AN INVITATION TO DANCE
"What?" Malfoy is still just as stunned, and not only has he not put his wand away, but he is now wielding it even harder.
Harry stalls, though he has to use all his willpower to stop the spell from working. Behind him, Ron groans painfully, and Hermione snorts, annoyed, and it makes him lose what little control he has. "Would you like to go to the ball with me?"
"Are you taking the piss, Potter?" Malfoy's expression of disbelief is very similar to the one Harry himself would have worn had the situation been reversed. Suddenly, all those serious silences between them, all those months in which, instead of mocking or insulting each other, they've pressed their lips together and nodded, they've lost all meaning.
"No, I swear. I—" Harry manages to say, free at last from the influence of the concoction now that it has done its work. However, the strain and effort he has been applying to resist the influx of the twins' item has left him drained and drained of energy. His knees are shaking and his face is red with embarrassment. All around him, everyone is staring at him with surprise and attention, and he's convinced that the whole of the Great Hall is a buzz with his question spreading from mouth to mouth and soon to be the talk of the school. "Oh, shit."
"It's not what it looks like," explains Hermione, ever loyal, speaking quickly. Ron steps forward as well, flanking her and ready to support her friend.
"Potter seems to be asking me to go to the ball with him— Granger," says Malfoy mumbling disdainfully. Harry tries to thank him with his eyes for using his friend's surname instead of offending her, though he can't remember the last time something like this happened to make Malfoy use his worst insults.
"Yes," Harry replies, glad to have regained control of his body and voice, "I mean, no! It's a joke that—" Malfoy raises his eyebrow and his lips pucker again in a sneer. He grips his wand tighter and Hermione and Ron rush to mimic him, prompting a succession of more or less disguised wands pointed at them from the Slytherin table. Harry, trying to get a modicum of control over the situation, raises both hands in peace, showing that he is neither wand-wielding nor willing to assault Malfoy, but he can't think how to explain himself without making it worse.
"Look, Malfoy. My brothers are assholes and they were trying to play a joke on Harry." Relieved, Harry sighs. It seems that he and Ron are still on the same page, because his friend seems to have come to the same conclusion that he doesn't want to resume the war with Malfoy. Although the explanation isn't technically true. Or it is, if you consider the background and purpose of most of the products the twins make. "He drank an experimental potion that made him do this, it's not something he chose."
That, if Fred and George's concoction really works as they say it does, is not technically true either, but Harry supposes it's a much better idea than admitting that Draco Malfoy might be at the top of a hypothetical list of people to ask to a Christmas ball.
"So it's your brothers who are making fun of me?" Malfoy's voice still sounds icy, but Harry notices that he has lowered his wand slightly. There is still suspicion in his eyes and his friends are just as alert as they were a few seconds ago, but Harry gets the impression that he doesn't want to break this sort of truce either.
For the first time since he's stood in front of the Slytherin table, he thinks it might work. If neither he, Ron, nor Malfoy are willing to fight, they won't. And Hermione is the most judicious of them all, so she won't either. And Parkinson, as well as Crabbe and Goyle and the rest of Malfoy's friends, are having the good sense not to make the situation worse. In fact, Harry is willing to swear that he sees more curiosity than hostility in the dark-haired girl's gaze. And, in the case of Greengrass, Nott and Zabini, who are whispering amongst themselves, their chatter sounds more like gossip than a plan of attack.
"Actually, they meant to make fun of me. I think," says Harry, glancing over at the Gryffindor table. His intuition hasn't failed him, and there are the twins, leaning back on the bench a little to see what's going on clearly, and gesturing encouragement to Harry as they smile as if they've declared a holiday.
"Apparently, the potion forces the drinker to ask the person who is highest on his or her 'candidate list' to the ball."
"Oh, earth, swallow me." Harry groans, devastated, as he listens to Hermione. He can even make out the inverted commas in her tone. Her friend seems to realise that his eagerness to explain things didactically has betrayed him and made the situation worse, causing Malfoy to narrow his eyes even more, his gaze so dark that it looks black instead of grey.
