Three days later Harry found himself standing in front of the mirror, all dressed in his ridiculous party outfit, getting his hair pulled this way and that by a nervous Draco while Molly stood in the doorway holding Teddy and commentating.
"Are you sure you want to part his hair there, Draco dear? He looks a bit—"
"I know what I'm doing," Draco said absently, interrupting what Harry was sure was about to be a gently phrased insult to his hairline. "You don't get as far in life as I have without knowing how to properly style hair."
"And how far is that?" Harry asked, directly followed by a wince as Draco tugged his hair sharply at the back of his neck.
"Hush, or I'll let you go to the party looking like Severus Snape."
Stifling a giggle with little success, Molly opined, "Surely his hair's not that long yet. Though you do look as though you could use a hair cut rather soon, Harry; it's almost to your collar."
"I like my hair, thanks," Harry grumbled and winced once again as Draco ran the sharp-toothed comb through his hair some more. "Except right now… I'd rather go bald than let you do this in the future."
"You'll be thanking me when nobody comments on your usual bed-head look," Draco fired back with more passion than Harry believed should be directed towards styling hair. "Alright," he said as he let his hands fall to his hips, his eyes scrutinising every possible hair out of place. "I believe I'm finished. Now don't touch your hair, or do that thing you do where you mess it all up running your hands through it."
"Can I look now?" Harry asked, curious despite his lack of appreciation for having his hair ripped all over the place. At Draco's nod Harry turned around to face the mirror, which thankfully didn't talk or it probably would've given a wolf-whistle fit to embarrass him for the remainder of the evening.
"What do you think?" Draco wondered, and Harry would've had to be deaf not to hear the anxiety in his question.
Pausing to take in the chosen style, Harry looked over his rearranged curls with slight awe. He'd never seen his hair look so… orderly. Draco had brushed his hair back from his forehead, exposing his lightning bolt scar, but surprisingly Harry didn't mind. His dark curls framed his face in a way that sharpened his jaw and made his eyes look less tired. He looked his age, for once, instead of five years— at least— older.
"You're not saying anything…" As Draco's shoulders slump downward Harry realised he'd stayed silent too long.
"I love it, it looks really great," he assured his dejected looking boyfriend-party-date. "I might just let you do this again, actually."
"You look so handsome, Harry!" Molly cheered. "Look, Teddy! Look at your godfather, isn't he just dashing?" Teddy blew a spit bubble and kicked his legs against Molly's stomach, not having much of an opinion at all. "Now both of you go, you'll be late if you dilly-dally any longer."
Shooing both Harry and Draco out of the room, Molly then retreated to the nursery with Teddy. The two men went down the stairs to the kitchen and before Harry could even attempt to grab a handful of Floo powder Draco slapped his hand away from the jar.
"What was that for?" Harry complained, rubbing the back of his hand as if it actually hurt.
"On second thought, we shouldn't Floo. We'll ruin our outfits and that will absolutely not make for a grand entrance." Harry rolled his eyes.
"At first you didn't even want to go and now you're talking about grand entrances?" But he followed Draco back up the stairs toward the front door anyway.
As they came to a sickening halt outside of the Ministry, Harry realised it was probably a good thing they did not Floo after all. There was an invitation checker at the doors, which made Harry panic at the thought they he may have left theirs at home.
"Before you even ask, yes I did bring the invitation," Draco said in a chiding voice. "It's a wonder you ever kept anything organised without me around."
Refusing to respond to the half-arsed insult, Harry put his arm through Draco's offered one and together they moved to the back of the long line of guests. He hadn't expected so many people to show up, but then again he hadn't given it much thought. The Ministry had countless departments and probably three times as many employees at the very least.
"Harry," Draco started, but then stopped.
"What's wrong? You're not getting cold feet now, are you? We're already—"
"No, I just thought I saw… someone. It's nothing." Harry's brows tilted toward the centre of his forehead, but he didn't ask any further questions.
"Look! It's Neville and… Some bloke? I didn't know Neville liked blokes." Draco's scoff came right beside Harry's ear.
"Really, you never considered that a possibility? His Hogwarts girlfriend track record was practically nonexistent." Before Harry could respond there's a shout from behind him.
"Harry! Harry Potter!" Turning around, Harry spotted several reporters, all carrying cameras of varying size.
"And so it begins," Draco muttered.
"Can we get a picture?" One of the reporters, a small man who painfully reminded Harry of Colin Creevey, asked. "Only I wasn't expecting you to be here today and this would really help jumpstart my career as a reporter."
"I— erm… I suppose so," Harry answered, unable to say no to the man.
"Excellent! Just act naturally, and if you could step a bit closer to Mr. Malfoy there…" He trailed off as he gazed at them through the camera, one eye squinched closed. "Perfect! Smile, if you would." Harry smiled and hoped he didn't look too uncomfortable as the flash went off and a burst of purple smoke came billowing from the camera. "Just great, thank you so much, Mr. Potter. Er… could I ask you a few questions, please?"
"You got your picture, you slimy bastard, now move along!" another reporter shouted as he tried to shove the Colin look-alike out of the way.
"Excuse me, but I'll only be taking questions from this man here," Harry said, conjuring what authority he could. "I don't take questions from rude reporters, thank you." The rest of you can bugger off, he nearly added aloud before he remembered himself.
"Nicely done," Draco commented quietly at his side.
"Didn't want a sodding interview with you anyhow," the rude reporter grumbled as he stalked away. The other one glanced back and forth between Harry and the Colin look-alike, but rather than fighting for her chance at an interview simply walked away as well.
"Now that's taken care of, what questions can I answer for you?" Harry asked calmly, hoping the reporter would take it easy on him.
Thankfully, the reporter did go easy on Harry and Draco both, along with making the long wait for the line to move more bearable. He asked questions ranging from how the two of them were planning to spend Christmas, who they hoped to meet at the party, to how long they'd been together and if they were happy as a couple. Over all, Harry found that he didn't mind the reporter at all and appreciated that his questions were simple to answer and not overly personal.
