Reunion
Pairing: See description
Universe: Post-Hogwarts, EWE
Rating: M for language, high probability of future sexual scenes
Summary: Hogwarts Class of 1998 meets up for their five year reunion, but is all as well as it seems?
Originally requested by clausumcormeum. Pairings and plotlines inspired by songs submitted on Tumblr:
Pottgood (Harry x Luna) - "11:11" - Arkells / "Jinx" - DNCE
Blinny (Blaise x Ginny) - "Maps" - Maroon 5 / "Goodbye Forever" - Us The Duo
Dramione (Draco x Hermione) - "This is What You Came For" - Calvin Harris ft. Rihanna / "Pompeii" - Bastille
Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne) - "I Found" - Amber Run / "Sky Full of Stars" - Coldplay
Ronsy (Ron x Pansy) - "Is There Somewhere" - Halsey / "Glad You Came" - The Wanted
Luna lay her fingers lightly on Neville's arm, letting her eyes stray to the portraits that lined the walls of the recently renovated castle. She could tell he was tense - she had attempted to soothe his nerves about seeing Hannah Abbott again for the first time in five years with a lively discussion of Gaulish objets d'art, but to her bafflement, he seemed disinclined to comment - and she drummed her fingers gently on his forearm, attempting to be soothing.
"This will be fun," she promised him brightly, though he barely spared her a glance.
No matter, she thought to herself, humming in contentment. It was nice enough to have been invited, considering this wasn't her class. After all, despite her position as a disposable distraction, at least Neville's insecurity meant that she would be able to see -
"Harry," Neville called jubilantly, and Luna felt a slow smile melt across her face as she saw him approaching.
"Hi Neville," Harry said pleasantly, and then his eyes lit up as he spotted her. "Luna!"
"Hi Harry," she said softly, her smile faltering slightly as she noticed Ginny looking around nervously beside him. There was a strange energy between the two of them, Luna noted; despite the way Ginny's hand was clamped firmly around Harry's arm, they seemed to be pulling away from each other.
Luna had heard about this; tangled auras.
Likely nargles.
"Luna," Ginny permitted, though she was stiff and tense as she moved to offer a hug; Luna frowned momentarily as she watched Harry's posture relax a fraction of a degree in response to his girlfriend's absence.
Unusual, she thought, though she quickly brushed the feeling aside.
"Hello, Ginny," Luna said cheerfully, glancing up over the redheaded witch's shoulder in time to catch the couple who had arrived in their wake.
Ron and Hermione followed closely behind Harry and Ginny, and if the other two were being held hostage by the effects of a nargle infestation, Ron and Hermione had surely been visited by exploding snabberwitches. Unlike the first couple, Ron and Hermione were very determinedly not touching; Hermione's arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her beautifully made up face pulled into a devastatingly flimsy mask of polite buoyancy, and Ron was scowling, his shoulders hunched over in poorly disguised fury.
Luna sighed sadly. Hermione in particular was prone to bouts of malaligned humours - rather like a kodama who'd been cut down, Luna thought whimsically, watching as the lovely Gryffindor reached over to give Neville a somewhat unenthusiastic hug - and Ron, whose agitation attracted swarms of blibbering humdingers, was not always the most complementary spirit for hers.
Everything was so out of place, Luna realized, trying to identify the strange, booming echo of discontentment that seemed to emanate from everyone; for as much as they insisted they were happy - "so lovely to see you!" "so glad you could come!" - they seemed, quite obviously, to be lying.
Suddenly, it dawned on her; she was being quite rude. It seemed that once again, they were all just waiting for her to set them at ease; like usual, of course, she realized, laughing at herself for her own obtuseness.
"Oh," Luna remarked, tilting her head appealingly and offering her friends a warm, reassuring smile. "When did you all break up?"
There was a loud crash behind them and Luna and the others whipped around, catching sight of Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy, who were standing nearby; Draco had dropped his glass and was reddening slightly at the chaos he'd prompted, while Blaise, in contrast, had let his lips curl into a wide grin of merciless satisfaction.
"Apologies," Draco mumbled, inclining his head as he quickly dropped his gaze to the floor.
"Well," Luna heard Blaise murmur to Draco. "Let the games begin."
Ginny grabbed Hermione's arm and forcibly dragged her into the Great Hall, desperate to get away from the situation. She knew Harry was going to look around sheepishly, doing his Harry Potter - who me? Boy Who Lived? Aw, shucks - amiable, oblivious, totally infuriating shifting from foot to foot that would make her want to slap him, and having already been found out that she didn't even belong there, she was going to have to mend the situation immediately with a drink. She paid no attention to the decorations or the beautiful enchantment of the ceiling, which Luna began chattering behind her was intended on this evening to look like the Northern Lights; she was desperate to get away, and nothing - nothing - was going to stop her.
