After pouring himself a bourbon, he leant against the wall of a passageway on the quiet side of the dance floor and watched Mill dance. He'd wait until he was a couple of drinks in before joining her. Not that he needed the alcohol to make a public spectacle of himself, but Mill would be devastated if her rebuke hadn't done his ego significant damage.
It kind of had really. George had no idea how he'd missed everything that had been happening. He was pretty sure that he hadn't always been so blind to the things going on around him. Though, that said, the Granger/Parkinson romance had thrown him for a loop. Had thrown everyone, if it came to that. The school had been in hysterics for weeks over it.
Studying the ice clinking in his drink, he considered what Mill had said. Make Potter get another spare. Which suggested, what? That Harry was keeping Malfoy around in case he broke up with his current partner and needed a quick shag? That was the obvious conclusion, but that kind of thing didn't apply to Harry Potter. Completely aside from the fact that he was the flipping saviour of the wizarding world, he didn't use people. Never had. It was one of the reasons people were so determined to stand with him.
But Mill, for all her gossiping, was a good judge of character – and generally a fair one. She wouldn't accuse Harry of something like that without definitive proof. George stopped swirling his glass and all the ice cubes clattered into one another. The mistletoe.
Harry could have pulled the mistletoe down any year – and never had. Not until he was single. George leant his head back against the hallway wall. It didn't make sense… Well, not unless Harry only wanted Malfoy to kiss him when it was safe. When he had a boyfriend in tow and had a reason to stop things going further.
That – Well, fuck, that changed everything. Up until this Christmas, Harry had been hedging his bets. Not trying to keep a spare, exactly, George didn't think. But keeping Malfoy in reserve. Making sure that Malfoy had enough reason to stick around without offering any promises – without offering any return.
Everything made sense around that theory. Harry and Malfoy sitting in a dingy alley after the final battle, and Harry saying, "And now I'm dating Terry," voice soft with defeat, as though he'd be dating Malfoy if that option was available. Harry sitting by Malfoy's bed, stroking soothing fingers down his back, like he never wanted to be anywhere else. Harry agreeing to any trip – so long as Malfoy went.
A million false promises that kept Malfoy by Harry's side. No – not even promises. Malfoy couldn't reproach Harry for any of it. The actions implied feelings, without making vows.
And – well, it had to be admitted, George had never seen Harry kiss Callum with such searing passion as he did when Callum and Malfoy were stuck in that doorway. And what did that mean? That whole thing had been a show for Malfoy? A reminder, maybe? That Callum was real, but Malfoy was – what? A game?
And now – tonight – Harry had asked Malfoy along. Why? What was different about tonight? Especially since Harry had pulled the mistletoe down finally, presumably breaking off his attempt at keeping Malfoy on the side. Presumably deciding that Malfoy wasn't worth the effort.
Shaking his head, George put his glass on a nearby table and headed on to the dance floor. Mill curled a hand around his neck and pulled him in to dance with her when he got close enough. "Here I was thinking you'd sulk for at least three drinks."
"Yet here I am, one drink in. You're losing your touch, old girl."
She snorted at him.
He leaned into her. "I think I've figured it out now anyway."
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Really? After I gave away pretty much the whole thing?"
George tapped the tip of her nose with his forefinger. "After I tricked you into giving it away, yes. Methods are not relevant; only results."
She laughed at him, but that was pretty much her motto, so she didn't contradict him. "What have you found then?"
George explained as they danced, head bent to hers so that she could hear above the music.
She nodded occasionally and finally shrugged with a wry smile. "I guess that about sums it up."
"Why not tell me?" asked George. "I mean it's not like it was some huge secret you got to keep for yourself. Everyone else knew, so why didn't you mention it?"
"Why didn't you know?" asked Mill.
"Well…" George frowned. It was odd that he hadn't picked up on much of anything. Once he realised something was going on, he'd been able to remember things that related, but he hadn't put them together before. "It wasn't any of my business."
Mill laughed and George remembered that pushing into other people's business was one of his favourite pastimes.
"I guess I figured Harry deserved some space. After the war and all."
"And Malfoy?"
There wasn't much George could say about that. He and Malfoy were close. But Malfoy never talked about his feelings. You had to guess at them. And George hadn't guessed anything about Harry. "I don't know." He tilted his head, studying Mill with narrowed eyes. "Why are you asking? Why do you think I didn't notice it?"
She shook her head, mouth quirking in that way that meant she still knew something that he didn't.
"I would have figured it out at Hogwarts," said George. "I figured out the game you were playing."
She tilted her head in agreement.