"What was your name?" Harry asked once the questioning was complete and another photo was taken.
"Cole Camberwell, sir, pleasure to make your acquaintance." Of fucking course, Harry thought, but smiled instead of grimacing and shook the man's hand. It was so close to Colin Creevey that Harry felt his rib cage tighten in response.
"Thanks, you too."
"And you, Mr. Malfoy, thank you for allowing me to interview you," Cole said as he shook Draco's hand excitedly as well. "I really appreciate this, you have no idea."
"My pleasure," Draco responded in his usual suave manner.
After Cole wandered off, Harry was left with a sense of terrible nostalgia that didn't leave him until he and Draco were already being ushered into the Ministry ballroom. There, he was unable to feel anything other than surprise and incredulity at how beautiful it was inside, with the gold and silver sparkling baubles hanging from the ceiling, the fairy lights— which Harry was pretty sure were real fairies strung into lines— hung around the perimeters of the room, the buffet of food which took up one entire side of the ballroom, and the giant ice sculpture of a pegasus standing in the middle of it all.
"Father always said Ministry parties were unbelievable… I suppose he was right," Draco murmured. Suddenly a bout of rage took over Harry's senses as he realised how much money all of this must have cost.
"They can afford this, but they can't afford to give Arthur a raise more than once every five years?" he complained loudly.
"Harry, time and place," Draco hedged, taking Harry's hand in his. "This is neither and people are looking." Glancing around him, Harry saw that Draco wasn't kidding. Everyone within a two meter radius was staring at Harry either in irritation or while hiding sniggers.
"Sorry, it's just… unfair," he said more quietly. Draco squeezed his hand once and began pulling him towards the other side of the room where people weren't whispering about them. "It is really pretty in here, though, regardless of the cost."
"In all reality, this probably didn't cost all that much to set up. The food can be duplicated, the baubles are probably reused every year, and the ice sculpture was probably done with magic. The fairies are probably volunteers, or they're doing this for a trade of some sort," Draco explained logically. Harry nodded his head, conceding that Draco was probably right. "So you can calm down, please. We'll most likely be embarrassed enough by the time the night's over without you making a fuss about Weasley senior's paycheck."
"True," Harry breathed, feeling ashamed of himself for shouting in the first place. "Look, there's Neville again! We should go say hello to him before we lose him in the crowd."
Without bothering to wait for Draco's response, Harry tugged Draco along towards the tall man standing next to… the same man from earlier, who looked incredibly familiar to Harry. It felt strange for Harry, seeing Neville again after so long. The last time they'd spoken in person was directly after the battle and Neville had been looking worse for the wear, then.
"Hey! Neville!" Harry waited for Neville to turn around before being pulled into a strong embrace and getting several almost painful slaps to the back.
"Harry! It's been ages! How are you?" Neville released him from the hug and grinned from ear to ear, but his smile faltered when his eyes fell on Draco. "Oh… M-Malfoy."
"Yes, Malfoy," Draco said with an exasperated sigh. "Hi, Longbottom, how are you?" His extended hand went unnoticed as Neville was staring at Draco's face with obvious unease and fear.
"It's alright, Neville, he's not going to tease you like he used to," Harry said softly, hoping it would calm his friend down a bit.
"Right," Neville chuckled strangely. "Er, this is my boyfriend Brutus." The man beside Neville stepped forward and Harry noticed for the first time that this is one of the men who beat Draco up in the alley all those months ago.
"Wait," Draco whispered. Harry glanced over and saw that his eyes had narrowed down to dangerous slits. "I know you."
"Y-you two know each other?" Neville stuttered, surprised.
"Oh, it's that Death Eater scum everyone seems to be so fascinated with right now," Brutus laughed roughly, gaining a look of further confusion from Neville. Apparently kind introductions were not to be had.
"Don't talk to him like that," Harry nearly growled, startling himself as much as Draco beside him. "He's not a Death Eater."
"Really? That's interesting, because he's registered as one." If he laughs like that one more time…
"What is going on?" Neville interrupted Harry's next thought, glancing quickly between his boyfriend and friend. "You both seem to know Brutus, but I'm sure I've never heard anything about any of you meeting."
"He beat the shi—"
"It's not important," Draco interrupted, squeezing Harry's hand until it began to hurt. Though he didn't like having his blood circulation cut off, he also didn't want to take his hand out of Draco's in case he was unknowingly providing support. "We just know each other."
"No, Draco, I'm not keeping quiet about this," Harry protested firmly. "Neville deserves to know what happened in case it means Brutus isn't fit to be his boyfriend, and because you shouldn't have to pretend you weren't wronged by him. I met Brutus in Diagon Alley while he was beating the shite out of Draco."
"W-what? No, you must be mistaken, he'd never do something like that, even if…" As Neville trailed off, Harry could feel his jaw tighten in aggravation.
"Even if it was a Death Eater?" Draco supplied quietly, finishing Harry's thought properly.
"I'm not mistaken. I don't think I'll ever forget what happened because that was the start of Draco and I finally getting to know each other. He could've been killed by Brutus and his friends that day. He had several ribs broken, as well as his nose. There was blood everywhere." He felt guilty for it, but when Neville's eyes widened as he was told what happened satisfaction pooled in Harry's chest. Strangely, Brutus hadn't said anything at all during his explanation. Maybe he's proud of what he did.
"Brutus, is this true?" Brutus shifted uncomfortably under Neville's imploring gaze.
"I— well…" He gave an inappropriate and high-pitched chuckle.
"He's telling the truth, isn't he?" Neville seemed more angry than Harry had seen him since… well, since more unpleasant times.
"I wouldn't have done it if I'd know— that is, I wouldn't have—"
"Wouldn't have what?" Harry asked, fuming by this point. "Wouldn't have come out with it if I hadn't called you on your shit? Wouldn't have beat Draco up had you known that he'd run into you again in the future?"