"Come on," she growled to Hermione, careful not to look at where she knew Blaise was watching her, still smirking wickedly from where he, Draco, and now Theodore Nott had clustered, conveniently permitting them a front row seat for the Luna Sees Too Bloody Much For Her Own Good show.
"I'm coming," Hermione sighed as she stumbled along after her, tripping slightly over her gown as she was dragged in Ginny's wake. "Luna would say something like that out loud," she added, muttering under her breath.
"Is she right?" Ginny asked, grabbing a glass of elf-wine from a tray levitating around the room and taking a huge swallow before passing one to Hermione, who sighed again. "Did you and Ron break up?"
"Two weeks ago," Hermione admitted tightly, her eyes flicking around nervously as she took a sip of her wine. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she added, grimacing.
"Don't be," Ginny muttered, knocking back another solid gulp. "I didn't tell you, either."
"So she's right?" Hermione asked faintly. "You and Harry - "
"It's done this time. For real," Ginny said, grimacing. "The first two breakups were just practice," she added, trying to smile jokingly. She could see that she had failed tragically in that endeavor when Hermione made a terrible face of pity, prompting Ginny to reach for another glass, scowling. "You don't have to look at me like that, Hermione."
"I - I'm not," the other woman said hesitantly, but at Ginny's searching glare, she bit her lip, nodding. "Right. Sorry."
"I should have hidden it better," Ginny mumbled weakly, beginning to feel the thud of pain in her chest, the tightening that reminded her they'd broken up, for real this time, it's over, and Hermione touched the inside of her wrist.
"Hey," she said softly. "What happened? Last I heard - "
"We were doing better?" Ginny supplied grimly. "We've been lying about it for a while." She took another sip of wine. "It was over between us about two months ago, if we're being honest."
"Oh," Hermione said sadly. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Ginny snapped, catching sight of Blaise's handsome face as he laughed, the familiar, musical sound carrying through the hall and reaching her ears, a blessed reprieve from the noise of her disjointed life.
If only she didn't thoroughly hate him.
If only she could stop thinking about him.
If only she'd never fucked him to begin with.
"Don't be sorry," Ginny said again, making the effort to soften her edges as she reached out to grip Hermione's hand; surely she would need a friend tonight. "Just be here with me."
Draco tried desperately not to look at where Granger and the she-Weasley were standing in a corner of the Great Hall, sipping wine and glorifying in their obvious tension; but naturally, he failed quite spectacularly. Granger, who avoided most of the Ministry galas that he'd hoped to see her at, was wearing a long ivory gown with a sheer gold overlay, and it was as dainty and soft as it was regal and stunning, and it was agonizingly difficult to look away.
"Draco," Theo said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. "Are you with us?"
"Yes," Draco said coolly, twitching his shoulders as though he might rid himself of his fascination with Hermione Granger, the witch who happened to need his signature once or twice a week - nothing more, nothing less - if he could only physically shake the thought of her.
"If you stare that hard, she might catch fire," Theo warned, and Draco gave him a sharp, indignant glare, frowning.
"I'm not - "
"Whatever," Theo interjected, waving his hand carelessly to indicate his disinterest. "Far be it from me to comment." Blaise, on his right, gave an irritatingly knowing laugh.
"Excuse me - Theodore?"
The three of them pivoted abruptly at the soft, feminine interruption to find a pretty Ravenclaw whose name Draco didn't remember - and at a glance from the other two, he could see that neither did Theo and Blaise - who was excitedly pulling something out of her purse.
"Call me Theo," the dark haired wizard corrected her, a grin spreading across his face. "Theodore was my brute of a father."
"Right," she said faintly, then blinked, remembering what she was there for. "Could you sign this?" she asked, and Draco suppressed a groan as she produced a copy of Theo's book, A Sky Full of Stars.
"Not this again," Draco muttered under his breath, and Blaise let out another artful laugh.
"Of course," Theo assured her merrily, pulling a quill from the inner pocket of his dress robes - "of course he has one ready," Blaise murmured to Draco, who snickered - and taking the book from her. "Who is it for?"
"Well, there's one for me," she said, blushing, "and if you have time, I have another, for my sister - "
"Of course I have time," Theo informed her, and she looked as though she might fall headfirst into his arms; Draco made a face, and Blaise took hold of his arm, leading him to a tray of wine glasses.
"Here," Blaise said, handing him one. "To replace the one that broke under the weight of you learning that a certain Gryffindor princess is now available for the taking."
"Don't know what you're talking about," Draco mumbled, smoothing his hair back self-consciously. "I'm only here because you forced me. And Pansy," he added, looking around and wondering where she'd gotten to.
