A/N: I'm sorry for the wait on this one, you guys! I hit some major writer's block, and had three weeks of my mother and my inlaws visiting, and worsening physical and mental health, and a couple of original short stories i was trying to finish... and you guys just want to get to the good stuff, I know. In any case, thanks for putting up with my erratic posting schedule. You should be happy to know that the final two chapters (7 and 8) are complete; I will post them Thursday and Saturday evening, respectively. And now... enjoy!
Despite Draco's initial misgivings, the date was surprisingly fun – at first, anyway. The walk to Hogsmeade was brilliant – the sky was shockingly blue, the trees blazed with bursts of autumn color, and the sun warmed their backs. The two couples ambled along, in no particular hurry, joking and laughing, talking of nothing of import, gossiping about their fellow students' relationships and drama – everything they'd missed out on. The taste of teenage normalcy that the war had stolen from them was heady. Luna regaled them with stories of all the strange and bizarre things they'd missed about their peers; the Weaselette ranted about Quidditch. Harry and Draco mainly listened, sharing grins and leaning close to whisper snide remarks in one another's ear.
Soon, they were giggling, leaning against one another for support and weaving along the path, drunk with sunshine and laughter. Draco found he didn't care if they never made it into town. He would gladly give up the promised meal for the chance to stay out here, alone together, away from nosy, prying, judgmental eyes – where they could steal kisses and swing their clasped hands between them without fear of repercussions. It was peaceful. He felt light, and freer than he had in years.
Eventually, their complaining stomachs urged them into town, toward the lure of food. "Ooh! Let's go in here!" Luna dragged the Weaselette to the side, bouncing across the street toward a small restaurant with an incredibly tacky window display of pink hearts and roses.
"We are not going to Madam Puddifoot's!" Draco stared, horrified, silently imploring the others to agree. Surely Harry would understand…
Harry bit his lip, indecisive. "Well…"
"Oh, come on," Luna insisted. "She has the best scones – you'll see." She dragged the Weaselette through the door, and Harry shrugged and turned to follow.
Draco rolled his eyes. Tell me I'm not doing this, he grumbled to himself as he gave in and followed the others, sneering at the overly-frilly window display as he passed it. He was enveloped in a fragrant cloud of steam as he stepped through the doorway, and his stomach growled embarrassingly loudly. Luna was right, he thought, damn her. The food smells absolutely divine. She's never going to let me hear the end of this.
They found an empty table in a quiet nook near the back, half-hidden behind a privacy curtain that had far too many tassels. Draco looked around at the kitschy decor and knick-knacks in horror. There were more doilies scattered about than he'd ever seen – and that included in the home of his father's unfortunate Great-Aunt Bathilda. Luna – being Luna – declared that she rather liked it, and that was that.
The table was meant for two, but the Weaselette and Harry simply grabbed extra chairs from nearby tables and they all crowded close. It would have been romantic, with the lace and the candles, save for the constantly bumping knees and elbows and the sidelong glances from the servers as they bustled past.
Harry sat across from Draco, as they'd agreed on earlier; Luna and the Weaselette on either side. None of them was ready to come out yet, which was what made this double-date plan of Luna's so deviously brilliant. No one would bat an eye at Harry and the Weaselette, nor at Draco and Luna. Draco didn't like pretending – rather, he didn't like Harry pretending. He didn't mind Luna – she was obliviously adorable as ever – but watching the Weaselette hanging on Harry's arm rankled. He hoped Luna knew what she was doing.
After a brief perusal of the menu, Luna announced that they would have one of everything, thank you. This had the added benefit of calming Madam Puddifoot's ire. It was far more than the four of them could possibly hope to eat, of course, and everything was delicious. Draco honestly couldn't find fault with any of it, which he reluctantly admitted.
Luna grinned around her bite of scone. "Told you so!"
He nudged her shoulder playfully, and then realized that they were drawing speculative glances from the other patrons. He folded his hands primly in his lap and refused to fidget. Which only brought back those dark months back home, when Voldemort himself had instructed him in "proper pureblood manners." He looked up imploringly, feeling the familiar veil of panic cloud his vision; Harry had just opened his mouth when a shadow fell over their table.
Draco looked up into the Weasel's furious eyes and rapidly reddening face and sank lower in his seat, hands clasped so tightly together his knuckles turned white.
"Harry!" Granger said brightly. "Ginny. Luna. Malfoy? Whatever are you all doing here?"
And there it was. Draco belatedly realized that they hadn't actually discussed what they would say if someone confronted them.
"We're on a date, of course!" Luna said, dreamy as ever. "It's wonderful. Would you like to join us? There's enough food for all of us, and I dare say you could squeeze in if you wanted."
The Weasel snorted, ignoring her invitation. "Don't see how you can stand to date someone like him."
Draco tried to rally his scattered wits to defend himself, but the Weasel had already turned away, refocusing on his initial target.
"And you!" he shouted, pointing a shaking finger back and forth between Harry and the Weaselette, "I really don't see how you can stand to associate with this… this scum."
