Chapter 6

Harry scrunched up the piece of parchment he was working on and hurled it across his office. All it took was a quick flick of his wand and it was nothing but ashes floating down to settle on the hard wood floors. He peered over at Ron who was pointedly frowning down at his own desk like he hadn't noticed the flaming ball for the fourth time.

He looked back down at the blank parchment in front of him and sighed. "So how're things with Gin and Neville?" he asked, trying again to get the other man's attention.

"Fine, they're moving in next week," Ron said, barely sparing him a glance.

"Dean still in a cast?" he tried again.

"Yeah."

"Ron, I'm sorry," Harry groaned, swiveling his chair away from his desk so that he could get a better look at his best friend. "How many more times do I have to say it? You know I had to go see him. I need closure or whatever Hermione keeps going on about."

"Yeah?" said Ron, finally looking up from his own papers. "It was closed, mate, you were moving on. Suddenly Draco bloody Malfoy shows up and now you've missed two pub nights and agreed to be his date!"

"I'm not his date!" Harry threw back. "He just wanted me to be there, that's all."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Right," he muttered under his breath.

"Trust me," Harry told him, trying to keep his voice steady. "I know first hand how bad he messed me up last time, I was there, remember?"

Ron laughed. "No, you weren't there. You barely left your room and every time we talked, you were off in the clouds. We thought we lost you and yeah, you were a bloody mess. But guess what?" He stood up so that Harry had to crane to see his face. "We were the ones that had to put you back together. Us. You remember us? The friends you ditched so you could go to some fancy dinner with the asshole that broke your heart."

"And I'm grateful, I really am but I am also capable of making my own decisions."

"Apparently you aren't!" Ron fumed, slamming his fist on his desk.

"Well you're the one that told me to go see him," Harry tried to point out.

"Not this again," Ron scowled at him. "I told you to make him regret ever walking out not let him have you wrapped around his fingers again." Harry glared at him but Ron held up a hand to silence his protests. "Mate, I understand that you've always been…partial to him but at some point you're going to have to realize that he's an arsehole and you deserve better."

"Hermione?" Harry asked, raising a brow.

Ron shrugged. "I improvised. A bit."

"Right," said Harry with a cough. "Well, if you must know, he does regret leaving."

"Oh yes, I'm sure he said that," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "A dragon doesn't change its scales and all that rubbish." Harry chuckled at the double entendre. Maybe now wasn't the time to point out that his dragon didn't actually have scales because Ron was glaring at him again. "You know it's true, Harry. He's a runner. He ran last time and he'll do it again."

"I did sort of drive him away last time…" Harry began. He knew it was the wrong thing to say the second the words left him. Ron pretty much exploded.

"If you start that self-blaming shit again I swear to Merlin I will murder that bastard myself," he cried, red in the face. "I have half a mind to do it right now. Who the fuck does he think he is? He should be begging on his knees just to get you to look at him."

"I'm going, Ron," Harry said with a sigh. He had been expecting something like this and had spent the weekend steeling himself for it.

"I know you're going," snapped Ron. "But so am I."

"You're kidding right?" Harry asked, knowing his mouth was probably hanging open. "It's strictly invite only, there is no way you managed to pull the war hero card. Wait," he said, taking in the triumphant look on Ron's face. "Please tell me you're not just going to crash it, Ron. There is going to be enough press there without you punching one of the nominees."

Ron had the decency to look sheepish. "I may have pulled a few strings," he supplied. "They need aurors on standby for security purposes at events like those."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course they do."

"I'm only looking out for you, mate."

"I know," Harry sighed. He didn't even have the energy to argue anymore. It might actually be helpful to have Ron there as a sort of buffer.

Draco found him the second he stepped into the elegantly decorated ballroom. It was far from the most grandiose event he had attended with Draco. Even a year after the war he had been invited to charity event after charity event. When he couldn't refuse anymore, they had started going together. Harry had been glad for the company. Draco had been his anchor in the crowd of people constantly trying to win favour with the Boy Who Lived. Twice.