"I-I… I'm sorry," Brutus whispered, rubbing his face with a calloused hand.
"You fucking should be," Harry insisted, bewildered at the change taking place in the man before him. First he'd stayed completely silent with a look of pure smugness on his face, then he'd laughed, and now he wanted to apologise, as though any of them was willing to forgive him. "Maybe you should think before you attack people in the streets. And what sort of person assaults another person three to one?"
"Harry, it's fine," Draco said, resting a calming hand on Harry's shoulder. "People are listening."
"Let them listen! I don't care, he fucking broke your bones and would've kept going if nobody had stepped in! I want them to hear what this slimy horse wanker did to you!" Looking around him, however, Harry noticed that there was a large gathering of people conveniently standing near them. Most of them were pretending not to be listening or watching, but Harry saw one dark haired woman staring directly at him. As Harry caught her eyes, she hurriedly looked away and pretended to clean her gold spectacles on her gown.
"I broke your nose in sixth year," Draco pointed out, still speaking slowly and softly and bringing Harry back to the matter at hand.
"That—" Harry paused, trying his best to think of a counter-argument. "That was a while ago. You were just a kid."
"That was only two years ago, Harry. Please, just let this go. I'm uncomfortable and I'm sure Neville— er, Longbottom— is too." Harry desperately wanted to say more, but they were drawing a crowd and Harry didn't think there was much left to say that wouldn't cost him Draco's good mood for the remainder of the evening.
"Fine, but this isn't over," Harry directed towards Brutus. "Neville, I'm really sorry you were dragged into all this."
"Yeah, er… Good to see you, I guess. Sorry about… him." Neville seemed an odd mixture of awkward and furious, and Harry thought it best that he and Draco quickly depart the scene for the good of all parties involved. Grabbing Draco's hand and giving it a small squeeze, he searched the assembly for some sort of distraction, finding a spot in the line of people waiting for the buffet.
"I need a drink," Draco mumbled as he picked up a crystal champagne flute.
"Right there with you," Harry replied in just as hushed a tone.
For several long moments they waited in place for the line to move along, and Harry felt as though someone was staring at him. Turning, he noticed the same bespectacled woman, who had been watching before, behind him. She gave him a small smile, hastily grabbing her own glass and retreating back into the crowd. Harry had become accustomed to this sort of behaviour, what with the reporters swarming him nearly every time he stepped out in public, but it was still unnerving that he should be so sought out, even in his workplace. There was something in the look she gave him that made him bristle, if only a little. Brushing off the feeling, he took his own drink and attached himself to Draco's arm, forcing himself to prepare to mingle with the party-goers.
Standing towards the back of the line, Narcissa waited until she'd seen the perfect disguise. Discreetly, she cast a Disillusionment Charm on the lone, elegantly dressed woman before just as carefully stunning her. The bush behind the woman seemed to riple and Narcissa knew she'd hit her mark and the woman was down for the count. The shawl hiding Narcissa's features moved away from her face with a sudden burst of wind and, panicked, she hastily pulled it back into place before casting yet another Disillusionment Charm on herself and hurrying over to the fallen guest.
Narcissa pulled one hair from the woman's head and dropped it into the flask of Polyjuice she'd also asked Zabini to brew in her letter requesting— or rather, demanding— aid in her plan. The potion inside changed to a delicate blue shade with bubbles reaching the lid, then calmed, and Narcissa smiled predatorily before casting a full body bind on the woman and dragging her into the bushes.
One sip of the Polyjuice and Narcissa began the painful, yet necessary transition that came with turning into another person. Perhaps a simple glamour would've done the job, but Narcissa had more faith in the ability of the potion and knew that this way she would surely be convincing to anyone who might know the woman she was pretending to be.
Scouring the silk robe for pockets, Narcissa finally felt the stiff edge of the party invitation and pulled it out, but was surprised at her inability to read the script on the thick paper. Feeling utterly perverse, Narcissa felt her way up the woman's invisible body until— yes— she found a pair of thin, wired spectacles. Placing them gently on her face, Narcissa stood to her full height, which was several inches shorter than she was used to, and removed the Disillusionment Charm before leaving the sanctuary of the bushes. To her gratefulness, the line had shortened so that no one was nearby when she appeared from behind the shrubbery. Looking back down at the invitation, Narcissa found what she'd originally been looking for.
"So I am to be Miss Stella Bonham for the evening," she noted to herself. She knew nothing of the woman, of course, and hoped beyond hope that Potter was not well acquainted with her. She seemed like a bit of a wallflower, and Narcissa's instincts tended to be strong. With luck, this plan would go off without a hitch.
"Evening, miss," the doorman greeted her pleasantly. "Invitation, if you please?" Narcissa provided the man with her invitation displaying what she knew was a meek smile even without seeing it from his perspective. "Miss Bonham, have a wonderful evening and happy Christmas."
"Thank you," Narcissa offered quietly, letting her shoulders curve inward for effect. Looking down to the floor as she walked past him, Narcissa followed the dwindling crowd of guests into the ballroom. It wasn't long at all before Narcissa spotted her son and his… downfall, standing off toward one side of the room. What did take a moment was her brain working around Potter's attire; gone were the baggy trousers and stained T-shirts fit for a house elf, along with his unruly hair. In their place was a finely coordinated outfit with braces that Narcissa could tell just by seeing their shade of green probably matched his eyes, and a hairdo that was, miraculously, keeping his curls from being the chaotic mess they usually were. This was her son's work, and it wasn't hard to tell. She scoffed. So now it was her son's duty to dress and cater to this mess of a boy? This was what he'd given up his fortune to do with his time?