"Ron…" Granger tugged on his arm, but he ignored her.
"And if you're going to date my sister," he continued, "at least be man enough to admit it! Even if you are the bloody Chosen One!"
Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times – and, honestly, Draco had no idea what to say either – and then the Weaselette stood up, shoving her chair back.
"Ron!" she said firmly, "that's enough! I appreciate you looking out for me, I really do, but I've got this."
"But—"
"No, Ron! We're not ready for all the press and publicity that would come with an official announcement. Just leave it – I promise we've got it under control."
She made quite a picture, Draco had to admit, with her fiery hair and flashing eyes; he was struck by the way she deflected the Weasel's accusation without specifying just who she was dating. It was impressive; she'd have made a good Slytherin.
His attention was drawn to Granger, standing quietly at the Weasel's side. Observing. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she took in the Weaselette's tirade, Luna's unperturbed tea-sipping and growing smile as she watched. He knew she'd seen him tense, when the Weasel started in on Harry, and the look Harry had shot him that plainly said, "Leave it."
He sent her a pleading glance and she frowned, pursed her lips, and nodded.
"For now," she mouthed, careful to stay out of the Weasel's line of sight. She looked back at the Weaselette and Luna, both now frowning worriedly at Harry, who was taking the Weasel's impassioned – if borderline incoherent – tirade impassively, the tic in his jaw the only outward sign of his frustration. Her face softened.
"Come on, Ron" she said, leading him away with a determined hand on his arm. "You've made your point. Ginny's her own woman – you have to let her make her own choices." Then she leaned in and whispered something into his ear, and he huffed out a laugh and allowed her to lead him away, some of the unfortunate mottled color fading from his face.
The four of them watched them walk away, identical expressions of relief on all their faces. Granger turned her head, smirked at them behind the Weasel's back. "You all owe me," she mouthed.
Draco swallowed, wondering just how much she was going to demand. But then Harry squeezed his hand under the table, and he decided it would be worth it, no matter the price.
Someone knocked on his door as he was getting ready for bed that night. "Just a minute," he called, hopping on one leg as he attempted to pull on his pajama bottoms on the way to the door. It had to be Harry – no one else had knocked on his door this year – and he wondered what he might want.
They'd parted ways not long before, after salvaging what they could of their afternoon, despite the cloud that had been thrown over it. He had headed back to his room to catch up on the weekend's homework he'd been putting off, and Luna had skipped away, muttering something about the greenhouse. He'd thought to ask Harry if he wanted to work on their homework together, but the Weaselette had pulled him aside, whispering urgently, and Harry had shrugged apologetically at Draco and followed her toward the couches by the fire – unofficial Gryffindor territory. Draco tamped down the rising jealousy. They'd been friends longer, after all. And if Draco was honest, he'd get more done on his own, anyway.
He'd remained out-of-sorts and lonely, and was having trouble concentrating on his work. Now his heart leapt in his chest and he immediately forgave Harry for ditching him for the Weaselette earlier. They had to keep up the pretense, after all, if they didn't want to accidentally out themselves.
Draco was willing to forgive just about anything for the chance to spend some time alone with Harry. The date had been fun, certainly, but he'd been too self-conscious for all but the most innocuous touches. But now…
He had just enough time to anticipate another kiss before the door opened to reveal—
The Weasel. Draco's heart plummeted.
"If it isn't the Weasel," he sneered, hoping he looked convincing. "What do you want?"
"What do you think I want, Death-Eater?" He spat the words as if they were poisoned, and they fell on Draco like physical blows. He thought at first that he'd been cursed, then realized that the pain came from being called that horrid, hateful name he despised. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, and it was a struggle to pay attention to the Weasel's words, loud and angry and punctuated by finger-jabs and profanity. "Loony Lovegood wasn't enough for you, is that it? Well, even she's too good for you. And let me tell you right now, you're not getting anywhere near my sister. Harry may have tolerated you for the sake of his grades, but you'll see how quickly he'll turn on you if you ever dare to touch her."
"But—" Draco couldn't find the words, couldn't breathe, but it didn't matter. The Weasel talked over him, anyway.
"Stay away from my sister, Malfoy. Or I promise you'll wish you'd died in that war."
The Weasel turned and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.
The inkwell on his desk fell over, spilling his favorite emerald green ink over his half-finished arithmancy essay and the sketch he'd been working on the day before. He didn't bother righting it.
He sank to the floor, struggling to draw breath around the bludger that seemed to have lodged itself in his throat. All he could think was that he'd been right about the Weaselette all along. But he couldn't blame her, not really. He was surprised more girls didn't try to snag Harry by any means they could. And wasn't the Chosen One better off with his hero girlfriend? Not with Death-Eater scum like him. What could he offer that could hold a candle to what the Weaselette could offer him? The perfect family, 2.5 kids, and a white picket fence. The perfect life. If he'd chosen Draco, the best Harry could have hoped for would be to not be spat on in public.
Hot tears splashed onto his cheeks and hands, and Draco crumpled.