"Harry, you look... good," Draco all but breathed.

Draco himself looked far better than just good. He looked fucking gorgeous in his deep green suit that really should not have worked for anyone but on him looked stunning. His hair had been gelled back like it had been slicked back, showing off the sharp features of his face.

Actually it was kind of pissing Harry off. All he wanted to do was muss up that hair and loosen the man's tie and maybe do away with the jacket as well.

"You don't look bad either, Draco," Harry told him, trying to stop his traitorous eyes from roaming.

They had barely moved a few paces before they were all but assaulted by a particularly forward witch who began eagerly praising Draco and eyeing Harry like she wanted nothing more than to pounce on him next. Harry swallowed, catching Draco's eye and hopefully sending out a telepathic distress call.

"It's lovely to finally meet you, Linda, I rather enjoyed your latest novel. It was impossible to put down till I had read it from cover to cover," Draco smiled taking a step back.

She thanked him, grinning widely. "We really should talk about a collaboration soon," she continued looking all to eager.

Draco laughed. "Of course, I'll ask my manager to get onto the arrangements right away," he said, taking a step closer to Harry. "I think you may have met her, actually. Pansy Parkinson?" Linda nodded. "In fact here she is right now. The lady herself, Miss Parkinson!" he said, bowing to Pansy in an absurdly elaborate fashion.

Pansy scowled at him. "Draco, I've been looking everywhere for you! Rod Brunswick has been waiting to meet you for half an hour."

"Sorry Pans, I was just waiting for Harry here."

Pansy turned her scowl on Harry next, making no move to cover up the once over she was giving him. Apparently she thought he was adequate enough to accompany her client because she clicked her heels and gestured for them both to follow.

"It was nice meeting you, Linda," Draco told the other witch, with a quick apology.

They had barely made it out of earshot before Pansy snorted and rounded on the two of them. "That is the third time I had to rescue you Draco Malfoy and if I have to do so again I swear I will quit. I cannot help you if you do not help yourself!"

Harry stared between them feeling utterly confused. Draco shot him an apologetic look. "Pans we should really do this later."

"No, we do this now," she insisted, glaring at Harry as well for good measure. "I've been working so hard to promote this book of yours, the least you could do is suck it up and make a few friends."

Harry felt Draco shift beside him. "They aren't my friends. They didn't look twice at me before-"

"I've had it with your pity parade, Draco," Pansy all but growled. She shoved Draco in the direction of a group of witches and wizards who were talking by the drinks table.

When Harry made to follow she grabbed his arm and pulled him along with her in the opposite direction, a smile plastered on her face. "I have orders to take you elsewhere, courtesy of your Auror friends," she informed him. "Draco needs to make friends today and you need to stay out of trouble. No more than four drinks for you tonight, do you understand?"

Harry was a little affronted. "You can't cut me off."

Pansy laughed. "Of course I can, sweetie. The entire wizarding world knows you can't handle your drinks and I don't want you ruining this night for Draco."

Harry nodded blankly. Arguing with Pansy would get him nowhere. "Where are you taking me?"

"I believe it's time we had a little chat, Potter," she told him crisply. "Don't you?"

Harry sighed, looking around for back up. "Lay it on me then," he told her when there seemed to be no one who could potentially come to his aid. It was just his luck.

"You and I both know that Draco might be good at using his words when he is writing but when it comes down to speaking he prefers sharp wit and sarcasm," said Pansy, flicking her dark hair off her shoulders. "That's why he has me."

"I think I know what you're going to say Pansy and I really don't need to hear it, Draco and I already had our talk at dinner."

"Well you're going to hear me out anyway," she sniffed. "You weren't the only one absolutely shattered when the two of you broke up. Weasley seems to think it was all on Draco but-"

"He walked out Pansy, then I never heard from him."

"And you didn't exactly follow if I recall," Pansy snapped. "Obviously both of you had decided at that point that your relationship wasn't worth saving."

