Harry hated his life sometimes.
He didn't mean to sound ungrateful. He was ecstatic he'd survived a war with minimal physical scars and only deep-rooted mental ones, he was pleased with how after years of living with nothing at the Dursleys' he now had the money and means to live comfortably, he was appreciative he had a stable job with the aurors lined up, and he was happy that he had such close friends, an adoptive family, and a wonderful loving girlfriend. What he hated was that his life was always on show.
The sudden pop of a cork flying out a champagne bottle and the raucous cheers of what appeared to be half the ministry drowned out his long-suffering sigh. Some stranger who Harry vaguely recognised as a member of the wizengamot who had been at his trial in 5th year had flung his arm around his shoulder, and the chaser for the Holyhead Harpies was practically hanging off his arm, whispering what she obviously thought were enticing and flirty comments into his ear but which sounded filthy and revolting to Harry. There were numerous hands clapping him on the back or thumping his shoulder or punching his arm playfully and many nameless faces talking at him about the same dull topics with the same plain words, so much so that he'd zoned out and let them all flow into one several times.
Ginny had been stolen away by the Captain of the Holyhead Harpies, hopefully to apologise for her chaser's 'seduction' of Ginny's boyfriend. Luna was stood near a flower arrangement by the double doors, whispering to the plants with a good-looking young man watching her with wide, awestruck eyes. Seamus and Dean were snogging in a corner that also hosted many other couples making out like they weren't at a public function. Neville was surrounded by fans as he recounted his heroic tales – or more likely, he was giving them comprehensive instructions on how to properly harvest valerian sprigs. Ron had strolled away without even a goodbye the moment he saw the buffet table and Hermione had only lasted half an hour more before she'd disappeared into the crowd. A quick glance over the heads in front of him and around the room showed her nodding with a frown on her face as a stuffy-but-important-looking witch spoke to her, probably about something Harry wouldn't understand.
Everyone was enjoying themselves, apart from him. Which was ironic as it was his birthday.
Harry could understand everyone's perspective; it was the first of his birthdays after the war and they wanted to celebrate. Celebrate him, celebrate his victory, celebrate his life, celebrate that it was over. He was 'a beacon of hope and triumph', as Hermione had put it, and thus people would want to be around him and express their gratitude, and likely always would. To them, every time they looked at him they saw peace and remembered what the world was like before and, more importantly, what it could've been like if he'd failed.
That didn't bode well for Harry's future. He wanted a quiet, peaceful, relaxing life after the shit he'd been through, and Hermione's speech basically confirmed he'd never get it.
He'd wanted that for his birthday too – to have a small gathering at the Burrow with all his closest friends, eating their fill of Molly's cooking and playing games and talking about anything that wasn't war related. Not only would he enjoy himself, but it would also be good for everyone else. Molly could get distracted with entertaining and forget for a moment she only had six children now, Arthur's eyes wouldn't look so haunted, George wouldn't look like his soul had been sucked out, Percy wouldn't be standing around awkwardly like he didn't know what to do, Charlie wouldn't look like he wanted to run for the hills, and Bill and Fleur wouldn't hold each other so tightly, like they'd be ripped away from each other any second.
And Harry could forget too. Forget what he'd lost, all the friends who couldn't celebrate with him, and instead focus on what he still had.
At least everyone else was suitably distracted tonight, it just wasn't in the cosy, comfortable way he'd hoped, and it didn't include him. Instead of his quiet little evening, it had turned into a loud circus full of people he didn't know and didn't care too.
Harry sighed again and scanned the crowd, hoping he'd find someone he knew who wasn't engaged in something interesting that he'd be interrupting and wondering if people would notice if he disappeared. Perhaps he could duck out before the speeches started or creep over to the function room's side door that had nobody guarding it or make like he was going to see Luna and jump out the window.
He did a double take when his eyes landed on a head of familiar white-blonde hair, which stood out from the rest of the crowd like a Lumos in a dark room. Harry almost laughed; of course he was drawn to Malfoy, even in a crowded room he managed to grab Harry's attention. It shouldn't have been surprising, after seven years of always being aware of where he was and what he was doing, seeking him out – if only for a fight or to confirm his suspicions -, and committing his appearance, facial expressions, and voice to memory for survival purposes, Harry had developed a sixth sense for the man and practically had a Malfoy radar. He'd always watched Malfoy.
Now Malfoy was watching him.
Harry's eyes met Malfoy's clear grey ones. Malfoy wasn't smiling but he didn't look hostile either; the edges of his mouth were soft and his face relaxed as he observed Harry quietly. It made Harry a little uncomfortable, not because he could detect any malicious intent, but because the sheer intensity in that gaze. It was probing, like Malfoy was searching for something, and felt like Malfoy was stripping Harry down to his bare soul and dissecting him. The ex-Slytherin had done that in school too, but not with the same intent.
Harry distantly wondered how long Malfoy had been watching him and if anyone else had noticed.
Malfoy seemed to find what he was looking for as he suddenly cocked his head to the side and his lips quirked up in a playful smirk. There was a challenge dancing in those grey eyes now, beckoning Harry to come closer and daring him to play with him.
Harry was so desperate he seriously considered it. Ron would be screaming at him that it was another dastardly trap and how a leopard couldn't change its spots, and Hermione might possibly be hurt that he'd go to a once-enemy rather than his friends. But it was just that: Malfoy wasn't their enemy anymore, had barely been one before, and Malfoy matched his criteria of someone he knew not currently engaged. Plus, he was hardly boring. He'd been quiet since the war, sure, but Harry doubted Malfoy knew how to be dull. He always managed to make Harry feel things and trigger a response and, yes, excited him even if they weren't positive interactions. There was also a part of Harry that was curious. He wanted to know what Malfoy had been up to, how he was adjusting to a post-Voldemort world where most of his allies were dead and his reputation was shot. Considering he was at a Ministry party and Malfoy had a natural ability to adapt, Harry doubted he was doing badly and found himself pleased about that.
Malfoy raised a glass to Harry in a silent toast, the amber liquid reflecting an orange light onto his face, and raised an eyebrow. It was an expression Harry was well-acquainted with, a tamer version of the expression on his face whenever Malfoy had said something to anger him in school, waiting to see what Harry's reaction would be and hoping it would be explosive. It was the look that demanded Harry do something, pay attention to him, but also one that said Malfoy didn't think Harry would act on his feelings. Now it was the same thing: Malfoy was challenging him to react to him, but didn't think he had the courage too.
Harry had never backed down from a Malfoy Challenge, and he didn't intend to start now.
Just as Harry was stepping forward to approach Malfoy, someone jerked Harry's arm, yanking his attention away from the blonde and forcing him to focus on them.
Harry blinked and was caught up in the rambling speech of what he thought was an auror, a man who would be training him soon, as he gushed about the honour of working with the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry tried to tug himself free from the man's grip but failed, condemning himself to listening to the unwanted flattery as the other option was offending a future colleague.
When he looked back, Malfoy was gone.