She edged closer to the pair, doing her best to go unnoticed, not that it was difficult in this body. Nobody's eyes seemed to linger for longer than a moment, if they even landed on her at all. Peering over a few taller heads, she watched as they quickly made their way through the crowd toward her. For a split second she thought that perhaps they knew something was going on, that she was here even in disguise, but then Potter was brought into an undignified embrace by a boy Narcissa recognised as Longbottom, the one who had killed the last of the Dark Lord's horcruxes.
As soon as Potter was let go of, Narcissa saw her son's happy demeanor change to one of fear. Well, perhaps others would simply think he looked put-off, but Narcissa knew better. It was in his eyes as Draco looked to the man standing beside Longbottom. Recognition came first, but then those grey eyes so like his father's iced over and she could see the pulse along his neck beating in frenzy. She needed to hear what was going on.
"Don't talk to him like that," Narcissa heard Potter snarl venomously. "He's not a Death Eater." How very interesting. So he's in denial about my son's history…
The man standing beside Longbottom, presumably his date, laughed haughtily and reminded Potter of Draco's registry as a Death Eater, causing Potter to become even further incensed. Confused, Narcissa moved even closer to the four men, hoping that some sense could be made. When Draco attempted to stop the confrontation Narcissa was forced to pause. That isn't like him, she thought in surprise. If Narcissa knew anything about her son it was that he would never put up with a slight to his character.
"It's not important, we just know each other," Draco interrupted as Potter attempted to explain to Longbottom how they were familiar with the stranger. Apparently not having it, Potter went into a rant in defence of Draco, simultaneously informing Narcissa that her son had been brutalised by this man, and apparently others as well, in public.
"He could've been killed…. There was blood everywhere." Narcissa watched as Potter safeguarded her son from his supposed attacker, watched as Longbottom confronted the man, revealing his name. Brutus didn't bother denying that he'd had a part in humiliating and batterting Draco, and again he laughed, tried to excuse himself, but Potter wasn't allowing for excuses.
"People are listening," Draco tried to reason. Yes, yes they are.
"Let them listen!"
Potter continued on his berating of Brutus, his face twisted in disgust and his battle-marked hands clenched into fists at his sides. Draco's eyes closed and Narcissa again had to pause to analyse her son's behaviour. It was so unusual for Draco to not want confrontation, regardless of their position in a very important Ministry event. Narcissa had thought she'd known her son inside and out, but something had changed in him. He seemed more… mature. Potter, on the other hand, seemed to be just as obnoxious and untamed as usual, but what was different about this instance was the fact that he was being this way because of Draco, because he'd been wronged.
As Potter finished his tirade he looked around at the people listening in on their conversation, his eyes landing on Narcissa. Startled, she took the glasses from her face and pretended to clean them on her gown, hoping that he couldn't see through the Polyjuice skin she wore. Looking back up, Narcissa breathed in relief as Potter's eyes were no longer on her.
"I broke your nose in sixth year," Draco said in the calming tone he'd always used with Lucius during his more intense moments. Potter appeared taken aback by this argument, fumbling around in his response for some reason to defend Draco's childish actions from years ago. "...Please, just let this go…"
"Fine, but this isn't over."
Apologies offered from Longbottom and Potter both concluded the skirmish and Narcissa followed at a distance as her son and partner crossed the large room to the buffet line, sneaking into line behind them. She eyed the champagne flute that Potter reached for; it would be easy enough to just slip the small bottle of liquid from her pocket into his drink… Maybe a better opportunity would arise than this, Narcissa considered. It was pretty early on in the evening still, and Zabini hadn't informed her exactly how long the potion would take to kick in fully. If Potter were to die during the party… There were simply too many risks at that precise moment. Refusing to believe that anything else could cause her hesitation, Narcissa decided to wait for the perfect moment.
As though hearing her thoughts of poisoning his beverage, Potter chose that exact moment of indecision to turn and look at her. Narcissa, not knowing how else to react, grabbed a flute of champagne that she didn't want and offered a small, sheepish looking smile before walking away into the crowd to observe from afar. Now that Potter had noticed her twice Narcissa was beginning to think she'd become too obvious. Maybe if she could go unseen by him for an hour or so she'd have better luck.
As her son and Potter left the buffet table with their drinks and a plate to share, Narcissa watched as John Dawlish, head of the Auror Department, strutted towards them with a look of amused disdain clear on his scruffy face. Curious as to what the man had to discuss with them, Narcissa edged closer, casting a discreet Notice-Me-Not Charm on herself so that anyone who did look her way would just happen to overlook her specifically.
"... Just a glutton for seeing your face in the papers, are we Potter?" Dawlish was saying as Narcissa approached. "It didn't escape my notice that you've decided to bring such an undesirable guest tonight, either."
"It wasn't exactly supposed to be a secret," Potter retorted with badly disguised sarcasm. "He's just as welcome here as anyone else's date." Narcissa wondered how Potter had so easily forgotten Longbottom's date, but that thought was interrupted by Dawlish's next cutting remark.
"Is that what you've been told? Funny, because with the way people have been talking all evening, they agree that it was a bad move on your part."
"What was a bad move? Taking my boyfriend to a Ministry Christmas do? I'm confused; who else was I supposed to have brought?"
"Literally anyone else— perhaps someone without a Dark Mark soiling their skin." Dawlish laughed with no humour. "But far be it from me to tell you who to involve yourself with."
"So then why are you trying to?" Potter challenged, taking a step toward the Auror Department Head. "If it's not your place to do so, don't you think you should've kept your mouth shut in the first place?"
"Harry, again, time and place," Draco muttered near Potter's ear. Narcissa observed the way Potter's jaw twitched, his eyes shut momentarily, and he took a deep breath. He was trying to control his anger, but it was clearly taking some effort.
"Interesting that your Death Eater has better manners than you," Dawlish commented a bit louder than was really necessary.
"He is not… a Death Eater," Potter gritted out between clenched teeth.