"He moved to fucking France!"

"He lived with me in my flat, in London, for a month after you broke up and we didn't hear a word from you. I had to deal with his incessant moping and that pitiful look on his face all by myself and then I sent him to France because there was no way I was going to let him face Narcissa like that."

"Pansy, I really don't think now is the time or the place-"

"He's changed, Potter," she told him, ignoring his protests. "And I think you really should give him a chance to prove it to you."

"I gave him a chance last time, didn't I?" Harry demanded. He lowered his voice to a soft hiss when he noticed a couple of people had turned to see what was going on. "Leave it be, Pansy."

"Every single letter he wrote me over the years began with 'How is Harry doing?', it was sickening," Pansy hissed right back. "He wrote that book to show you that he's moved past all of that. He's in a better place now."

"Well I'm in a pretty good place too," Harry snapped. "Without him."

"But are you truly happy?" Pansy asked, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "You still love him, don't you?"

"Everything alright here?" asked a voice, stepping up beside Harry.

"Weasley," Pansy said with a nod. "And friend," she continued, voice rising an octave when she took in the man beside Ron.

Harry grinned at him. "Auror Peters, I see you drew the short straw then." It was true, aside from Ron no one else had wanted the job tonight. There had been a lot of bickering in the office until Robards had announced that he would assign someone of his own choosing.

"No one told me not to take the last treacle tart," sighed the man. "I thought it was fair game and this is where it landed me. Also you really should call me Owen."

"And you can call me Pansy," said the witch, shooting Ron a glare when he pretended to gag. "I'm Draco's manager."

"Malfoy?" asked Owen, looking impressed.

Pansy nodded. "He really is something, isn't he?" she continued, shooting Harry a pointed look. "Have you read his book?"

"I have actually," said Owen. He glanced around the room and following his gaze Harry saw that he had spotted Draco who was making his way over to them. . He looked absolutely in his element as well, practically gliding across the ballroom as he talked to a wizard here or laughed with a group of witches there. Slowly but surely he was edging closer though. "It was definitely something," Owen murmured. "I don't think I've read a novel about the war quite like that one."

"He put his heart and soul into it," Pansy said with a shrug. Harry didn't miss the proud smile on her face though. It actually looked sort of genuine. "I think he's really redeemed himself."

"It sure seems that way," Owen smiled.

Ron spluttered, looking like he was either going to object or choke. Luckily Draco took that moment to join them. "Pans, I think Romilda from the Prophet was looking for you," he said, giving the rest of them a brief smile. Ron's face immediately turned sour again and he shot Harry a look.

"Ah Romilda," Pansy sighed, "I'll go deal with her. She's somehow bitchier than in Hogwarts now."

"Don't mind her," Draco told them with a smirk as they watched Pansy turn on her heel and stalk away, muttering to herself. "She's just sour because Romilda was named one of Witch Weekly's women to watch and she wasn't." He turned to Owen who was also staring after her (Harry had to remember to pay him out for this later). "I don't believe we've met," Draco said, holding out a hand. "I'm Draco."

"Auror Owen Peters," grinned the other man. "I must say I thought the hype around your book was ridiculous at first but it really does deserve all the praise it's received."

"Pansy's not doing too bad for herself," Harry noted, still kind of dazed by the whole Pansy interaction. He had heard that it was a natural and completely understandable reaction to spending time in her presence. Also he kind of needed Draco to stop smiling that stupidly happy smile at Owen

"She's doing terrifically. I wouldn't have done half as well without her." Draco told him and Harry's stomach gave a little leap when Draco beamed at him. It didn't last long though because Ron suddenly cleared his throat. Draco gave him a curt nod. "I didn't expect to see you here, Ron."

"Harry wasn't going to come here alone," Ron told him snippily.

Draco smiled serenely but Harry could see where his hands were clenched tightly around his champagne glass. "While I am delighted you believe that I am so completely irresistible that you thought he needed a chaperone," said Draco coolly, "I believe Harry here can make his own decisions on who he chooses to keep for company."