"Relax," Blaise said smoothly. "I'm not here to judge." Draco watched the other man's dark eyes settle hungrily on Weasley where she stood with Granger, his glance subtly flicking over the redheaded witch's form under her long navy gown. "I'm certainly not here to judge," he repeated, and Draco took a silent sip of wine, resolute in his lack of comment.
Theo wandered over to them, still grinning as he reached out to take a glass of wine. "Sorry about that," he offered, shrugging. "Occupational hazard."
"Still can't believe you did so well," Blaise commented, smirking. "Bestseller twenty weeks running, isn't it?"
"It is," Theo confirmed, giving him a curt nod and barely hiding a look of supreme self-satisfaction.
Draco knew this, of course; Theo was his best friend, after all. This wasn't the first time he'd seen Theo get inundated with requests for autographs - or get stopped to listen to someone's immense emotional connection to his work - and it certainly wouldn't be the last, so it was easy enough to drift away from the conversation.
He tuned the other two out, his eyes traveling hopelessly to Granger - to the cut of the fabric against her waist, the light glinting off her gown; the pinkness of her tongue where it slid momentarily against her lip, the strike of lightning in her stance; the glimmer of gold in her eyes as they traveled across the room to settle on his -
At the inadvertent eye contact he ducked his head quickly, carefully eyeing the floor; but curiosity got the better of him, and he looked up again, his heart pounding in his chest.
He couldn't take his eyes off her, and he was sure it would be a problem all night; worse, he could tell he wasn't the only one. Nearly every set of eyes in the room had fallen on her, or on Weaslette beside her, ever since the moment that Loony Lovegood had made the bizarre announcement that she, Granger - beloved war heroine, entitled know-it-all, famous counterpart to Auror Weasley and one half of the Wizarding World's premiere golden couple - was finally single.
Draco couldn't take his eyes off her, the witch who came into his office once or twice a week needing his signature. Nothing more, nothing less, he reminded himself, repeating it like a mantra. He was looking at her, yes; so was everyone else, so he could hardly be blamed.
But she -
This was the thing.
She was looking at him.
"Well, fuck," Ron declared, shrugging as he and Harry parted ways with Neville and strode into the hall. "That went well."
"I guess we shouldn't be surprised," Harry said, grimacing. "Ginny and I fought on the way over."
"So did we," Ron sighed.
He and Hermione always used to fight. It was a constant in their youth, and for a time it was adorable; at first it was playful and it was banter and it was oh, look at them, young love! - until one day it was exhausting. And then it was mean. And then it was sharp and hostile and barbed with real, festering anger, until it progressed and became something somehow worse - because then it was dull, and it was tiresome, and it was making them thoroughly miserable.
The argument on the way over was a perfect example. It was about nothing, and there was no heat to it, no real effort. Just a constant shoving of one strong will against the other, until they both wished the other would just -
- fucking leave.
"Maybe Luna did us a favor," Ron admitted glumly, trying to shake the thought from his tired mind.
Harry shrugged. "I guess," he said.
Ron surveyed the remainder of the population in the hall as he reached for a glass of wine, handing one to Harry and then taking one for himself. There had been a violent explosion of whispers at Luna's announcement of their respective relationship states, and now he could see that people were staring, which for a moment made him want to throw drinks in all their faces and take off at a run.
It was only upon second glance, though, that he realized they were not looking at him with scorn or derision; in fact, of the many eyes that met his, they all seemed to be glinting with the same greedy interest.
"Harry," Ron whispered, nudging him in the ribs. "What are the chances that we are desirable to the general public?"
"Slim to none," Harry determined instantly, frowning. "Right? We are fools," he said bluntly, taking a long drink from his glass.
"Right, right," Ron agreed, nodding. "But - and hear me out - what if they don't know we are fools?"
Harry looked up at that, his green eyes narrowed slightly as he paused to survey the room.
"Is it just me," Harry ventured carefully, "or are there quite a lot of women staring?"
Upon Harry's observation, Ron let his gaze travel slowly around the room. He quickly caught the eye of Padma Patil, who emitted a tiny, exhilarated squeak and quickly averted her eyes, cheeks flushed as she turned to whisper to her companions; upon receiving the same response from Susan Bones, he nodded with a renewed surge of certainty.
"Well done, Harry," Ron concluded, clapping his best friend firmly on the back. "It looks like Luna definitely did do us a favor."
"What does that mean?" asked Harry, still seemingly unaffected by what Ron had so cleverly established.
"It means," Ron said, throwing an arm over Harry's shoulder, "that we, my friend, are about to have a very interesting evening."
"Hey," Pansy said, casually clipping Theo with her elbow to open their circle to her and Daphne. "Sorry we're late."
