Thanks to all the un-named guests, and to Fan, NickOTime, Teri and The Danish Prince! Heaps of fun for me to read your comments! Thank you one and all!

A/N 1: Apologies for being so sluggish posting this. I've been battling 'flu and trying to shake it off before I go on holiday - spent most of the past week asleep. I'm posting two chapters to make up for it (I do like stories to be fast-moving). I'm off travelling soon, so it'll be a few weeks before I post again - please don't forget me!

A/N 2: Do you know the term 'fizzer'? It means 'disappointment' in Australian slang.

Chapter 21 - Yule Ball Fizzer - Part 1

Uncommonly for Draco Malfoy, he was more than happy to linger at the back of the drinks queue without scowling or voicing his opinion loudly that there should be an express lane for wizards of 'better stock'. He even allowed a few merry-makers to go ahead of him - Hufflepuffs, no less! No Gryffindors though, they didn't get to jump in front of him. Or rather they did but he didn't see it. George Weasley was now five places ahead of him and beaming like an unhinged nutter, all unbeknownst to Draco. He had other thoughts to occupy his mind.

Chief amongst those thoughts was keeping both feet planted firmly on the ground - and not sending one foot back in an effort to kick his own backside. The urge to arse-kick had come about shortly after he'd watched Granger do that annoying head toss thing she did, wheel around, grab Krum's arm and go stomping off. Dammit! He'd tried so bloody hard at the end of term; thought he'd engineered matters perfectly. As George Weasley did a comedic tiptoe past him, Malfoy stared at the floor and remembered the Slytherin Sleepover.

That Friday morning of Elsa's birthday he'd watched Snape send off the other years to their classes and lingered over his cup of tea and slices of melon; the Slytherin fourth had a free period. Of course, it was 'chore day' for them and he had a pile of board games to sort out and check all the pieces were in order, so eventually he ambled out of the hall. That was where he saw Snape watching Potter, who was watching Granger, who was trying her hardest not to notice Lavender and Parvati watching her and sniggering. Intriguing. Snape flounced off down the stairs but sneaky Draco had heard his indirect invitation to Granger, and here was his opportunity.

Malfoy had had a good laugh getting Potter into trouble with Snape; his only regret on that score was that he hadn't somehow been able to witness it. He'd grudgingly admit that Wonderboy was okay - but his 'okay-ness' paled compared to the thought of Cheery Snape walloping hell out of him. Still, Draco had a plan; somehow get close to the two Gryffindors and latch onto their investigations into Archie and The Mirror of Merlin - and in doing that, save his father. The fleeting joy of Potter copping it didn't make up for the fact he'd failed to get closer to Granger, but here was a golden opportunity. Bugger the board games; Draco had some thinking to do.

Having fun isn't a conscious thought for most people, especially young people. You just do it. You have fun and through the shared experience friendship blooms. But for a complicated little soul like Draco Malfoy, life isn't nearly so simple. He sat in a common room armchair with a bag of Scrabble letters on his lap, occasionally enquiring of his fellow cleaners how many letter 'J's there ought to be. All the others were so taken up with discussing the sleepover that no one noticed he didn't do a hand's turn of work.

He knew the Gryffindors prided themselves on being impetuous to the point of stupidity, crashing into any situation without the slightest bit of forethought. But why was it they held the Snakes in such contempt? Of course. It was for being unlike themselves - for there's no one quite like a smugly 'tolerant' and 'fair' type to be unfair and intolerant of people who differ from themselves. And so it was that Draco schemed ways of appearing un-scheming. Spontaneity - or idiocy, as he preferred to term it - was key.

Pansy gave him his cue and he ensured he was madly throwing himself around the dance floor when Granger appeared in the common room. From the corner of his eye, he saw her nod in his direction to Potter and smile. Perfect! Then the next bold and inspired move. He caught hold of her, held on to her slim waist and twirled her around the dance floor as well. She protested at first that she didn't dance, but that was hot air and he knew it; he could feel her gauging the movements of his body and finally moving her own in time.

His next bit of intricately planned spontaneity had been to loudly insist on 'the birthday girl' as his curtain-racing partner. The pairing wasn't left to chance. Like all the first-year girls, Elsa had a crush on AB and wanted him to partner her, but Malfoy had bribed her after lunch with one packet of Cockroach Clusters and a dozen Chocoballs. Tall, svelte Malfoy and little Elsa Tobin - prescription glasses, pudgy face and a mop of blonde curly hair, it was a pairing guaranteed to make females melt and Granger wasn't immune to its charm. She placed her wager on them immediately.

Eating supper, he'd asked Hermione to lean forward, so he could evanesco the despised cabbage from Tory Greengrass' plate,

"Keep me hidden, Granger; I don't want to get the slipper again for doing this".