"He's right, Ron," Harry found himself saying, Draco shot him a thankful smile and Harry noticed his grip on the glass loosening somewhat. Harry had the distinct feeling he had just saved that particular vessel from shattering.

"I'm not here to chaperone," Ron practically hissed. "I have a job to do Malfoy which is to protect you and quite frankly I don't know how much longer I can resist the urge to punch you in your smug gob." Ron only used words like frankly and gob when he was well and truly pissed off. Harry really needed to run intervention and pronto.

"See?" Draco was saying, turning to Harry and having the gall to wink. "Irresistible."

"I'm hungry, is anyone else hungry?" Harry asked, turning towards the grand table off to the side that was adorned with enough finger food to feed a small village. "Hey Ron, Owen, aren't you two supposed to be patrolling or something?" he added for good measure.

With one last scowl in Draco's direction and a pointed look at Harry, Ron left them with Owen close by his side looking confused. Harry let out a small sigh of relief. "What the hell was that?" he asked, rounding on Draco as soon as his best friend was out of earshot.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked but Harry knew exactly what he was talking about.

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't try your luck with Ron, his threats aren't empty. I might not hit you but he will."

"I know," Malfoy sighed and there was a sadness to him that hadn't been there when Ron was still around. "I mean, I know what he thinks of me and I deserve it, I really do but I just wish that there was some way to-"

"Mr. Malfoy!" called a middle-aged wizard in ridiculously puffy robes. He sidled up to them. "Mr. Potter, may I steal a moment's company with Mr. Malfoy here?"

Draco looked torn. Harry could see the question is his eyes. "He's all yours," Harry told the man before Draco could say anything. "I was just about to grab a bite to eat."

Draco raised his eyebrows. Are you sure? He was asking. Harry gave him a small nod before leaving them to their undoubtedly boring conversation. Networking, Draco had called it. Harry preferred the words painfully tedious.

He wandered over to the snack table, looking down at the tiny silver nameplates in front of each dish that was supposed to indicate what it was. It was all fancy gibberish to him. He tried to stay away from any that looked too suspicious.

"I'd try the cream cheese and salmon vol au vents if I were you," said a smooth voice from behind him. Harry turned to find broad shoulders and a sleek looking man staring down at him almost curiously. "Blaise Zabini," he said, gesturing to himself. "I do believe we were old school mates."

"Zabini!" Harry said, trying to hide his surprise.

"Yes, Potter?" drawled Zabini, curiosity seeming to melt into boredom. He reached around Harry and plucked what looked like a puff pastry with salmon and cream cheese on top from one of the platters. He proceeded to eat it without getting a single flake of pastry on his immaculately polished suit. The guy must have spent all day practicing; there really was no other explanation.

"So are you here to support Draco?" Harry asked because he really didn't know what else to say. Aside from the Slug club and sitting on the opposite side of some of his classes he hadn't really known Zabini all too well. He was one of the quieter Slytherins that had managed to stay out of trouble.

"He invited me, yes," said Blaise, still looking uninterested. He summoned a handkerchief from somewhere (who even carried those anymore?) and flicked off any crumbs that dared to linger on his hands. "Do tell me you aren't his date tonight, Potter."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I'm not."

"Excellent."

"And even if I was, would we have a problem?" he couldn't help himself from asking.

"It is quite simple really," said Blaise, making the handkerchief disappear with a smooth movement of his hand. "How should I put it in terms you will understand." He paused, probably for dramatic effect. He probably planned out this entire encounter. "Draco is a selfish git."

That was not what Harry was expecting. Sure he hadn't thought Blaise would wax lyrical about Draco like Pansy had done earlier but this!

"And why exactly do you care what I do?" asked Harry, trying not to look as puzzled as he felt. He would not let this guy rile him.