"As long as you're here," Draco said gruffly. "Otherwise, I don't see the point in me being here."
"Oh, really?" Theo drawled, pointedly lifting an eyebrow. "You don't see any point to - "
"You missed it," Blaise interrupted, his tongue flicking over his teeth as he smiled mischievously at Pansy. "Lovegood just made a delightful announcement."
"Which was?" Pansy prompted, already bored.
She wasn't sure why she had been so set on coming to this. Well, fuck, that was a lie, she reminded herself, fighting a twinge of impatience with her own inability to face facts.
Fact one: Pansy's stock had fallen considerably since the war.
Fact two: nobody had any interest in a girl whose family had lost its fortune to reparations, lost its good name to their own unwise alliances, and lost its bargaining power when the other two things flew out the window.
Fact three: her last hope for not ending up tragically alone was probably standing somewhere in this godforsaken hall.
"That the war's favorite Gryffindors have all been romantically splintered," Blaise said gleefully, interrupting her thoughts as she fidgeted under the weight of them. "Potter and Gin-" he coughed. "Potter and Weasley broke up, and so did Weasley and Granger."
Pansy felt Daphne stiffen beside her. "Potter's available?" Daphne asked, biting her lip.
"So are we, Greengrass," Theo drawled. "So thoughtless of you not to have noticed."
"When did they break up?" Pansy asked, frowning. Her mind was already beginning to tick with possibilities; Potter and Weasley were both the perfect option for renewing her fallen social status. Even dating for a short time would put her back in the public's good graces - especially if it were Potter.
"Don't know," Blaise admitted, and Draco shook his head to indicate his agreement.
"No idea," he said, and Pansy narrowed her eyes, watching his gaze travel over her shoulder to where she'd already ascertained Granger was standing.
Pansy had already noted that the frizziest Gryffindor had once again managed to pull something respectable together a la Yule Ball of their fourth year, which was always a bit jarring. Pansy had to assume that the mousy brunette's appeal lay embedded in her shock value; surely Pansy, with her smooth, raven hair pulled back into an elegant french twist, was objectively the more striking between the two of them, wasn't she?
Unfortunately, Granger always wielded the element of surprise, and it was so annoyingly Draco's style to be blindly captivated by it. Even the she-Weasley looked better, Pansy noted, feeling a twinge of envy at the girl's attractive navy dress, which was cut perfectly for her figure; and then, of course, there was Daphne, exquisite in her dainty blue gown that seemed to whisper intimately around her curves, which Pansy could admit - begrudgingly, of course, but she could still admit it - made her easily the most beautiful girl in the room.
So yeah, Pansy thought, bristling. It wasn't like Granger was anything special, however good she looked.
Or, Pansy noted with a grimace, however much she was letting her gaze flick repeatedly back to Draco.
"Damn it," Pansy seethed, letting out a hiss of infuriated impatience between clenched teeth as Daphne roughly yanked her aside. "What?"
"Pans," Daphne begged, smoothing her skirt and pleading desperately with her wide hazel eyes. "You have to help me."
"You look fine," Pansy said instantly, a reflex born of lifelong friendship. "You look beautiful."
"No - not that," Daphne said, making a face as she brushed the statement aside. "No, Pans - I - " she paused. "It's just that - "
"Spit it out, Daph," Pansy sniffed.
Daphne sighed, fidgeting with the delicate beading on her bodice. "Potter," she whispered. "Harry Potter is available, Pansy, this could be - " she stopped, hesitating again. "This could be huge for me - "
They were in the same boat; Pansy couldn't be more sympathetic. Daphne had Astoria to think of - her own marriage would invariably help make her sister more valuable - and despite the brief moment Pansy had had of thinking to snag Potter for herself, she instantly softened, recognizing Daphne's need was greater.
"I don't see what I could do for you that you aren't already accomplishing on your own," Pansy pointed out, gesturing to the inviting curves that were heightened by Daphne's gown.
Daphne blushed. "Thanks," she mumbled, "but I'm still going to need to get him . . . alone."
A loud, clanging surge of revulsion went off in Pansy's head as she sorted out the implication and looked up in alarm, seeking out Potter amidst the crowd. He stood alone with one other figure, precisely as she'd feared; a tall, lanky, redheaded -
"No," Pansy said instantly, recognizing Weasley's loping stance and shaking her head. "Absolutely not - "
"War hero," Daphne reminded her, her tone bordering on pleading. "War hero, beloved by the public, unattached for the first time in five years - he could really turn things around, Pans - "
"It's Weasley," Pansy hissed, staring after him. "He's just so - "
She'd initially paused because she couldn't pick a word - she was waffling between prattish and gangly and lame - but then felt her priorities shift abruptly as she caught a shared glance between Weasley and Granger; it was a look of such open detest that Pansy, from a distance, delighted in the candor of it.
