Harry fought free of the masses mainly due to Ginny's vigorous application of elbows and bellows—he had to admit she really knew how to handle Quidditch players. She guided them to a quiet corner where Ron and Hermione were stood with Dean Thomas and the head of Magical Games and Sports, Earnest Farnsworth. Earnest shook Harry's hand heartily.
"Harry, my boy! Good to see you! Looks like we'll have a fine turnout this year. Hopefully we'll make enough to offset the cost of all those Portkeys from Korea."
The Quidditch Gala was a fundraising event held each year before the Quidditch World Cup. The most affluent members of wizarding society were invited, as well as a goodly collection of the merely well-to-do, and anyone else that could score a ticket through friends, acquaintances, or bribery.
"Speaking of Korea," said Ginny, "I'm going over there to say hellooooo to the team."
"Remember, they still need to play next week," Harry called after her with a laugh. She poked her tongue out at him.
"You look very nice, Harry," Hermione said and leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek.
"Thank Ginny for that. You look gorgeous! What did you do to your hair?"
"I went to Madam Genevieve's for an up-do. I promised Ron he could buy a new broom in exchange for that and a new dress." She twirled in place, showing off the deep blue satin.
"I think it's win/win for you, mate," Harry said sotto voce and nudged Ron.
"Yeah." Ron smiled, eyes glowing as Hermione blushed. Despite Molly Weasley's "helpful" meddling, Harry suspected it wouldn't be long before Ron popped the question.
"Excuse me, Mr Potter?"
Harry turned, pasting a smile on his face. He felt it freeze in place when he beheld the handsome face of Roderick Montoya—Draco Malfoy's beau. The man was stunning, Harry had to admit. He was an inch or so taller than Harry, with thick black hair (and no sticky uppy bits), gorgeous chocolate eyes, and skin that looked as smooth and lickable as fine caramel. "Yes?"
"I am sorry to interrupt, but I so very much wanted to meet you. Might I be so bold as to shake your hand?"
"Of course. I should like to shake yours, also. That was a brilliant game against Austria. Well played."
Montoya took Harry's hand in a firm grip, shook it once, and then covered it with his other hand, effectively trapping him.
"My teammates have told me of your famed history, but they did not mention that you were so delightful to look upon. Brave and handsome at once. I see why they flock to you in admiration."
Uncomfortable as ever with flattery, Harry fought to keep his smile in place and tugged hopefully at his hand. "You are too kind."
Montoya clucked his tongue. "And look at me, another smitten fanboy. You must get bored of those." He let go of Harry's hand with a smile that might have swept Harry off his feet if not for other circumstances. Blond circumstances.
"By all accounts, you are already smitten with another. Where is Draco Malfoy?"
Montoya's smile fled. "Oh, he is around someplace. Over there." He waved a hand in a vague gesture towards the buffet table. Harry frowned. He hoped Malfoy wasn't in love with Montoya, because Montoya's feelings did not seem to be overly serious, despite speculation in the Prophet. In a flash of inspiration, Harry decided to test the theory.
He stepped closer to Montoya. "Does that mean that things between you and Malfoy are not as serious as they appear?"
At that moment, a clustered group of attendees broke apart and Harry caught sight of Malfoy. Montoya glanced at him and then leaned in to whisper into Harry's ear. "My dear Mr Potter, Draco Malfoy has never been serious about love. It is all in good fun with him. I could disappear tomorrow and he would find another fit male to parade as his amante dedicado. I would that it were not so, but alas. I must find my one true love elsewhere."
Harry looked back at Malfoy, to find him staring at him and Montoya with such intensity Harry was afraid the glassware in the room might shatter. Harry's heart sank. Montoya might have convinced himself that Malfoy didn't care—or perhaps he was simply a cad—but the evidence suggested otherwise.
Fuck, Harry thought, Malfoy really is in love with Montoya. And he's utterly unworthy.
Harry smiled brightly and stepped away from the sultry Quidditch player. "Well. You've certainly given me something to think about, haven't you? Do you know Earnest Farnsworth? He is working insanely hard on the Quidditch World Cup. Earnest, this is Roderick Montoya, perhaps you've met?" Montoya and Farnsworth shook hands and Montoya shot Harry a questioning look.
Harry squeezed him on the shoulder in an overly-friendly gesture. "I see someone I need to say hello to. I will see you later." His tone made it a promise. In truth, he was looking for Malfoy, who had disappeared into the crowd.
It took Harry some time to find Malfoy, so long, in fact, that Harry'd begun to think Malfoy had left the party entirely. He finally caught sight of him lurking in the courtyard and started that direction. Getting through the growing crowd was rather like swimming through treacle, considering the number of people that stopped him along the way.
Harry finally extracted himself from a dowager witch wearing a flamingo-topped hat and pushed his way through the open French doors. The fresh air was a welcome change after the cologne and human scented ballroom.
The courtyard was tree-filled and protected from the falling rain by a massive Umbrella Charm. Malfoy was seated on a bench, empty glass dangling from his fingertips. Harry screwed up his courage and went to greet him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Draco sat on a granite bench and ran his fingers up and down the stem of his empty champagne flute. He had probably imbibed a glass or three too many, judging by the fuzzy state of his mental faculties. He was also feeling a bit sorry for himself. He would cast a Sobering Charm if he could remember how.
He straightened and gave a polite nod to an elderly couple strolling past. The man ignored him and the woman's smile disappeared when recognition set in. Her lips pinched in a disapproving line and her steps quickened until she was practically dragging her escort away.
Draco rolled his eyes. The horrible old bat had no room to look at him that way. Her only daughter had run off to some remote American desert to shack up with a Muggle painter. It had been quite the scandal at the time.