"I do not personally care what you do, Potter," Blaise explained in the voice one would adopt when talking to a five-year-old. "However it does perplex me how the savior of the Wizarding world defeated one of the greatest dark wizards of our time when he is just so gullible."

"Magic, I suppose," Harry began, working to keep his voice unaffected. "And luck. Also loyal friends," he added pointedly. Blaise's lips twitched and Harry counted that as a win.

"I always wondered what Draco saw in you," Blaise continued, looking thoughtful. "He usually grows tired of his playthings within a month or so. You know what he's like, always after the newest model or the latest edition."

"Have you considered," said Harry, trying to put some bite into it. "That maybe I'm not just a plaything?"

Blaise scoffed. "Of course you are, Potter. We all are, haven't you heard? It's all a game, the real question is, what are we playing for?"

Harry let out a surprised laugh. "Draco did mention you were a cynic."

"Did he now?" Blaise asked looking mildly interested again. "Was this before or after he walked out on you?" Harry bristled at that and was about to give the man a piece of his own mind but Blaise brushed off his protests. "You aren't honestly offended by me are you, Potter? Why on earth would you care what I thought? You don't even like me."

Harry rushed to protest but Blaise just rolled his eyes. "You have been clenching your fist for the entirety of our conversation. Honestly I'm surprised you've managed to remain civil at all." Harry set his jaw tightly and pointedly unclenched his balled fist as the man continued. "I've seen my fair share of relationship train wrecks, Potter and from what I saw at Hogwarts, you two may do well to stay away from away from each other."

Harry wanted to tell him that they had long since moved past their Hogwarts rivalry but the other man had spoken so much conviction for someone who seemed so indifferent to everything around him.

"I thought you two were friends." Harry asked instead, his mouth seeming to move of its own accord and for that Harry was glad because at least then he wouldn't just stand there gaping like an idiot.

"We are," Blaise replied easily.

Harry tried a new tack. "Pansy said he's changed."

"Pansy never really stopped fawning over him," Blaise said, rolling his eyes. "At school I firmly believed his head was too large already without her attentions. Look at him now." Harry follows his gaze to where Draco, straight-backed and elegant was still talking to the man from before. Two other middle-aged men had joined them now, all immaculately dressed in the finest of robes as well as matching airs of pomposity. Draco looked right at home. "He's like his father, our Draco," Blaise told him, turning back to Harry. "His affections are fickle at best."

"Don't-" Harry started only to be cut off again.

"If you like snakes, Potter I'll introduce you to Nott. He'll be more… suitable for something long term."

He met Draco's eye from where he was still with the group of wizards. The blonde man frowned as he looked between Harry and Blaise. "I believe I can figure out who is suitable for myself," Harry said, snapping his attention back to the wizard in front of him. Honestly, what the fuck was this guy's problem? Maybe this was all some kind of reverse psychology kind of thing.

Blaise laughed short and sharp, smiling so Harry could see the points of his teeth. His eyes remained unaffected as they studied Harry. "History does have a habit of repeating itself, doesn't it Draco?"

Draco had joined them apparently. The man pressed a little too close to Harry's side but between him and Blaise, Harry was very out of his element so he let it be. The warmth he supposed was even comforting.

"Harry, I see you've met Blaise," Draco said, finally tearing his gaze from the other man to give Harry a small smile. He was a picture of confidence, chin held high in arrogant indifference but if you knew what to look for, you may even say that Draco Malfoy was uncertain.

Harry knew what to look for. So Draco hadn't set up some kind of perverse reverse psychology trick. Great. The fact that Harry had even considered the possibility sort of showed how far his trust for Draco had come.

"We were just reminiscing about our shared history, actually," said Blaise smoothly. He turned to Harry. "Draco here was quite bitter when he didn't receive an invitation to the Slug Club in our sixth year."

Draco scowled at him. "I was not bitter," he said and Harry had to admit he did actually sound bitter. "I had other things on my mind that year." Like trying to kill Dumbledore, Harry's mind supplied.