"Well," she said, cutting herself off mid-protest. "Who knows. Maybe his taste has finally improved."
"What do you think they're talking about?" Theo asked, frowning over at where Daphne had pulled Pansy aside.
Blaise took another sip of his wine, his eyes casually flicking over to where Ginny stood talking to Granger, having a similar secret female conversation. "No idea," he murmured, catching the minute stiffening of Ginny's shoulders as she caught his eyes on her.
He knew her mannerisms. He knew he was making her uncomfortable.
And he reveled in it.
"Seems weird, doesn't it?" Theo asked, his brows knitted together in his lofty, refined confusion. "That you'd bring up Potter and Weasley and then she'd - "
"Theodore?"
Susan Bones had approached them in her quiet way and Blaise laughed a little to himself as Draco made a small cough of frustration.
"Not used to someone else being the center of attention, are you?" Blaise muttered in his ear, grinning as he elbowed Draco's ribs.
"I'm fine," Draco replied tightly, watching as Theo carefully dragged his attention away from Daphne to smile and sign Susan's copy of his book. "It's fine."
"You can admit that it's tiresome," Blaise pointed out, taking another sip. "Theo does all the time."
"Of course he can admit that," Draco groaned. "A loner all his life and now it's like everybody wants to suck his - "
"Not everyone," Theo reminded him curtly, a slight scowl coming over his face as he returned to their side, watching as Daphne and Pansy seemed to whisper ever more intently, both girls deeply unsubtle in their blatant ogling of Potter and Weasley.
"You'd think all this fame would do something for your confidence," Draco reminded him, giving him a patented Malfoy smirk that Blaise knew to be equal parts affection and derision. "Maybe you'll finally abandon this very careful dance you've had going for, I don't know, both your entire lives - "
"I play a long game," Theo said loudly, making a show of tipping his glass against Draco's and then taking a sip. "Some things are complicated, Draco. Some things take time."
"They certainly do," Blaise agreed, seeking out Ginny in the crowd. She was stunning, of course, as always; the dress itself was understated, but that only meant that she, with her gilded copper hair and her flawless, creamy skin, could not be outdone by something as foolish as fabric.
He missed her, of course; had been waiting impatiently for her to come back to her senses, to come back to him; to realize that the times she'd come to him had not been weakness, they'd been fate, and it was going back to Potter each time that had been the error. He'd been patient, hadn't he? And selfless? Given her space? Difficult, of course; exceedingly difficult, as Blaise was a man who knew what he wanted. And fuck him if it wasn't Ginevra Weasley.
And fuck her if she thought he would forget.
She turned her back on him resolutely, but he saw the flush in her cheeks and knew she was remembering what it felt like to have him pressed against her, his lips on her neck, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. And if she wasn't thinking about that - which she definitely was - then she wouldn't be able to stop thinking about the rest of the night in his arms, her fears bared for him with her lips against his pillow, her thoughts floating in the air between them, her desires kept safe in his bed.
Harry's the one, she'd said stubbornly, I'm sure he is, he has to be, or else why would I - ? Why would he have - ? But sometimes, sometimes, I swear -
Blaise had said nothing, done nothing but kiss her, and she'd kissed him back and he'd been waiting for this day, when what he knew - what he'd known since that first night - would finally catch up with her: that she was never meant for Harry Potter.
No. Blaise was a man who knew things; and fuck him if he didn't know Ginevra Weasley belonged to him.
"Excuse me," he rumbled primly, handing his glass to Draco, who looked bewildered at being used like a house elf. "I have somewhere I need to be."
"So you'll do it?" Daphne whispered excitedly, gripping Pansy's wrist. "You'll help?"
"Yes, yes, fine," Pansy said, rolling her eyes. "Fine. I will take Weasley," she conceded, her face contorting into a vaguely repulsed grimace.
"Maybe practice not making that face when you say his name?" Daphne offered, fighting a laugh. "Just a thought."
"Full of demands tonight, aren't you?" Pansy said, offering her a wicked smirk. "You're lucky you're my only friend, Daph, or I'd be forced to murder you if this goes badly."
"You wouldn't," Daphne reminded her, letting her hand slip to take hold of her best friend's slender fingers. "You adore me."
"That, or you've drugged me," Pansy agreed, and Daphne felt a thrill of excitement run up her spine, reminded of the prospects of the evening.
"It'll be just like it was at school," Daphne whispered gleefully. "Back when we were still - "
" - worth something?" Pansy supplied grimly.