"Keep telling yourself that. Anyway, I've got some mingling to do. I'll be seeing you around, Malfoy," he added menacingly. Or, Narcissa supposed, in a way that was meant to come off as menacing. Really, he was making an idiot of himself in her opinion, but she couldn't very well tell him so in her position.
Yes, this night was proving to be very interesting indeed. Narcissa had witnessed Potter defend her son more than once and also the way he reeled himself in when asked to. Though he was clearly in denial about Draco's political standing, Narcissa was quietly impressed at Potter's way of handling situations where Draco's honour was in question. Not that this changed anything— of course not— but it was more than a bit surprising, really.
Stepping away from the pair, Narcissa decided to wait a bit longer and continue watching their behaviour before making any move towards the end of her plan.
This ended up being quite a boring process, and a bit nerve-wracking; Narcissa wound up being swept into a conversation about the quality of dragonhide these days by a woman close to Stella's age, someone who appeared to expect Narcissa to know her and be able to add to the conversation. It was only due to Narcissa's collection of designer dragonhide purses that she managed to provide a convincing angle to the discussion that probably left the other woman wondering a bit, but not curious enough to be considered dangerous to her plans. It would've been smart to choose a person she'd known more about before deciding on a Polyjuice disguise, but she hadn't been involved with the Ministry much at all since the war and Lucius was no longer available to keep her filled in on the employees there. It wasn't the best route to take, she was discovering, but thankfully she was able to break away from the dragonhide-obsessed woman with the excuse of using the lavatory. Under normal circumstances Narcissa would never be so crude as to tell someone when she'd needed a toilet break, but these were not normal circumstances and not everyone was quite as well mannered as she prided herself being.
In the lavatory Narcissa used her privacy to swig once more from her hidden flask of Polyjuice; after checking in the mirror, she'd noticed that Stella's nose had become a bit thinner, as well as her cheekbones more defined and regal, which meant that her disguise was already wearing off. She'd never been very good at brewing, but Zabini was, and Narcissa was surprised at how quickly the effects were fading. She'd only been at the party for about an hour or so, but perhaps that was the typical time range of Polyjuice transformation. She was no Potions Master, and for the first time since his death Narcissa found herself genuinely wishing she'd had Severus to consult in advance. Of course, that would've made it very difficult to proceed with her plans, as Severus had always had a soft spot for Potter, regardless of his— very convincing, she had to allow— attempts at hiding that fact.
Sighing at her cluelessness, Narcissa resigned herself to the task at hand and forced all thoughts of Severus, his reasons for caring for Potter, and her lack of Potions knowledge out of her mind before replacing her shy mask and rejoining the festivities.
When she reached the ballroom again she found that her son and Potter were making their way— or rather, Draco was tugging a rather apprehensive and, quite frankly, terrified looking Potter— towards the dance floor. The dance taking place had probably started a minute or so before they joined in, judging by the steps the other dancers were taking, but this didn't seem to prevent Draco from forcing a place for himself and his dance partner in the midst of the others. Narcissa had always taught Draco from a very young age that, if he were inclined to dance at a party, he must always wait until the next dance if one was underway, but it seemed that Draco had either forgotten this bit of instruction or simply didn't care.
He didn't care, Narcissa decided not a minute later, when Draco's dance moves had strayed from traditional to… whatever they were now. She didn't think she'd ever seen a dance with those steps before, so perhaps Draco was making them up? Either way, Narcissa felt a pang of embarrassment for her son as she observed the other dancers taking obvious steps away from Draco and Potter's lively dance, which absolutely clashed with their practiced and poised one. Then she realised with a jolt of intense shock that Draco was enjoying himself— more than she'd ever seen him enjoy himself in her presence before. His smile stretched across his face, softening his pointed, Malfoy features and melting any lingering ice in his gaze. Potter, on the other hand, looked flustered and unsure of himself. That is, until he'd bothered to look up from his feet at Draco's face. It was then that his face assumed a similar expression to Draco's, and it was then that Narcissa gasped in alarm. She knew that look very, very well. Suddenly she was taken back twenty six years to the Black Family Soiree, the first one Lucius had been invited to during their courtship. All night Lucius had kept his expression of mild interest in place, through her mother's incessant questioning of his intentions and her father's intermittent insults to his 'questionable heritage,' until they could finally sneak out into the back garden and hide away in the rose maze. It was there, pressed against one of the Greek-inspired alabaster pillars of the also Greek-inspired gazebo, that Lucius had inclined his head to kiss her, only for Narcissa to turn her face away, hiding a smirk.
"Have I done something wrong?" That sure, cold tone he'd always used, even to this day, had slipped into an insecure one and Narcissa had slowly raised her eyes to meet his, her lips twitching in her efforts to keep her face neutral.
"I was only curious," she replied primly, "about whether or not your great-great aunt thrice removed was truly a Malfoy, or if she had secretly written herself into your family tree by way of Amortentia." Lucius' eyebrows had curved upward and his mouth made a soft popping sound as it opened in confusion. Continuing on in what she hoped was more obviously seen as jest Narcissa said, "These are very important details, you must realise, and if I'm to profess my undying devotion to one such as yourself I'll need undeniable proof that your every last relative was who you say they were."
And there it was. Right on Lucius' face, after it had dawned on him that she was teasing him, was that same smile her son wore now, and the same one being mirrored by Potter, the same one she was sure she had mirrored back at Lucius.
"Shit," Narcissa said, a bit too loudly, startling not only herself but several nearby people. "That is— I…" Narcissa broke off her attempt to clarify her harsh language, deciding that this situation warranted it. It wasn't like these people had never heard the word before, and damn it all she was not in the mood to please the masses just then.
It was worse than she'd feared. This was no ploy to rebel against his parentage; Draco was in love with Potter, and it seemed the feeling was mutual between the two of them. Narcissa decided she'd need to reconsider her plans, at this point. No, she hadn't changed her opinion of her son's choice in partners, nor his sexuality, but she couldn't very well kill Harry Potter at this point. No, if she wanted her son back it would take much more scheming than this, much more intricate planning.
