Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe is owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros. This story is based on characters and situations created by the amazing J. K. Rowling, however no money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This story is written for fun and all we own is the plot idea which is part of our very warped imagination.
Author's Note: Written in 1st POV. One scene makes up one chapter. Please note that the first few chapters are rather short; however let us assure you that this changes as the story progresses. Selly (Selly87) wrote Draco's POV, whilst Bru (dracosoftie) wrote Harry's POV, which considering that Bru has a soft spot for Draco, did not cause a brutal catfight between the two authors. The decision as to who writes which character was a mutual one and if you check the records of St Mungo A&E you will find none, unless of course you check for the records of one Harry Potter and one Draco Malfoy.
Chapter 2:
~Harry's POV, the same ministry function~
If it weren't for the glares Hermione keeps sending my way I'd have been out of here the moment that god awful speech ended. What Kingsley thinks this will accomplish is beyond me, but if it helps him in his bid for re-election I suppose it's my duty to help. I take a drink of the sickeningly sweet punch someone has shoved into my hand and barely conceal a grimace. What I wouldn't give for it to be a nice tall Firewhisky instead. And now I'm standing around like an exhibit in the zoo, shaking hands and listening to some old witch blubber on about what a great service I've done for the wizarding world.
And by the way, have I seen her daughter who's standing just over there? She'd be happy to introduce me. I smile politely and try to reclaim my hand from the witch's surprisingly firm grip. I just want to go home and get drunk, my usual Friday night routine. I scan the ballroom constantly, a throwback to my war-honed instincts, I suppose. I log no threats, aside from witches trying to push their daughters on me, but I do notice the Malfoys standing against the back wall. It's surprising they're even here, since Lucius had his final sentencing for Azkaban yesterday. I watch them impassively, wondering what they could possibly hope to gain by attending this gala.
It's the fifth anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, which makes it an odd choice for Mrs. Malfoy and her son to be making their official re-entry into society. Stupid blond prat. Standing over there and looking so smug and cold, as though he has every right to be here. He has no right to be here. None at all. And fuck it all if he doesn't manage to be the most handsome wizard here. He makes it look as though he's spent the last year on some exotic holiday instead of on house arrest at Malfoy Manor – Lucius Malfoy's final gift to his son when the bastard realized that the Wizengamot wouldn't grant his pardon – which I know he has. I checked his parole records myself. Out of contempt, of course. Not because I actually have any interest in the wanker.
TBC