Oh, how she'd approved of that bit of humility! It had been a lie, of course; he'd never once evanesco'd food from a first-year's plate, but who probes that line of thought when someone 'admits' to having had their arse walloped for it?

As usual, Goyle almost effed things up for him. He knew he needed to rehabilitate the reputations of Crabbe and Goyle; the Gryffindors were convinced Malfoy kept them in tow as his 'minders'. It wasn't strictly true, but when Malfoy was feeling bloody-minded enough, he quite enjoyed people thinking that. Still, it wouldn't impress Granger. Once the Lower School were on their mattresses, Malfoy despatched the burly pair to make sure blankets were tight around little shoulders. Older brother Crabbe had no problem; his only happy times at home were with his younger sibs. Goyle, bless him, tried - but when Malcolm Baddock shrugged the blanket away saying he was too hot, Goyle tucked him in so tightly he almost choked him. Draco had deftly leapt into the shadows and tugged Goyle away from the irate first-year. His reward had been a look of almost simpering adoration on Granger's face.

But he was careful not to be too cringingly nice; he still kept a bit of spark between himself and Potter. And Granger even lapped that up, laughing along with his teasing. So much so, that later in the evening Malfoy poked fun at her. She fought back and slapped his thigh. But Malfoy wasn't a little boy anymore; he knew what it meant when a girl did that. She enjoyed his company and she was beginning to like him. He knew. So why was he feeling like he ought to kick his own arse?

oOo

In a way, he was glad Narcissa had insisted he come home to keep her company before Christmas. He'd seen Snape's face when the housemaster had enquired as to who was taking up Dumbledore's offer to stay at Hogwarts until the Yule Ball. It wasn't a pretty sight. A few people took note and quickly changed their plans, but there were still far too many Snakes around for Snape. Let the festivities commence! Draco had thought wryly as he left the common room with Millicent and heard Snape menacingly hissing the new, punitive holiday rules he'd put in place.

oOo

Lucius was busy doing whatever it was he did at the ministry, and Draco quickly fell into a comfortable routine with his mother. One afternoon he was sitting in the orangery telling her of the events of the term when Hannibal, the older wolf hound, started wagging his tail; Lucius was home and had been standing in doorway. His eyes sparkled at his son's mention of fun with Potter, but he wasn't nearly so keen on the mudblood.

"The Potter boy will prove a prudent connection for you Draco, but you must take care with … others. They frequently mistake any kind of largesse for familiarity, and that is a road you most definitely do not wish to travel."

Draco had been staring out into the garden as Lucius dispensed his wisdom. He'd heard it all a thousand times and ought to have been immune. Replaying in his mind what his father had likely overheard, he realised that though his actions at the sleepover had been planned to the letter, he'd enjoyed himself. He'd laughed loudest when Goyle had almost snapped Baddock's windpipe in an effort to tuck in the unwilling boy, but the evening had been huge fun. No use telling that to his father, so he sat and silently scorned Lucius. And next he assured him that he held Potter and the other Gryffindors contemptible. Lucius positively glowed at the words.

It was a fine festive season. Malfoy Senior was impressed at his son's duplicity and showered him with gifts and praise. Narcissa shielded him from all the unpleasant visitors; poor Draco had been working so hard, and in a beastly cold dungeon too, he needed his rest. Draco lapped up the home comforts and all the attention. He lay back in his warm bath and, with his toe, rammed a sea sponge up the end of the cold tap - that was apt to drip. He marvelled at how such a large sponge could fit into such a small receptacle. I'm like that sponge, he reflected. I can change shape and fit in anywhere. I can play the fool with Potter and Granger and they fall for it. Then I can disparage it all with father, ape his haughty arrogance and have him eating out of my hand.

And it was no lie; he could do that. However, he'd underestimated how delightful it was to have his father's regard. Lucius, unlike the true Pure blood maniacs of their acquaintance, could be funny and capable of great affection. Draco adored walking the grounds with him - even if he did have to pause occasionally to regard the Manor from various vantage points and listen to drivel about their ancient forebears having built it. He'd take those lies in exchange for the warm arm around his shoulder and being pulled in tight every time he made Lucius laugh with a nasty comment about the Weasleys or mudbloods.

The thing is, these things rub off on you. Draco was good at being all things to all people - sometimes. But arriving at the ball with sulky be-pinked and be-ruffled Pansy, he'd been shocked to see Granger with Krum. He knew she had a date; he could tell from the smug answers she'd given the night of the sleepover. He assumed she'd be going with Lee Jordan, or someone of that ilk; someone that didn't impress him in the slightest. He'd opened his mouth to greet them and be civil, and out had dripped pure, unadulterated Lucius.