"Oh, don't be sulky," Daphne chided her, fondly tapping her nose. "This'll be fun. We used to be great at this."
"Used to being the operative term," Pansy returned.
But Daphne would not let Pansy's cynicism get to her; not tonight. It had been ages since she'd gotten to dress up again - there weren't exactly grand parties anymore; or at least, if there were, she wasn't invited to them - and she was marvelling in her own beauty, in all her youthful charisma, and what she knew had once been her unfailing charm.
You should be married by now, her mother regularly lamented, always making a show of her fall from grace. There should be men banging down our door. That blasted war.
War's over, Mother, Daphne would say, trying to be helpful. It's a better world.
She had a job, after all; she wasn't destitute. She was doing fine. She was providing for her family; her father had passed away at the end of the war and her mother had never worked a day in her life, so that left Daphne, and she'd risen to the challenge.
It's a better world, Mother.
Not for you, her mother would wail. Prospects dried up, nobody for you, nobody for Astoria - who will take care of Astoria?
Astoria, her mother's darling. Daphne's darling too, really, for all her lively wit and humor; but primarily the pride and joy and undeniable mirror image of their mother.
I will, Daphne sighed, catching her sister's form as she ducked out of sight, pretending not to be eavesdropping.
And she did. She got by on her own, much as her mother hated it. She had started working as an interior designer when Narcissa Malfoy had required what she called "a tastefully trained eye" for the renovation of Malfoy Manor, affording Daphne the opportunity to make a living from it; thankfully - and tactfully - gracing her with a means by which to support her family. Not that it had done much for her prospects, as her mother repeatedly reminded her; as much as pureblood families needed a designer with her impeccable taste, they also judged her harshly for it. As they reluctantly dropped their galleons in her hands, she knew they were also crossing her name off their lists for their sons - and Astoria's, too.
So in the end, beautiful Daphne Greengrass, for all her lovely features and her admirable birth and her bloody impeccable taste, had run herself right out of prospects.
She stiffened momentarily at the thought, but suppressed it; if this was her last chance, then she was going down swinging. Harry Potter, she reminded herself. Auror Potter, the Boy Who Lived; the Chosen One.
She warmed at the thought. Let them sneer at Daphne Potter, she thought, picturing their faces. Let them try.
"Come on," Daphne said, artfully brightening her face with a coquettish smile and pulling Pansy along behind her. "Let's do this before anyone else has the same idea."
Theo held back a laugh at the look on Draco's face as Blaise took off, straightening his tie and proceeding straight for the table with Granger and Weasley. "Where did he - "
"Has business to attend to, it seems," Theo noted, though the smile on his face quickly vanished as he watched Pansy and Daphne proceed in the opposite direction, taking a direct route to where Potter and Weasley were standing in the corner.
"Ah," Draco mused, catching the sullen look on Theo's face. "Suddenly not so funny, is it?"
Theo swallowed, his throat suddenly quite dry. "No," he murmured, watching Daphne adjust her bodice - "How are they?" she mouthed to Pansy, gesturing to her cleavage; Perfect, Theo imagined assuring her, vehemently wanting to die - and confidently moving to tap Potter on the shoulder.
"You could try saying something," Draco suggested. "You know. In case the many years of hoping she'd learn mind reading is becoming tiresome."
"You're becoming tiresome," Theo snapped, seeing Potter's eyes widen as he took in the concept that Daphne Greengrass, goddess among women, had actually - willingly, consciously, and, as unhappily as Theo found it to acknowledge, enthusiastically - chosen to speak to him.
Theo, perversely, was happy to see that Potter was at least aware of the magnitude of the situation, though his desire to see Potter burst into flames was at least equally as intense.
"I love when you get frustrated," Draco remarked, smirking. "You become infinitely less clever, and it really evens the playing field."
"Shut up," Theo snapped testily, as Daphne let out a dainty, melodic laugh at whatever inanity Potter had supplied her with.
Maybe I should laugh too, Theo thought moodily, his entire countenance darkening at the hilarious concept that he might now lose Daphne, whom he had lost time after time to a variety of pureblood heirs, over and over throughout their schooling. Hysterical, really, that the night he thought he'd finally get his chance, she'd be running straight for Potter, who wouldn't have been fit to tie her shoes while they were in school and certainly wasn't fit to now. Fuck, the hilarity of it!
"Does she know about the book?" Draco asked.
Ah, and to add to the comedy - the fucking book. The one that every other woman in the castle - McGonagall included, though she'd been much quieter about it, choosing to send him a highly discreet owl of congratulations and a light suggestion that he send her a signed copy - couldn't stop shoving in his face, begging for his attention. That fucking book? The one he'd spent the last two years writing, the one he'd achieved sudden acclaim for, after so much obscurity? That was hailed all over the Wizarding World as the finest literary work in a generation? That was lauded for its brilliance, praised for its poignancy, worshipped for its craftsmanship?