"Have I lost my touch that much?"
Laughing, she leaned closer. "Maybe misplaced it."
He frowned at that. Tried to make sense of it and failed. "How so?"
Mill pressed a kiss into George's palm. "You really don't know how much the war affected you, do you?"
"What?" George pulled his hand away, frowning at her. "How much alcohol have you had?"
She laughed at him. "Not nearly enough. We should have more."
That made him smile, but he was wary as he leant back into her. "The war didn't have much effect on me." A shudder passed through his shoulders as images of the dead pressed in on him. "Nothing all that bad happened to me."
She smiled, amused and sad all at once. "That's the whole problem, though, isn't it? You're so convinced that others had a worse time of it that you refused to let yourself be affected."
George rubbed a hand through his hair. Had he? So many of the events after the war were a blur. That was just – It had been such an awful time, why would he want to remember it? "You never said anything."
She shrugged as though there had been nothing to say. "I figured you'd get better. I wouldn't be dating you if I thought you were weak."
Very Slytherin. To pretend that patience was indifference. Because she had been patient. Not pushing him to recover. Not forcing him to see anything he wasn't ready for. She'd spent every day since the war teasing him almost incessantly, taking every opportunity that arose. As though reminding him that one day humour would be his world again.
"I haven't pranked anyone since before the final battle." That was kind of a shock. George couldn't remember a time before pranks. "You've been doing all of them."
"And I judge you for that," said Mill. "I really do."
George grinned at her. "Well, my pranks were always the best. I guess I had to give you some time to practice."
She snorted and punched him in the shoulder. "You wish."
"This Potter thing then. Does he love Malfoy? Or just want him?"
Sighing, Mill ran her palm down George's lapel. "No one knows. But he pulled the mistletoe down." She lifted her shoulders. "So, no. I guess Malfoy was a fun game while Harry had a boyfriend. But I doubt he was ever going to sully his reputation with the son of a Death Eater."
George's shoulders tightened. He hadn't thought of Malfoy like that for years. Not since he found out that Malfoy liked Harry. The rest of the wizarding world might still think in those terms – but Harry?
"No." He shook his head. "You're wrong." He chewed his lip, considering the past few days. "I don't know what's happening, but Harry invited Malfoy along tonight. And he's never invited Malfoy to anything. So, there must be something…" He broke off when he saw the shocked look on Mill's face.
"He did what?" Her mouth drew tight, eyes sharp.
George frowned. "What? That's a good sign, right?"
Mill shook her head, already looking around the dance floor – probably searching for Malfoy. "I don't know. I don't think so. He… If Harry wanted Malfoy suddenly; if – He'd leave the mistletoe up. Why would he invite him here?"
George got her meaning. Harry had decided to give up on Malfoy – so he'd pulled the mistletoe down. So why invite him out especially?
"The dragon," said Mill, eyes widening in understanding. "It doesn't matter that he decided he didn't want Malfoy. He still couldn't stay away."
George shook away the memory of Harry rubbing soothing circles against Malfoy's back after the dragon attack – of the way his voice lowered to a rough murmur as he tried to calm Malfoy. He was being nice. It didn't have to mean anything. "We went to ice cream," he protested. "Harry didn't necessarily come for Malfoy."
Mill gave him a flat look. "What? Just like Potter doesn't necessarily come to your family Christmas for Malfoy?"
"What?" George stared at her. "No – I mean, he comes to see us." At Mill's look of disappointed scorn, George scratched his head. "Right?"
Mill rolled her eyes at him, like he'd sunk to even deeper depths of stupidity. "You know that Callum and Terry Boot have great big families who literally begged Harry to go to their Christmases, right? But he came to the Burrow every time. I mean, this might come as a shock, but you guys aren't that interesting."
Ron had said the same thing, George realised, he just hadn't understood what Ron had meant at the time. That it wasn't as though Harry had nowhere else to go for Christmas. He chose to stay at the Burrow. For the familiarity, George had thought. But Ron had meant that it was for Malfoy.
"Okay." Mill stepped back. "We need to get Malfoy out of here."
"Why?" George frowned. He had no idea what she thought was happening, but it had to be something ominous, considering how she was reacting. "I mean, it's odd that Harry invited him along, sure, but what harm could it do?"
"I don't know. But until we have a better idea of Potter's motives, I think removing Malfoy from the situation is the best option."
"What situation?"
Mill and George swivelled around to find Malfoy scowling at them over a green alcoholic concoction.
He stamped his foot when neither of them answered. "What situation and why am I being removed?"