Another crunch of feet upon the gravel path drew Draco's attention. To his surprise, he saw Harry Potter bearing down upon him. Draco knew he should flee, but his inebriated mind was captivated by Potter's lean form. The black-edged green robes fit him to perfection, highlighting his hipbones and accenting the exquisite swell of his torso over a flat, limber-looking abdomen.
Contrary to the grace of his walk, Potter flopped like a rag doll next to Draco and gave him a crooked grin. "Hullo, Malfoy." Draco suppressed a sigh and made to rise and escape, but Potter's hand clamped onto his arm, holding him in place. "What's your hurry?"
"I assume you only came here to gloat, so if you don't mind I prefer to spare myself the additional humiliation."
"Gloat about what?"
Draco threw him a glare and lowered his voice. "About the fact that my lover is currently flinging himself at anything with a cock, including you."
"Oh. I did see him practically climbing onto one of the waiters in there. I just figured he was drunk."
Draco relaxed minutely. For some reason, Potter hadn't let go of his arm. "I believe he is cold sober, actually. I, fortunately, am not." Draco lifted his glass as if imploring the gods of drunkenness to refill it for him. "Do you like cock, Potter?"
Draco turned to look into Potter's shocked face and wondered if it might be worth risking a Splinch to Apparate home and escape whatever scathing comment (or possible hex) that Potter planned to unleash upon him for asking such a blatantly stupid question. Draco was gobsmacked when Potter chuckled.
"I can appreciate a fit bloke as well as a beautiful woman, although I admit that I've been more drawn to masculinity."
"I'll say. The women you've been with haven't exactly been paragons of femininity. Speaking of—where is the Weas—Ginevra?"
Potter jerked his chin towards the ballroom. Those inside were clearly visible in the growing darkness overtaking the courtyard. Small, glowing globes of multi-coloured light were beginning to alight amongst the trees and bushes in the garden. Pale blue shimmered over one lens of Potter's dark-framed glasses.
"She's working on British/Korean relations," Potter said.
Draco caught sight of Ginny Weasley clinging to the Korean Seeker and laughing in apparent delight. "That doesn't bother you?"
"Of course not. Ginny and I are just friends, regardless of what the Daily Prophet likes to print."
Draco's head was spinning and he wished he hadn't partaken of so much alcohol. The revelations were coming too quickly for him to process.
"What about you?" Potter continued. "According to the Prophet, you and Montoya are practically engaged."
"You can't believe everything you read." Draco looked away as he spoke, glancing back towards the ballroom. Roderick was not behaving like a boor, for once. He was talking to one of his teammates.
Potter cleared his throat and when Draco looked back, he was sitting straight and staring at Draco intently. Draco's eyes went wide as Potter lifted a hand and brushed a lock of hair away from Draco's eyelashes. He leaned close.
"You know, it is possible that you deserve better," Potter murmured. His eyes seemed to burn into Draco's, not green in the near-darkness, but dark pools that seemed to focus his concentration. Draco nearly forgot to breathe.
"Draco! There you are! I have been looking for you everywhere! Diana is very cross with me for allowing you to wander off and I have promised to bring you to her at once." Roderick's voice was loud and his accent more pronounced than usual. Draco wanted to pull out his wand and hex his faux-lover for his lousy timing. Draco was itching to know what Potter had meant with his words.
"Mr Potter, you are not trying to steal my paramour, are you?" Roderick dropped a possessive hand upon Draco's shoulder. "Also, Draco, your friend Blaise has arrived with that woman."
"Oh thank Merlin," Draco said and rose, stepping away from Potter's magnetic aura. He suddenly felt very drunk and wanted one of Pansy's Sobering Charms. He needed to think. Before he allowed Roderick to tug him close and pull him away, he paused. "Thank you, Potter."
"My pleasure, Draco." Potter's words did not seem mocking.
Once inside, Roderick clung to Draco like a barnacle, in direct contradiction to his earlier behaviour. It was baffling, but at least things were back to normal. Attending photographers took several photos of them standing together, dancing, and holding up glasses of champagne that Draco studiously refused to drink.
It took all of Draco's wiles to extract himself from Roderick's embrace and spend a private moment with Pansy and Blaise. He stood in grateful silence as Pansy zapped him with a Sobering Charm. After a bout of queasiness, Draco's drunken state melted away, leaving welcome clarity behind.
"Salazar, I am giving up alcohol for good. Blaise, do not respond to that. Have you learned anything about my friend Mark?"
Blaise shook his head. "The pub was a dead-end. The barkeep did not know either Mark or his friend—he hadn't seen them there prior to that night and didn't even catch their names. We've got nothing to go on unless you get something more from Mark. A least a bloody surname."
"It doesn't matter. Mark seems content to be nothing more than a mate. He doesn't even ask questions." Draco shook off a twinge of disquiet and pushed all thoughts of Mark away. Now was not the time. "Pansy, you'll be happy to know that Roderick is done. I'll be sending him on his way to make room for his replacement."
Pansy squealed and then lifted a hand to cover her mouth when it rose in volume. She pulled her palm away to gush at him. "Oh, Draco, I could kiss you! When are you going to tell him? Can I be there to watch you grind his ego into powder? Who is the lucky man taking his place?"
Draco smiled fondly. She had disliked Roderick from the first moment of their meeting, and the feeling had been mutual. Even so, Draco doubted she would be pleased with his new target.
"A person of impeccable social standing," he said. "Harry Potter."
Later, Draco was almost completely sure that Pansy's faint was faked.
~TBC~
AN: For the curious, Roderick is half-Portuguese, hence the language.