"I don't think she read it," Theo muttered.
Fucking hysterical, wasn't it?
Absolutely, without a doubt, the most uproariously funny, the most riotously, heartwrenchingly entertaining joke he'd ever had the displeasure of experiencing.
It was so funny he could sob.
"Well," Draco broached tentatively, vacationing from his usual smug arseholery to comfortingly grip Theo's shoulder, "I'm sure that if she - "
Theo tuned him out, feeling his chest burn at the way Daphne's delicate fingers rested gently on Potter's forearm.
"You know what?" Theo said suddenly, squaring his shoulders and clenching his vacant fist, "I think I have to go do something."
He shoved his glass against Draco's chest and took off; certain, for once, that he was not going to be the punchline of this joke.
Hermione nudged Ginny, feeling her face shift in confusion at the oncoming Blaise Zabini, who was approaching them in the most purposeful way she had ever witnessed a man walk.
"Hey," Hermione murmured, gesturing over Ginny's shoulder, "is there a reason that - "
"Good evening, Ginevra," Zabini said coolly, coming to rest between them.
Hermione was not fantastic with gauging social interactions, but even she could tell there was something to this one; the low, languid cadence of Ginny's name on Zabini's lips was startlingly intimate, and Hermione suffered a distinctly uneasy feeling at the sound.
"Blaise," Ginny said stiffly, the muscles tense around her jaw.
"How are you?" Zabini asked, and despite the innocuous content of the conversation, Hermione couldn't help feeling incredibly nonsensical and awkward - as if she were sitting between them during late night pillow talk instead of at a very public event, in a very crowded hall.
"Don't," Ginny warned, her eyes flashing, and Hermione hesitantly took a step back.
"Um," she ventured, "I'll just - "
"Don't what?" Zabini asked, his voice husky and warm as he stepped closer to Ginny. Hermione instinctively took several steps back, resolving to find another glass of wine, or several glasses of wine, or someone else entirely.
In her haste to escape, she knocked directly into Theodore Nott, who seemed intent on reaching someone else across the room. "Sorry," she said quickly, but he had already taken hold of her shoulders and nudged her gently aside, striding past her without stopping.
"Okay then," she said quietly, biting her lip.
She had never felt like a more ridiculous afterthought. She didn't know why she had wanted to come; she'd insisted on it, really, and she'd prepared for it for weeks, and she told everyone it was because it was important that they honor their alma mater, that they celebrate how far they had come - but then, was that really a reason to buy a new dress, to spend all day on her hair? To pretend to still be with Ron, just to not have to come alone?
She sighed, straightening as she prepared to press on, and then paused, catching a flash of a pale, silvery head and feeling inexplicably relieved at the sight.
Hermione looked over and was forced to suppress a giggle at the way that Malfoy was clumsily maintaining a grip on three wine glasses, his own in addition to those of his two companions, who she realized must have recently abandoned him. He looked around, gaping helplessly, and she ducked her head, covering her mouth to ensure he hadn't seen her smile; but when she looked up, bound by curiosity, he was smirking at her.
No, not smirking.
Smiling.
"Laughing at me, Granger?" he called, and she, caught in the act, reluctantly moved towards him.
"You look a bit burdened," she commented, reaching out to take one of the glasses. Their fingers brushed momentarily as she took it, and her chest gave a strange, incomprehensible flutter, compelled forward by some invisible, cruelly merciless force.
It happened to her on occasion with him. Sometimes she handed him a quill and he, lost in conversation, would let the tip of it brush against his lips, forgetting it was hers. Sometimes he would hand her back the form with his signature and his grey eyes would settle on her face, sometimes hovering on her lips; and each time, she would think please. Please stop.
She had her career to think about; she didn't need his pretty face distracting her. Stop.
She had things to do; she didn't have the time for mindless flirtation. Stop.
She had a history with him, an unpleasant one; she didn't wish to be made a fool, and especially not by him. Stop.
And then, the biggest reason of all: she wasn't free. She had Ron. Stop.
Please, please stop.
"Burdened indeed," he agreed, nodding. "Deliver me?" he suggested, and she watched his smile fade as he swallowed carefully, his breath suspended as he waited.
Please, please stop.
But she didn't have Ron anymore, did she?
"Let's walk," she offered softly.
Harry had never been particularly good with women, as both Ginny and Hermione, the only women in his life, chose to remind him on a regular basis. Especially Ginny, who had become particularly adamant about pointing out his flaws in the last year.
You never notice anything, she repeatedly railed against him, her cheeks flushed as she roared her displeasure. You barely notice me!