"I don't know why I even thought," she began, before promptly shutting her mouth. Apparently Stella wasn't the sort to use profanity or talk to herself, and apparently this new discovery had put Narcissa off kilter enough to forget herself. It was time to leave, she decided.
The guard at the doors to the Ministry bid her a good evening and a Merry Christmas, but Narcissa barely heard the man as she swept across the lawn in her haste to return Miss Bonham's stolen identity. Once behind the bushes where she'd hidden the woman, Narcissa nearly tripped over her body. Making quick work of the process, Narcissa cast Finite Incantatem to rid the Disillusionment Charm, only realising too late that she hadn't been precise enough with her casting and wound up releasing Stella from not only the stunner, but also the body-bind, forcing Narcissa to Disapparate on the spot, rather than staying to watch and make sure Stella went home instead of attempting to go back into the party. And she'd forgotten to return the invitation. Now Narcissa had ensured that Stella would wake up behind the bushes, unaware of how much time had passed, and without an invitation to the party she hadn't yet attended. What a bloody mess she'd made.
"Off kilter indeed," Narcissa admonished herself as she immediately left the entryway to retire to her parlour. She knew she'd been careless with the way she'd handled the situation with Stella, but she couldn't very well do anything about it now. "In love… Draco's in love." Saying it aloud did nothing to ease her mind about the situation. This was much more complex than she'd assumed originally, but she wasn't quite ready to give up. Not yet.
"Well that was awful," Draco said as John Dawlish walked away from them. Draco couldn't see any real reason for the man to have started a conversation with them in the first place, seeing as he obviously did not like Harry or his choice in party dates and made it very clear to them within the span of five minutes.
"I should've seen it coming, though," Harry replied, irritation thinly veiled. "I knew he wouldn't like that you were coming, but I didn't expect him to be so upfront about it." Laughing, Draco shook his head.
"Really? After all that he's done and said to you recently about being with me, and getting me arrested, you didn't expect that?"
"Well… Alright, I see your point, but no, I didn't. I figured he'd be maybe a bit more, er, civil, seeing as we're at an elite event."
"I think my favourite part was when he said he'd be seeing me 'around.' How ominous. Is it weird that I'm almost excited for him to try something?"
"Knowing you… no, it's not weird at all."
"I'd just like one chance to show him what for. It's been a long time since I've had a good duel."
Wrinkling his nose, Harry said, "Somehow I doubt he'd play fair, though, so maybe it's best you don't see him around…"
"What, you don't think I could take him?"
"No! No, I just don't want you getting—"
"Someone giving you boys trouble?" Turning, Draco's eyes landed on Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had apparently been listening in on their conversation, though how much of it he'd heard Draco couldn't be sure.
"Kingsley!" Harry swung around, nearly spilling his third glass of champagne on the marble floor. "Erm, not really, no, we're fine," he scrambled.
"Actually, sir, yes someone has been giving us trouble. Harry in particular, but yes," Draco broke in, hoping that he didn't come off as rude, but spotting what was probably his only chance to get back at Dawlish for being a prick to Harry. He may have gotten Draco arrested, but he'd been basically torturing Harry day in and day out, every week since he started training. That was worse, in his mind.
Furrowing his brows, the Minister crossed his arms over his chest and stepped a bit closer. "Who's been giving Harry a hard time, then, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Nobody—"
"John Dawlish, sir," Draco interrupted, glaring momentarily at Harry. "From what I've been told nearly every day after Harry comes home from work, Dawlish has been targeting him and working him harder than everyone else because he's seeing… a Death Eater…" Feeling his cheeks heat as he was forced to refer to himself in such a way, Draco trailed off and pinched his lips shut.
"Is that so?" Shacklebolt asked as he regarded Harry with a calm, curious frown.
"It's not that bad, really," Harry rushed out quickly. "I'm not being overworked, it's fine. I'm honoured to be in Auror training with everyone else."
"Not overworked," Draco repeated as he chuckled dryly. "Except when you came home with a sprained knee and a limp from that jinx you couldn't dodge while you were trying to dodge four other curses and hexes." Taking a breath to calm himself and remind himself that Harry wasn't the one at fault, Draco added, "Not to mention that, while everyone else gets to come home at a reasonable hour, you're kept until nearly eight every night."
"Harry, if this is true I'd like to know," Shacklebolt said gravely. For a moment Draco thought he might have gotten Harry in trouble, until the Minister said, "If he's giving you unfair treatment for any reason I do need to be aware of it." From the look on Harry's face Draco expected him continue to downplay the stress Dawlish had been causing him at work, but then his shoulders sagged and his eyes lowered to the floor.
"It's true," Harry finally admitted. "It's been getting to me lately, but I didn't want to say anything because he's genuinely a good trainer to everyone else. He's made it very clear that I'm expected to put up with whatever he throws at me since I've decided to sympathise with… with the likes of Draco." Draco felt a tug on his heart as Harry's eyes flickered to him, as he refrained from calling Draco a Death Eater, as he continued to protect Draco from that label.
"That's workplace discrimination, Harry. That's a rather important thing to mention. Did you think I wouldn't believe you?" Concern softened the normally solemn features of Shacklebolt's face.
"No, sir, that's the thing. I knew you'd believe me… I just didn't want to cost anyone their job over this; I can handle it. I've been handling it." Pausing, Harry looked as though he wanted to say more, and after a moment spit out, "And he requested Draco's arrest shortly after he moved in with me, with no evidence— no solid evidence— that Draco had done anything wrong. Just Prophet rumours."
"This is something I should've been informed of immediately, Harry," Shacklebolt chided, sounding almost fatherly to Draco's ears. "Just because you can handle it, it doesn't mean you should do. Once we're back to work after the holiday I'll have a little chat with him about this."