"Bringing along a mudblood, Krum? And I thought Durmstrang had standards …"

There was the very slightest window of opportunity where Draco could have passed the comment off as perhaps risqué, or a joke in poor taste. He watched Granger's face fill with incredulity and the next second, in came disgust. Draco had missed his moment, so he decided not to care. A word … that silly cow gets upset over a word? She should try living with his father; she'd hear more than 'mudblood' then.

For a few minutes Draco boiled with righteous fury. How dare she get sanctimonious with him? She had no idea; none of the Gryffindors did. No idea at all what it was like to live with that weight of expectation; to have it assumed you would pick up the standard of the Pure blood and continue the fight. The cruelty, the madness … she knew none of that. And then fear found him again. His frigging father, the man he secretly found foolish but also couldn't help loving. At best, the Death Eaters would humiliate and torture him. At worst, what they discovered with The Mirror of Merlin, would see him murdered. With that thoughtless comment he'd undone all his gains of last term; he deserved more than an arse-kicking.

He looked over and saw Granger approach Potter and Weasley; she didn't look happy. No doubt she was telling them all about his mudblood remark. Any second now one or both of them would come and do something pointlessly heroic like demanding he step outside. Then they'd probably do something cretinous, say land a punch on his nose, or Weasley would attempt a first-year hex. Both scenarios would see Malfoy reaching for his wand and getting them good - and then Snape would bloody murder him. He wished Crabbe and Goyle were with him.

"Draco! Where are the drinks?! I'm parched!"

The pink meringue pushed her way to the head of the queue and ladled herself two glasses of punch. She thrust one at Draco and scowled. Bloody hell! Even my fellow Snakes think I'm a dick. He sipped and looked over furtively at Wonderboy and Weasel. Granger had moved on, and those two were still slumped on the steps looking more morose than ever. Good. Things weren't that bad; they were feeling as shit as he was and it didn't look like he was going to be punched any time soon.

oOo

Hermione really was mental. She'd just broken off a dance with Krum to harangue them both about treating Parvati and Padma badly. Well neither Parvati nor Padma appeared to be upset - now. Pucey and Zabini had just swept by and whisked them both away. As matters turned out, the Slytherin roué and his apprentice had spent too long ranking and rating possible invitees and had been left high and dry for the ball. It hadn't bothered them; they strutted around like peacocks rescuing any female that seemed bored with her disappointing partner - they'd hit paydirt with the Patil sisters.

Personally, Harry thought the alacrity with which the sisters had leapt from the steps a bit unseemly; they could at least have asked if he and Ron minded being dumped. He'd said as much to Hermione but that had only made her give an oddly high-pitched growl and stomp off. It was alright for her. Krum could dance; he couldn't. Something which was made embarrassingly obvious as Malfoy hooted with derision when he took his first clumsy steps of the Champion's Waltz. Malfoy was a shit. And to think he'd actually missed his company when he'd gone back home at the end of term. Missing Malfoy?! I must be more mental than Hermione, thought Harry.

But those last days of term had been so good. Malfoy had actually stuck up for Harry that time outside Snape's classroom when Lavender had been such a cow. Or maybe he hadn't; maybe it had been an excuse to have a pop at Gryffindor? But then he'd been fun at the sleepover. Really fun - even grabbing Hermione to dance with her. What was going on there? What was Malfoy up to? He thought back to his ponderings on Snape that long, lonely night in the middle of the term. His real problem with Snape had been that he didn't know what to expect of him. Consistent snarkiness, even consistent unfairness, didn't bother Harry. If you knew what to expect, you could adapt - he'd done it all his life. It was inconstancy that undid you. Maybe that was Malfoy's plan - be normal one week, be a neophyte Death Eater shithead the next? Or maybe he was over-thinking this? Maybe Malfoy was just a knobhead, pure and simple? Yeah, Malfoy the Knobhead - Harry preferred the sound of that. Ron gave a groan and slumped further on the steps; Harry looked down and grinned slightly at the hideous dress robes. Not that he was laughing at his mate; he was remembering the Slytherin common room earlier that evening.

oOo

7pm, Christmas Day

Tracey Davis looked drop dead gorgeous. The long sheath dress of emerald satin she wore wasn't figure-hugging. All the same, it accentuated her slender waist and made the gentle sashaying of her hips and bottom as she walked mesmeric for Harry. Daphne looked good; not in Tracey's league, but good. Emerald Sykes looked plain to dowdy. It was also patently obvious that she didn't care. Millicent marched down the steps from the girls' dorms looking as if she were about to go and muster cattle. She wore black trousers, black ankle boots, an oversized shirt - the front and tails of which were loose - and a black and green waistcoat. Snape had insisted all the boys compliment their female housemates and it had been an easy enough task with the others. But Millicent?

