Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine. The song La Vie en Rose is also not mine (I would have been quite rich by now had I composed this song).

A/N: This is an alternate take (and a much more mellow and romantic take) to Born to be Blue, although it is actually what I have originally planned to write before my RL intruded. This is written in memory of my grandmother, the best cook I've ever seen. You will notice that the mood is very different from the previous one.

La Vie en Rose

Candlelight glowing softly in the dimming twilight; rose vines clinging to white pillars; and the sickle moon steadily climbing across the indigo sky -- it was a scenery of poetic delight. Hidden from view, a gramophone was playing beautiful classics that lent an air of old-time charm to this warm summer evening. Upon the green meadow, people were laughing and drinking and dancing to their fullest desire.

Had it been two years ago, no one would think of holding a party to celebrate the arrival of summer.

Two years had passed since the war ended with the demise of Voldemort. The wizarding community was healing more swiftly than anyone would have imagined. Witches and wizards alike were fully embracing this new-found freedom, and few of them ever looked back.

Standing before one of the pillars was Draco Malfoy, who was absently watching the crowd enjoying this simple yet charming party. A cool breeze gently brushed against his cheek like a ghost of a kiss, enticing him to surrender to its loving caress. One supposed Draco ought to follow the examples of his fellow guests, yet Draco merely felt out of place in this oddly intimate gathering.

Granted, he had attended his fair share of dinner parties, both formal and informal. How many times had he crossed metaphoric swords with ambitious politicians and shrewd businessmen in banquet halls? Bribery was the appetizer, hypocrisy the main course, veiled defamation the dessert. Those were the battles Draco had become especially adept at fighting; the blood-thirst in him would always relish in a satisfying slaughter or two.

However, the hosts and guests at this party were not key players of the cutthroat world that was politics and administration, and probably never would they become key players once more. Their fame belonged to another lifetime, one that had since become history recorded in soulless tomes.

And Draco had been one of them. Nevertheless, his only motive for allying with the Order of the Phoenix was to exact revenge against the Dark Lord for the death of his parents: his mother murdered by the Death Eaters and his father died for Voldemort's cause. Never could Draco truly call these witches and wizards of the light his allies; at best, their so-called alliance could only be described as strained.

If Ginevra Weasley had not invited him, he would not have come to this party at all.

As his eyes followed the slender figure in azure blue dancing with one of their former schoolmates, Draco could feel a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The peculiar bond that he and Ginevra -- the rigid aristocrat in him insisted on the formality -- had established surprised many. Yet, to Draco, it was most natural that he and Ginevra became close acquaintances. After all, they were both drawn to the same pair of green eyes.

"Never thought I would see you here." The baritone voice that Draco knew well was sounding mildly amused. Normally his well-honed senses would alert him of approaching intruders, but there was always one certain someone who could elude his detection.

Sending a sidelong glance at the person in question, Draco said evenly, "I have no desire to elicit the wrath of the fiery Lady Ginevra."

Harry Potter smiled a lopsided smile, a smile without enmity or bitterness. He was no longer the scrawny boy with rebellious eyes that Draco had first laid eyes upon in Madam Malkin's, neither was Draco the arrogant brat who tried to get him expelled from school at every turn.

"Yes, Ginny can be very scary when she's upset." Harry was also watching her gliding elegantly across the dance platform with her partner; Draco wondered what those green eyes were really seeing.

It was to the bewilderment of many that Harry and Ginevra had gone on their separate ways after the war. Once, in a moment of weakness, Ginevra had confided in Draco. "I don't want to merely survive the war; I want to begin anew with a clean slate." Or so she claimed, but Draco suspected there was more to it than that.

In silence, Draco stole a glance at Harry: dark messy hair and jaded green eyes; a pair of old-fashioned glasses framed his hardened face; and black clothes enveloped his lithe figure.

How long had it been since Harry adopted the colour of mourning? But even as Draco mused to himself, he thought of the signet ring he was wearing. It was a gift from his father for his eleventh birthday; and he had not taken it off since, not even after he inherited his father's signet ring. However, it was nothing more than an empty gesture.

Fleetingly Draco wondered if he should be glad to know that there was at least one common thread tying him and Harry together: they were both holding onto the past like a ghost hanging desperately onto an imitation of life.

"I heard you've passed the Auror examination," Draco said as he stared into the distant horizon where pale clouds were hovering about. "I suppose a congratulation is in order."

"News sure travels fast in the Ministry, doesn't it?" Harry replied, chuckling dryly. "I just got the confirmation this morning."

"I like to know what's going on in the Ministry," Draco remarked while running a finger over the velvet rose petals. "After all, you cannot checkmate your opponent if you don't know the positions of their pieces."

Harry merely raised a curious eyebrow at Draco's comment. "Am I supposed to be one of the pieces, metaphorically speaking?"

"I haven't decided yet." With a slightly sardonic smile on his face, Draco replied. "It depends on which chessboard I'm looking at." Inwardly, Draco already knew. No matter how good he had become in the art of diplomacy and manipulation, when it comes to these vibrant green eyes that were currently staring at him, he would always lose.

"So, what kind of chess move was that when you jumped in front of me and got blasted by the Death Eaters?" Ah, it seemed Harry had not forgotten about that unfortunate incident, and it seemed he had lost none of his penchant for asking difficult questions either.

Would Harry believe him if he said it was neither a calculated move nor an act stemmed from the spur of the moment? It had been merely one of those crystallised moments when Draco acted upon the calling of his soul.

A sharp sting made Draco withdrew his hand; he had pricked his finger on the unforgiving thorn. If the rose blossom represents dreams, then its thorn is the harsh awakening. Draco was too much of a realist to believe anything would come of it; then again, it was his call.

Turning half-way towards Harry, Draco answered with a small smirk that conveyed far more than his words, "Suppose it's not a chess move at all? Suppose it's just something I wanted to do?"

Green eyes widened in surprise; but Draco did not give Harry the chance to reply. Turning on his heels, Draco left with only those words, "You can think of it however you may."

The air was sweet with the fragrance of roses; and an intoxicatingly beautiful melody filled the starless night. As Draco strolled towards his gracious hostess to say his farewell, he wondered why he felt oddly satisfied to lose this cryptic chess-play.


Finis.

A/N: Thank you for those who've read Born to be Blue. Please tell me what you think about this alternate version.