"Are you going to fire him?" Harry asked nervously. Without thinking about it, Draco grasped Harry's hand with his free one and squeezed softly, offering what discreet comfort he could. His reward came in the form of a guilty half-smile from Harry, and though it only lasted a split second, it was enough.
"I'll have to consider this further before I can give you a definite answer, but as of right now he's got some unpaid suspension on his hands at the very least," the Minister grumbled, glancing around the party as though searching Dawlish out. Then he looked at Draco with a grimace-smile, causing Draco's heart rate to spike. "I appreciate your honesty in this matter, Mr. Malfoy. I doubt Harry here would've told me anything about this, so it's you I've got to thank for bringing this situation to light."
"It's no trouble at all, Minister," Draco said a bit too quickly, letting his residual shock of having a real conversation with the Minister get the best of him. "I hope I wasn't rude in telling you, but I saw my opportunity and took it. It's not fair that Harry should have to put up with this every day because of me." He was pretty sure he hid his shock decently when the Minister boomed with laughter after he'd finished speaking.
"You're a fine young man, do you know? I never thought I'd see the day when a Malfoy was looking out for the behalf of another person before themself, so rude or not you've just made my day." Patting each of them on the shoulder in turn, Shacklebolt wished them a pleasant evening and walked off.
"Did he just insult me, or compliment me?" Draco wondered, shocked from the strangeness of that entire situation.
"I'm… not entirely sure," Harry laughed, taking a sip of his champagne and turning to face Draco. "But either way, that's Dawlish taken care of. At least for a while."
"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Harry, but I couldn't pass up that chance. He's right, you know, about you not telling people important things that could save you a lot of trouble in the end," Draco said with as stern a face as he could muster, given the circumstances.
"Yes, well, we can't all be telltales, now can we?"
"I hope you're joking, Mr. It-Was-Draco!" he snorted. "If I had a galleon for every time you tried to pin things on me in school, I'd have at least a sixteenth of my Gringotts vault back."
"You have to admit that most of those times it really was you, though."
"Besides the point," Draco snapped in good humour, doing his best not to grin. "You're still one of the biggest telltales I know."
"Yeah, right after you." Shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles, Harry kissed Draco's cheek, which unsurprisingly drew several gasps from the surrounding crowd. It wasn't the first time they'd kissed throughout the evening, but it hadn't yet failed to gain the same response each time.
Remembering Neville's appearance at the beginning of the evening, Draco asked, "What does Nev— Longbottom do, anyway? I thought only Ministry employees got invited to these things."
"Oh, he works in the Wildlife Protection Department. He's the head of the agricultural division," Harry explained. "He's done a good job working his way up so quickly, but then he always was really good in Herbology."
"He certainly didn't have much talent in Potions, so I guess it's a good thing he went that route. Though I'm surprised he didn't go back to school like the rest did."
"I'm not; Neville was never really great in school. I think the only reason he stayed during seventh year, besides the DA, was because of Professor Sprout." It wasn't a joke, but for some reason Draco found himself laughing. Perhaps it was the champagne consumption, but the vision of Neville and Sprout snogging in the green houses certainly didn't help matters. Thankfully, Harry laughed right along with him, though his laugh had an air of confusion to it. "Listen, why don't we get out of here? It's already after ten—"
"Not so fast," Draco interrupted, vanishing both their unfinished glasses of champagne. "You haven't even danced with me yet."
Groaning, Harry replied, "Oh, please… I can't dance at all. Do you remember the dance lessons before the Yule Ball? Or the Yule Ball itself? I'll make an idiot of myself, more than I already have tonight."
"It's the strangest thing," Draco said, pretending to sound as though he was having an epiphany of some sort, "but I don't give a boggart's arse. Dance with me."
Their timing couldn't have been more horrendous; a dance was already in procession, and many of the party's guests were already in the midst of a traditional waltz, but Draco hadn't the slightest fuck to offer and tugged Harry into the thick of the swaying figures, pulling him close and beginning to lead. Several dirty looks were shot their way, but it didn't deter Draco from forging a space for them on the dance floor. Looking pale as a sheet, Harry's movements were stiff as Draco spun them this way and that, but after realising that Draco wasn't taking it seriously at all he seemed to give in and allow himself to move to the rhythm of the music. Or as close to the rhythm as his two left feet would allow.
Draco, of course, had learned this specific dance by the age of nine, but he decided to embellish a bit to make things more interesting. Harry wouldn't know the difference, having not been raised with the archaic pureblood standards that Draco had.
Glancing around at the other dancers, Harry pointed out that, "They aren't doing these, er, moves. Are you sure we're doing this right?"
"I know for a fact that we are not," Draco laughed right before twirling Harry around in a circle and pulling him tight to his chest.
"Whoa!" Harry shouted as Draco spontaneously dipped him toward the floor, nearly knocking them both over in the process, but chortling the entire time. Coming back up from the dip, Harry flushed and said, "I know for a fact that I hated that."
"But you love me," Draco fired back with his most charming smile.
"You're a real bugger."
"I believe you've told me that before."
As the dance finally ended, Harry and Draco made their way to the buffet table again in search of water. In his efforts to make the dance more lively, Draco had worked up quite a sweat and was parched. Though Draco hated sweating, he was glad he'd done this; yes, Ministry parties were stuffy old things, filled with boring people and boring food, but that didn't mean they couldn't enjoy themselves.
"Can we go home now?" Harry asked after chugging down an entire glass of iced water in one go.
"I suppose so, unless you'd like to have another dance," he joked.
"I bloody think not."
Ignoring the guests who tried to draw their attentions, probably attempting to get in one last conversation with the Boy Saviour, Harry tugged Draco along towards the exit. Once outside of the Ministry, Harry hugged Draco to his chest, kissed him hard, and Side-Along Apparated them back to the stoop of Grimmauld Place, not pausing in the kiss to magic the door open to admit them both.
"You could've fucking splinched us, you absolute maniac!" Draco shouted, patting himself up and down and searching for any missing body parts.
