mission.

“I’ll do no such thing. I promised to stay out of the ballroom and I shall,” Narcissa replied calmly.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious what’s going on down there?” Lucius asked.

“I know exactly what’s going on. There are hundreds of people who we used to socialize with before we were a disgrace to the wizarding world and our dear Mr. Potter is giving our son something serious to think about,” she answered coolly.

Lucius never knew how his wife was so perceptive, but her observations were usually infallible. Still, it didn’t serve to calm her husband in the least. “How can you be so certain?”

“I know my son,” she answered simply.

“But Draco is only one denominator in this scenario and you barely know Potter,” Lucius countered.

“I know enough,” she quipped. “If you’re going down I won’t stop you, but I won’t accompany you either.”

Lucius knew her words held more meaning than simply not following him into the ballroom. She would neither be blamed nor punished for her husband’s decisions any longer, but Lucius couldn’t ignore the pull that summoned him to the Gala. Even if he chose to hang back and not press his luck by trying to actually talk with Potter, he still had to see with his own two eyes that his wife was right.

Coming to a decision, the former Lord Malfoy swept around the proud form of his wife and descended into the maelstrom.

Author's Note: Poor poor Malfoy is still not getting his way... hmmm, what shall we do about that?