Harry had a headache the size of Dudley's arse. In fact, Harry could say without question that he'd rather sing an ode to said arse than be in his present location: standing in the anteroom to the reception hall waiting for Scrimgeour to announce him. He felt like he was at a Muggle wedding. The only thing he was missing was a bride. Which was, of course, when Malfoy stepped out of the shadows to greet him for the second time that evening.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Draco drawled.

Harry's only response was to start humming.

Draco raised a brow. "What song is that?"

"Here Comes The Bride," Harry grumbled.

"Ah. Still drunk, then?" Draco surmised.

"Not really. I was just thinking how much this ridiculous affair is like a Muggle wedding reception, and that all I was missing was a bride, and suddenly there you were." He smirked, examining Draco carefully. "Do you feature tulle or white satin, Malfoy?"

"You really have gone 'round the twist," the ex-Slytherin decided, eyeing him with awe. Pouting a bit, he added, "And I certainly wouldn't be the bride in this situation."

"Oh?" Harry smiled, giving Draco the once-over again. "You're certainly prettier than me, not to mention that you're a fashion whore and an absolute nutter about your hair."

"I am not!" Draco sputtered indignantly.

Harry took a step right into Draco's personal space. Emerald eyes locked with silvery-gray, and then he struck. Before Draco knew it, his hair had been thoroughly mussed.

"Eeeek!" he yelped manfully. "My hair!" He then proceeded to pull out a mirror and a comb, and put every last strand back in place.

"You're definitely the bride," Harry concluded, and then a thought struck him. An evil, Slytherinish thought. "Hey, Bridezilla, would you like to walk down the aisle with me?"

Draco's sneer faded into confused trepidation. "What?"

"When Scrimgeour announces me, we go in together, arm in arm," Harry explained, grinning devilishly.

"He's not going to announce me, you twat," Draco pointed out.

Harry shook his head. "He'll have to. That's what makes it great. You said he's going to find a way to humiliate you. This way, we can make him look like a chump." He paused. "Can you just imagine the expression on his face when his golden boy marches into the ballroom arm-in-arm with a well-known puppy defiler?"

Draco sighed. "Didn't we already have this conversation, Potter? The one where I explained why we'd spend the party on opposite sides of the room? You, surrounded by fans and groupies, and me skulking around the punch bowl with Snape?"

"Bollocks to that," Harry said decisively.

"Potter," Draco murmured, attempting to reason with him. "Heroes and antiheroes don't mix."

Harry's eyes darkened. "What about assassins and antiheroes? Can they mix?" he snarled. "I won't let them make you feel like your sacrifice meant nothing."

Draco eyed him carefully, noting that their playful banter had turned quite serious. He'd become a spy after the death of Dumbledore, relying on Snape to guide and protect him. Somehow, they'd both come through it alive, but they were not liked or trusted by the Wizarding world. Most assumed they were double agents, selling secrets to both sides to suit their goals. Harry had been a staunch defender, and was quite literally the only reason they hadn't been given a one-way ticket to Azkaban for the crimes they'd committed while acting as Death Eaters. It had been his last public act before dropping the Boy Who Lived façade and taking up fingerpainting.

"I don't know, Potter," he answered honestly. But when Scrimgeour's voice floated through the door, listing off the Seven Wonders of Harry Potter, Draco held out an arm for him to take. "Walk me down the aisle?"

Harry met his eyes, and the intensity of his emerald gaze was staggering. Then, with a playful grin, he looped his arm through Draco's and they stepped through the door. Their entrance was met by dead silence. Not the friendly, respectful, awed silence that Harry would've received by himself, but a wary, distrustful silence. Harry cast Sonorus so that several hundred partygoers could hear his voice.

"Got room for another war hero?" he asked with deceptive levity. His dark gaze dared anyone to argue.

"Ah…" Scrimgeour stammered, forced to lock step. "With Harry tonight is Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and spy."

Harry glared at the less than glowing review. "It's like I said earlier. We wouldn't have won the war without our friendly, neighborhood vigilantes and our loyal spies, such as Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape." Canceling the Sonorus, he turned his back on the Minister and led Draco further into the ballroom. Leaning in, he whispered, "Will this make things worse for you two?"

"No, Potter," Draco replied with an elegant snort. "You've single-handedly managed to save us from utter humiliation at the hands of that twat. Now that you've openly spoken up for us, his hands are tied."

Snape eyed them from across the room and raised a brow.

"I don't think he agrees with you," Harry murmured.

Draco shook his head. "No, that's Snape-speak for 'thank you'."

"Ah." Harry grinned, causing onlookers to gasp in surprise at their Hero's ease with a wizard who was not only his childhood nemesis, but also a known Death Eater.