"Well," said George. He glanced to Mill for help. The thing about Slytherins was that you couldn't tell them that something was going down. It tended to make them confrontational. "We think that you should go home."
Malfoy's chin tilted up. "Why?"
Mill's mouth set, but she evidently realised that there wasn't really a lie to cover this. "You won't like the answer to that."
Malfoy sniffed as though that were the least of his concerns. "I don't like any part of this conversation so…" He broke off suddenly, chin dropping and mouth twisting as though something had just occurred to him. "Is this because Potter invited me? Is it something bad?"
"No," said George quickly. Because, really, how could it be? Mill wasn't the most trusting person in the world, but even she shouldn't be able to make something sinister out of a simple request.
"You think," Malfoy's voice was very cold, eyes harder than George had seen them in years, "I suppose, that Potter wanted to be rid of me – and that's why he pulled the mistletoe down."
Mill shrugged agreement. And George couldn't really dispute that conclusion.
"I guess," said Malfoy, voice still edged with that icy sharpness, "you think that Potter realised that the mistletoe wasn't enough when he came to Florean Fortescue's with us – and dealt with me after that dragon?"
Again a shrug from Mill as she watched Malfoy piece her suspicions together. Her face was unreadable, as though she was coolly detached from the emotions of the situation and only interested in the technicalities of it.
"Hm." Malfoy drummed his fingers against the side of his glass before taking a sip. "Perhaps you imagine that Potter realised he would have to take more serious measures to cut me from his life?"
"I did," agreed Mill.
"That perhaps," Malfoy's voice had not lost its frosty sheen for this whole conversation, but it wavered now, a shadow passing over his eyes as though he was afraid to keep going down this path. His mouth drew tight and with a slight shake of his shoulders, he continued. "He would invite me to his ex's party and… and…"
"Yes." Mill dusted off the shoulders of her dress. "I imagined that he would invite you to his ex's party and shatter you completely. Because if he can't stay away from you, why not make you stay away from him?"
That – Merlin, that wasn't something George would have thought of in a million lifetimes. It was too scheming – too Slytherin. Not something that George could imagine Harry doing.
Malfoy's mouth crumpled. He lifted the glass to his lips and drew a long sip to cover it. "Hm," he said again, contemplative – with barely a tremor to his tone. "An interesting theory."
"Draco." Mill's tone was sharp – the way it got when she cared so much that it embarrassed her. "Perhaps it's time to let him go."
Malfoy nodded slowly, studying the far wall.
"You should go home," said Mill.
Malfoy turned to look at her, face clearing. "Or." He swirled the meagre contents of his glass, a grin lighting his eyes. "I could let this play out." His voice was as bright and fragile as the glass baubles hanging on the Christmas tree.
George closed his eyes. He couldn't imagine Harry hurting Malfoy publicly – not so badly that Malfoy never wanted to see him again. But he wasn't so sure of Harry that he would recommend Malfoy chance it. "Malfoy, go home. If Harry wants to be done with you, he can tell you so himself – in private. I'll talk to him."
"Don't bother." Malfoy downed the last of his drink and pressed the glass into George's hand. "If this is how we have this out, this is how we have it out." He turned on his heel and headed for the next room.
"Uh…" George looked down at the empty glass and then across to Mill. "So, we let it sort itself out, do we?"
She smiled, eyes cool. "Obviously. We're not babysitters, Weasley."
He waited a beat before giving a huff of annoyance. "Jesus, Mill! He's one of your best friends!"
Her smile widened. "Perhaps you're right. This could be exceptionally entertaining."
George sighed, but Slytherins feigning indifference was kind of par for the course, so he didn't protest. Instead he turned to follow Malfoy.
He reached the doorway to the next room and stopped, pulling himself to full height to look around. The room was too full; people jostling him as they sidled past, groups talking or clamouring for drink refills. Usually it was impossible to miss the bright blond of Malfoy's hair, but right now it was lost in the blur of colour.
He half turned to ask Mill whether she could see him. She was standing beside him, fingers tapping against the stem of her glass, her face frozen in a cold mask.
"What?" George followed her gaze.
Across the room, by the full-length French doors that led to the balcony, he saw a flash of blond. Narrowed in on it before realising that it was the wrong blond – more gold than bone. Callum. Standing under strings of Christmas lights with his arms wrapped tightly around Harry Potter. Jesus.
"Shocking." Mill took a deep sip from her glass. "I'm right yet again." The fingers tapping her glass upped their tempo, until they sounded like a frantic drumroll. "Malfoy should really start listening to me." She fully turned on her heel and strode away.