"Hmm I suppose you did." Blaise looked between Harry and Draco. "I believe it's time for another drink. I will see you gentlemen later I presume." All Harry could do was blink at his receding figure. He bet the man practiced his exit as well, always so that he could have the last word.

Draco interrupted his thoughts with a small cough. "I'm sorry about Blaise," he said, smiling weakly at Harry. "He's an acquired taste."

"Hmm," Harry hummed, not really paying attention to what the blonde was saying until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry, are you alright?" Draco asked, his hand travelling down to stroke Harry's arm in what was supposed to be a comforting movement. Harry just froze beneath the touch and stared, first at the hand and then at Draco who immediately pulled it away.

"I'm fine," Harry nodded. "I think I need another drink as well."

It wasn't that he was avoiding Draco per se, it was more that Harry was trying to keep himself entertained in the company of other people.

At first he had tried to make friends. He really had. He bit back the sarcastic comments that were so easily at the tip of his tongue. He smiled for photos and made small talk the way he had been trained to do for years. It didn't make it any more fun though. He found the whole affair pompous and exhausting, sure but amidst the simpering authors he did find some real bastards as well. The highlight of his evening so far was probably trading jibes with them.

So when Owen made his way over while he was engaging an elderly witch in a conversation about the history of parchment, he jumped on the opportunity for escape without a second thought.

Owen grabbed his arm and leaned in close, face set in a firm frown. "I need you to look worried, tell her we have auror business that you need to attend to immediately," he whispered, before letting go Harry's arm. He took a step back and crossed his arms.

It took a couple of seconds for Harry to process what had just happened but as soon as he did he covered his relieved smile with a grimace. "I'm so sorry, Mrs Barclay but it seems we have some auror business we must attend to immediately. I do hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."

"Oh Mr. Potter," crooned the witch. "We are ever so lucky to have you protecting us. Do let me know if you are available for the interview."

"Of course," Harry assured her. There was no way in hell he was going to let the woman interview him so she could write him into the next auror romance novel she had planned out.

Owen led him to the far corner of the huge ballroom, looking around over Harry's shoulder before pulling something from his robes. "Perks of being the one at the door checking for smuggled items," he said, presenting Harry with a silver flask. "It's firewhiskey," he added when Harry fixed him with a questioning look. "I checked, don't worry."

"Well thank fuck," Harry sighed, all but snatching the flask from him. "They cut me off after the fourth drink. Apparently someone tipped them off that I was well on my way to getting smashed." He glanced around the room. "My money is on Pansy."

"Draco's manager?" asked Owen, taking a swig himself. Harry nodded and raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm drinking on the job and no you are not going to mention this to Ron. You owe me remember? I did rescue you just now."

"You do have a point," Harry mused. The whiskey was warming him up a lot quicker than the muggle stuff did. He loosened his tie before reaching for the flask again. "Do you know when they are actually going to be presenting the awards? We've been here for hours."

"Should be any minute now," said Owen, surveying the guests behind them. "We could play a game of 'guess who's having an affair' while we wait."

Harry stiffened. He used to play the same game with Draco every time they had to attend one of these events. They would spend the evening together, trying to keep straight faces as they chatted and networked but when they found a spot where they could be alone they would finally be able to laugh till their sides hurt.

"Or not…" Owen was saying, watching him worriedly.

Harry gave him a smile. "Sure."

They had barely gotten through the first round (a young witch on the arm of a greying wizard who couldn't seem to keep her eyes off one of the authors Harry remembered had been nominated in the same category as Draco) when the music stopped and everyone shuffled off to the side of the room, leaving the floor clear. There was a hum and crackle of magic that had Harry reaching for his wand but within a second about twenty round tables had appeared, filled with food.

"Finally," Owen muttered beside him.

Harry laughed. "Are the seats arranged or…"

"They were but I worked some last minute magic and snagged us a spot at the back with Ron."