"Are you splinched?" Harry asked with a smirk. Draco glared heatedly in response, but relented when Harry resumed their earlier position and snogged him into a mild stupor. "You don't suppose Molly would take Teddy for the night, do you?" Harry's raspy question was released against Draco's lips, immediately stirring Draco's nether region further to life.
"I don't think so, young man," came Molly's half-stern reply from behind them, ruining the mood entirely.
Jumping apart, Harry did exactly as Draco had told him not to and swiped a hand through his immaculate hair, tumbling his locks all over the place and ruining Draco's good efforts. At least he'd waited until they'd got home.
"Molly! I didn't expect you to be… right… here," Harry fumbled, shifting from foot to foot in monumentally obvious embarrassment. Doing his best not to laugh, Draco kept quiet, deciding that Molly probably already knew they'd been pawing at each other for months. No point in being embarrassed, really, as she had made seven children and was in no position to judge them for wanting to do what most young people do.
"Well here I am," she replied with a knowing smirk. "And no, I'm sorry, but I'm exhausted and I'd like nothing more than to go home to my husband. Teddy's been lovely, but more fussy than usual."
"Yeah, I think he's going through a growth spurt," Draco added, realising that he'd forgotten to mention that before they'd left.
"I figured as much, but there's not much to help it I'm afraid," Molly sighed, stepping forward to pass Teddy to him. Teddy, who curled up close to Draco's chest and nuzzled his nose close, was whimpering in quite a heartbreaking way, causing Draco to forget all about whatever plans Harry might've had for their night.
"It's alright, Teddy," Draco cooed as Harry and Molly chatted quietly. "You just have to grow a bit and you'll be right as rain."
"Thank you, Molly, and, er… sorry about our entrance," Harry said as Draco tuned back in.
"Not at all, Harry dear, I know how these things go for youngsters. I'll see myself out, now, and you three enjoy the rest of your night."
"Goodnight, Molly," Draco called absent mindedly as he began climbing up the stairs, doing his best not to jostle Teddy too much for fear of hurting his aching muscles and bones.
"'Night, love!"
After attempting to give Teddy a before-bed bottle and having it pushed away countless times, Draco gave in and simply rocked with Teddy in the rocking chair he'd picked for his nursery. Harry had poked his head in to ask something, but upon seeing him preoccupied must've decided it could wait. Brandishing his wand, Draco Summoned a thick quilt from the linen closet and draped it over himself and his small-but-getting-larger rocking companion.
He listened carefully for any remaining footsteps in the hallway and, hearing nothing but creaking coming from the bedroom, said, "Alright, Teddykins, just one lullaby before bed, alright?" Teddy sighed and rested his loosely fisted hand against Draco's chest. As Draco began singing softly to the baby his eyes started to feel rather heavy, but he willed them to stay open long enough to finish the lullaby like he'd promised. When he'd finished the last line of the song, he closed his eyes, but just for a moment…
Running down a long, white corridor, Draco chased after the shadowy figure that had beckoned to him, then sprinted away. Or glided away? If he could just run a bit faster he might be able to catch up with him, her, it, but for some reason he couldn't force his legs to move faster than the slow-motion rate at which they were already moving.
"Puhliez! Shloow dohn!" He tried to shout, but it was only coming out as garbled nonsense, and surely the shadowy figure would leave him behind. But then it stopped, stood still at the very end of the hallway as though it were waiting for Draco. "Ahm cuhmeen!" He attempted to try communicating once more, but again it came out muddled and distorted.
"What… have… you… done…?" The whispered words must have come from the figure, but they were vibrating all around him as he trudged slowly forward, exerting himself as much as he could and begging his limbs to move faster.
"Nupheen, nupheen Ah phrahmish!" But he may as well have been speaking through a mouthful of molasses for all the good it was doing him.
"My son… You've forsaken me," the voice told him, and it was getting clearer, sounding more familiar. "What… have… you… done…?"
"Mahjure!" Of course it was his mother! Who else would've said such a thing, who else could sound so haunting and threatening and yet make him want to fling himself into her arms? "Waayte fohr mee!"
As Draco got closer to the figure at the end of the hall more of its features became clearer and he could see long, pale, blonde hair swirling like seaweed around a pale and pointed face. Her voice, obviously it would come from her. What was wrong with him?
"Draco, come here," she requested, lifting a ghostly silk-covered arm and beckoning to him once more. "Come here, my son."
'I'm trying,' he wanted to say, but knew it would be pointless and come out sounding ridiculous anyway. Instead, he ran and ran and ran. As close as he thought he was getting, as clear as he thought she was becoming, he still couldn't reach her.
"Draco… Draco… Draco!" His eyes snapped open and, vision swimming from sleep, he was gazing up at Harry from his place in the rocking chair. "Are you alright?"
"I'm… fine," Draco mumbled, rubbing his eyes and realising his arms were empty. "Teddy!"
"I put him in his crib. Don't worry, you didn't drop him." Draco was about to speak again when Harry shushed him with a finger over his lips and gestured to the sleeping infant in his crib, then towards the door to the nursery.
Back in their bedroom, Draco slumped down on the bed and began languorously unbuttoning his shirt, trying his best not to think too much on the dream— nightmare?— he'd just had. Harry continued to give him strange looks, but didn't ask any questions, something Draco silently appreciated.
Undressed and feeling uncomfortably tired, yet afraid to fall back asleep, Draco snuggled up against Harry's back and wrapped an arm around his warm chest. Inhaling deeply, he tried to calm himself with Harry's familiar scent, closing his eyes tightly against the emotions that were fighting their way to the surface. He didn't miss her, he didn't want to see her, he didn't long for her forgiveness or apology. No, of course not, and no dream could convince him otherwise.
"Goodnight, Draco," Harry whispered. Draco, unable to trust his voice, simply held Harry tighter and willed sleep to bring him a more pleasant dream.