"You look …" Pucey paused, and then inspiration hit him, "just as I expected you would! Bravo!"

"Great waistcoat. Can I borrow it sometime?" Got in Goyle.

Crabbe copied Goyle, but this time about her boots. Zabini picked out and complimented the only concession Millicent had made to 'dressiness' - the stripe of black satin down the sides of her trousers.

"Lucky for you you're the same size as your dad!" Said Malfoy. Snape cuffed him for that.

Nott raced Harry and won in yelling out 'great shirt!'. Brilliant. What the bloody hell is left for me to say, thought Harry.

"You look … erm … comfortable. And comfortable's great, Mill. It really is."

"Is that the best you can do?"

Snape asked Harry. But Millicent threw her head back and roared with laughter.

"That'll be on my gravestone, Potter! 'Here lies Millicent Bulstrode, the girl that prized comfort above all else'!"

Christ, Crabbe's a lucky bastard, lamented Harry. But before he could rue the fact that Millicent wasn't his date and imagine all the fun they'd have, a wail sounded from the girls' dorms.

"Oh! I forget to tell you sir; Pansy hates the dress her mother sent her back with. She's locked herself in the bathroom and refuses to come out."

Snape looked venomous as he stalked off to deal with that and the others sat and listened to the commotion. An indistinct rumbling told them that their housemaster was obviously trying to talk sense into Pansy, but his tenuous grasp on patience gave out rapidly. He unlocked the door, told her she looked absolutely fine and that she didn't know the meaning of awful clothes, and then marched her into the common room.

"Say something!" Snape growled at the boys.

"Beautiful colour!" Said AB.

"Sets off your hair!" Said Zabini the Charmer.

"Girls in chiffon look divine." Oozed Pucey, determined to out-charm Zabini.

"I look like a bloody pink meringue!" Cried Pansy.

"I love meringues." Said Malfoy weakly.

"You think I look like a meringue, too!" And the tears started again.

It had taken them ages to get out of that common room. But seeing Ron in all his ignominy, had made Harry thankful to Pansy's mum. The pair cancelled each other out. Any other time Malfoy and Pansy would have had a field day mocking the ancient Weasley dress robes. Now they couldn't say anything. Thank you Mrs Parkinson.

oOo

"You're smiling!" Accused Ron. "This is bloody torture; what are you smiling at?"

"Malfoy's just tripped over Pansy's flouncy hem." Lied Harry.

"Oh. Good. Did he look like a prat?" Asked Ron.

"Yeah."

He could tell Ron that hippogriffs had flown in, plucked up Professor Flitwick and dropped him in the punch bowl; Ron wouldn't know any different. His mate had been staring down at his ruffled cuff for the past half hour, occasionally airing his opinion that there could never have been a time in wizarding history when his awful robes had been fashionable. Harry agreed with him. He once more thanked Mrs Parkinson and shuddered at the thought of what Malfoy and Pansy would have said to Ron - had it not been for Mrs P's foresight.

He glanced over at the Platinum Ponce and Bitchy Parkinson. Malfoy had only been back for half a day, yet Harry could tell that things had changed. The Prat had swanned in and feigned surprise that Harry was there.

"Still here, Potter? How long does Slytherin have to house Hogwarts' undesirables?"

He'd then gone on to brag about the enormous amount of Christmas gifts he'd received - and 'admire' Harry's latest piece from the Molly Weasley Festive Knitwear Range. Pansy had come through the common room door, scowled at everyone and stomped straight off to her dorm. What a pair … and he was stuck with them for another term. Yeah, thanks a lot Dumbledore.

Tracey repeatedly twirled past him in the arms of a different Ravenclaw each time. Well, at least he was with Tracey too for another term. He peered around the dance floor for the others. Pucey and Zabini were still charming Parvati and Padma; Goyle was busy teaching Hildy Brand a new dance step; Nott and Emerald were laughing with Lee Jordan and his date. Crabbe was nowhere to be seen, but Millicent was chatting to Hermione as Krum looked her up and down - probably jealous of her boots. He heard Daphne Greengrass' tinkling laugh, and then heard it abruptly stop. She'd seen Pansy looking glum with Malfoy and obviously realised she wasn't allowed to be happy unless Pansy was.

The others were fine, he realised. But what if the others fell in step with Malfoy? And where was Snape? He'd been the one that insisted they all attend the ball. Yeah, he'd done that and then he couldn't even be arsed to turn up. He was another one that changed with the wind. Harry thought he'd had him figured out, but no. He'd been brilliant at the sleepover; it had been his idea to invite Hermione in the first place. But straight after the end of term, all that had stopped. He knew he was exhausted from partying last night and all the excitement of today. And the ball had been a major disappointment, but Harry couldn't help thinking that something had changed - and not for the better.