"You're bloody awful," Harry informed him, patting him on the chest. Okay so he could definitely feel his buzz now. "I need to find Draco. I did come here with him, you know. Supposedly. Asshole ditched me the first chance he got but still, it's his big night and all that."

Owen laughed. "There are cameras up front, I really don't think you're in a state to be in front of cameras."

"You have a point and it is a good point," Harry nodded. "Let's go."

Like he had promised, Owen had found them seats at the table furthest from the stage that had just been created and closest to the door.

"Ronald!" he cried, falling in next to Ron and draping an arm around him. "Missed you all night mate. Might have died with boredom but Owens here rescued me."

"It's Owen," the auror corrected him with a grin, falling into the seat on Harry's other side. "And you're welcome. Ron, you never told me he was a hilarious drunk, why have we not been out for drinks before?"

"You should join us for pub night on Fridays," Ron told him, rolling his eyes. "If he ever tells you he can handle his drink, he's lying. Parkinson told me they cut him off after four," he smirked at Harry. "You would have thought, looking at him that he'd downed half a bottle of firewhiskey."

Owen winked at him, nudging the flask Harry had still kept hidden from Ron.

Harry pouted but the confused look on Ron's face was enough to make him crack a smile as well. "Seriously though," he said turning to Owen. "You should join us, you can meet the rest of the gang."

Owen grinned. "Maybe I will."

The rest of the night passed in a blur. No one else joined their table, choosing to take seats as close to the spotlight as possible instead. Harry didn't really care. He was content enough making comments about the type of novel he assumed each of the witches and wizards had written.

"He definitely wrote that one about that Mediwizard that had an affair with the reporter in charge of his misconduct trial," Ron whispered.

"I thought those novels were Hermione's."

"I get bored sometimes," shrugged Ron. "They're not actually half bad. The guy had the misconduct charges against him because he was running a side business where he helped treat a gang of dark wizards with potions he stole from the hospital. I thought it might come in handy."

Harry snorted. "So you're reading them to help with auror business."

"'course, mate."

"And now for the break out novel of the year and the break out author of the year…" the voice of their host announced over the chatter, making them both sit up straight.

This was Draco's award. He practically had it in the bag and it looked like he knew it. A hovering screen showed Draco practically preening as he looked up at the stage. Harry was happy for him. He really was. He knew that Draco had always wanted to redeem his family name. It was one of the reasons Harry had suggested he work for the Ministry in the first place but Draco had always refused, partly because he wanted his redemption to be on his own terms. Harry had no idea until now what that actually meant.

Harry was happy for him. He really was but when they announced Draco's name and the man practically strutted up to collect his award, it just felt wrong. Maybe it was Blaise's words. He had been hearing them over and over again throughout the night. Selfish git. Fickle at best. He usually grows tired of his playthings. Was that before or after he walked out on you?

He swallowed from his flask again, not caring if Ron saw him this time. Draco was talking but despite the sonorous charm he seemed so far away.

"Harry?" Ron asked, clutching Harry's arm. His eyes were wide with concern and maybe even a flash of anger. "What the fuck did you give him, Peters?" he snapped at Owen behind Harry's back.

Harry was too busy staring at the man on stage in his sharp suit, tailored so perfectly to hug his figure, smiling down at the crowd with that lazy self-assured smile. He tried to picture that man sitting cross-legged on his living room floor, eating takeaway noodles from the muggle shop down the road. He tried to imagine it and it hurt because holy shit it wasn't the same guy at all. This was not his Draco - this was the other man. The one that had been a bully at school and then a death eater pawn and the one that had walked out because he didn't think Harry trusted him.

Like Harry was going to trust him now. Fuck Blaise. He wasn't gullible.

Harry didn't remember wrenching his arm away from Ron or stumbling out of the ballroom. He really didn't have to remember if the number of camera flashes that followed his departure was anything to go by.

He hadn't made the front page in a long while anyway.

A/N: Oh lord, I don't even know what I'm doing anymore all I know is it's hella fun

Let me know what you think :)