"It's silly, though. He took it yesterday, if it worked properly, it should have taken effect much sooner, there must be some mistake. No one should be taking experimental potions," adds Hermione, speaking at full speed. Besides, who has a 'list of people to go to a ball with'?"
"I have it," says Malfoy caustically, then purses his lips into a thin line. "But Potter's certainly not at the top of it. Not even remotely."
"Thank goodness," sighs Harry, who thinks the taunt is fair and finds himself unable to hit back, as it would make him look like a small child trying to hide the evidence. "This— I really didn't mean to tease, and I didn't mean to— This— Malfoy—" Stammering, Harry scratches the back of his neck, his hair standing on end even more than it already is, not knowing what else to say to keep from screwing up, though it doesn't look like Malfoy is going to attack or insult him if he hasn't already. "I'm— I'm sorry, okay?"
Unconsciously, Harry has gone from ruffling his hair to holding out his hand, which Malfoy looks at in cautious surprise. When he realises what he is doing, Harry is about to withdraw it but, believing that this would look much worse and could be taken as hostile, he swallows and leaves it outstretched. However, after looking at it for several seconds, Malfoy shakes his head.
"Apologies accepted," says Malfoy, however, putting his wand away. Harry, embarrassed and a little angry that the boy hasn't shaken his hand, hides both fists, clenched, in the pockets of his robes. "Anything else, Potter? Ask me to marry you, perhaps, with some other flimsy excuse?"
"Malfoy—" Harry mutters in a warning tone. For the first time since he's known him, however, Malfoy smiles for a moment, and it's not with malice or mockery. Well, yes, there is a hint of mockery in the way the corner of his upper lip lifts, but there is no disdain or contempt. And, being honest with himself, it's another fair taunt.
"You can't blame a man for taking his chances," replies Malfoy, turning back to the table and ignoring Harry, who strides out of the Great Hall, trying not to think about the laughter rising from the Slytherin table, which probably has something to do with him and the stupid effect of the twins' concoction.
"He's an asshole," says Harry, mumbling, when they are far enough away that no one can hear them. Hermione guiltily holds out her rucksack, which Harry accepts with a curt 'thank you'.
"To be fair, you didn't shake his hand at the time either," says Hermione sharply. Harry rolls his eyes and snorts.
"Think it could have been worse," Ron whistles, leaning against the wall in thought. "How are you feeling?"
"Well, I guess," says Harry, running his hand over his face and rubbing his eyes wearily. "I just— I didn't want to screw it up."
"I understand. Neither do I," Ron nods, pursing his lips.
"You've noticed it too, then," says Harry, with a sigh.
"What do you like about Malfoy? I won't deny that it's weird and that I'm not very happy that my best friend—"
"No!" Hermione shrieks at them, looking around, and Harry lowers his voice, feeling worse with every passing second. "I meant that ever since the Dementor at the Quidditch match last term, I haven't— Wait, why would you think I like Malfoy?"
"Because he's the person at the top of your list to go to the ball," say Hermione and Ron at the same time.
"For God's sake, you sound like Fred and George, talking at the same time," says Harry, annoyed at what they said rather than how they said it. "Besides, the concoction didn't work."
"I'd say so." Hermione looks at him with a look of circumstance and shrugs. "Although it's not right that Fred and George are using their gag item experiments on people and some prefect should stop them."
"We should focus on the fact that Harry has asked Malfoy to the ball."
"You're right," says Hermione with a nod.
"Oh, God. I've done it, haven't I?" His friends, pursing their lips in an unhappy smile, nod again. "I think this is a record-breaker. Delacour and Chang's is nothing."
"I agree."
"Ron!" says Hermione, shocked.
"He's right." For the first time since the whole thing started, Ron smiles for real, holding back a laugh. "Merlin, you asked Malfoy to go to the ball with you, man." Moaning again, his face red with embarrassment, Harry closes his eyes, trying to erase the scene from his memory.