I notice you, he would say, puzzled. How could I not -
I have needs, Harry! she would continue, and he would think I know that, of course I know you have needs; what did I do this time?
But she had stopped wanting to tell him, stopped being patient with his idiocy, and after the last two breakups, there was nothing left to fix.
Or so she told him. And he usually listened to the things she told him.
"Harry?" Daphne asked, his name so devastatingly sweet on her tongue. "You were saying?"
"Oh," he said, realizing he had been talking. He flailed momentarily, having forgotten the topic of conversation; Daphne Greengrass's beauty was intimidating. Distracting. "I, er - "
"Evening," Theodore Nott said smoothly, easing his lanky frame between them. "How is everyone?" he asked, his eyes glinting with something Harry judged to be mischief.
"Fine," Harry said, watching Daphne's cheeks flush appealingly.
"Excuse me, Theo," she said sweetly, giving him a look that Harry guessed was her particular variation of Hermione's withering glare. "Harry and I are talking."
"You still are," Nott assured her, tilting his head somewhat mockingly. "I've just joined in." He glanced over at Harry. "Post-war benefits, eh? Inter-house unity and all that?"
"Sure," Harry permitted, nodding vacantly.
"Theo." Daphne's pretty smile faded, replaced with a fiery disapproval. Not that that was any less attractive, Harry noted, still shaking his head as to why Daphne Greengrass had felt compelled to talk to him, or why Pansy Parkinson was beside him, appearing to take an unusual interest in Ron's biceps. "Theo, I'm not exactly - "
"So, Potter," Theo said loudly, cutting her off. "What are your thoughts on the post-war economy?"
"Theo!" Daphne snapped, slamming her glass on a nearby table. "What the f- "
"Hi Harry," he heard a voice say behind him, and he sighed in relief at the sound of her voice.
"Hi Luna," he said, turning to face her.
"I wouldn't answer that question if I were you," she said sagely, nodding her reassurance. "He doesn't really care to hear the answer at the moment."
"Because of Daphne?" Harry guessed, stepping away from where Nott and Daphne were now arguing to join Luna where she stood against the back wall. She was wearing her long blonde hair in a shimmering sheath down her back, and her dress, a soft, airy white gown that reminded him of a fairy princess from a muggle storybook, had a series of glittering birds sewn in around the shoulders.
Birds are nice, he thought.
"That, or nargles," she quipped, smiling. "Either way, you'll have to talk commerce another time, I'm afraid."
"How unfortunate." Harry smiled, relaxing in her presence. "How are you, Luna?"
"I'm quite excellent, actually," Luna told him, and she looked like she meant it. "I'm having a lovely time. Thank you for asking me," she added.
He felt his brow stitch together quickly, always finding Luna to be strangely disarming. "Of course," he said. "I wanted to know."
"I know you did," she replied. "And that's what's so lovely about it."
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. He didn't know what to say, but he knew that would be okay with Luna.
They stood in silence for a moment as they watched the others around the hall; if it were Ginny beside him, Harry would probably have had to ask something - to make sure she was entertained, or at least not overtly bored in his presence. Ginny would be chatting with the people around them, always so social; it came so naturally to her.
Nothing really came naturally to him anymore. Work, he supposed, where things still made sense; but he was so used to having to save things, or save people, or save himself, that the concept of just getting by on a daily basis was frightfully mundane, and at the same time, overly complicated. Knowing how to go about his life, or how to behave when people wanted to talk to him on the street, or how to keep his girlfriend happy . . .
Ex-girlfriend, he reminded himself grimly. I have needs, Harry -
"Harry," Luna interrupted quietly, reaching up to brush his unruly hair away from his face. "You have an awful lot of Wrackspurts floating around."
The tips of her fingers briefly brushed against his jaw as she brought her hand down, frowning. "Are you quite alright?" she asked, and he felt, inexplicably, a jolt at the silvery brightness of her eyes, paired with a strange, thrilling sense of calm, like he was floating in them.
"I think," he started, his voice breaking momentarily. He paused, clearing his throat. "I think," he said again, "I am, actually."
Her smile was radiant. "Good," she murmured, and for once, he felt his smile come easily.
"So," he ventured after a moment. "What are Wrackspurts again?"
"Nothing you have to worry about with me," she whispered.
a/n: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONE SHOT! I estimate 3-4 parts. Sorry that I am so overwhelmingly VERBOSE.
All of the songs are available in a playlist on Spotify (search olivieblake). This one is dedicated to clausumcormeum and moonnott for song suggestions (the rest of you will have dedications in future installments). Thank you! And thanks again to everyone for reading, reviewing, tumbling, submitting things, etc - the best. The absolute best.