He had never felt so awkward and so good at the same time.
He can dance, you have to give him that. But his expression leaves no doubt that he would have preferred not being watched by all his classmates. And normally Pansy would have laughed at the sight of a waltzing Draco, of course - if she wasn't too busy gawking at his home.
Sure, the Parkinsons are wealthy and own a respectable town villa, but the Malfoys' palatial estate is almost ridiculously decadent, and the antique furniture and art objects radiate a gloomy beauty that reminds Pansy of the Slytherin common room. Her gaze wanders from the ballroom's vaulted and stuccoed ceiling, to the massive chandelier and the guests, who have consistently adhered to the elegant dress code. They all watch the dancing couples in the middle of the room, who must have rehearsed a choreography so no one gets in each other's way.
In contrast to the Parkinsons' parties, nothing here is left to chance. No one laughs too loud or drinks too much. This is a place of pure elegance and aesthetics, and the hosts blend in with it perfectly; Lucius Malfoy, in a tailcoat and top hat, and his wife Narcissa, wearing a high-necked, burgundy mermaid dress and an elaborate braided hairstyle, look nearly aristocratic, so it's difficult to take your eyes off them.
While Gemma whispers something to Francesca Zabini, Pansy looks down at herself to be sure her diamond-shaped neckline doesn't show too much cleavage. The floor length, red-violet chiffon gown falls flowing and soft, the cap sleeves and short lace gloves finish the look. It would be perfect, if Pansy wasn't reminded with every breath, that her bust growth wasn't foreseen when her mother had the dress made.
Blaise, on the other hand, is wearing his suit with confidence. Even though he would never admit it, he loves to dress up.
A waiter, who appears out of nowhere, asks, "Anything to drink?"
"White wine," Gemma and Francesca answer in unison.
"Very well."
"For me too," Pansy says and takes a glass from the tray, whereupon Blaise toasts her with his water glass, grinning. The waiter - obviously irritated - looks as if he was about to say something, but then walks on.
"Sweetie, it's still early in the evening," Gemma murmurs to her.
"Oh, don't worry, Mother. As you know, I've been drinking since I was nine. I won't embarrass you. Or do you suddenly feel the need to educate me? Because Daddy and the house-elf did that long before you did."
Blaise spits out his drink, prompting Francesca to give him a reprimanding slap on the back of the head.
But Gemma stays calm - now it's about her most important thing in the world: to save face. "Pansy is a little upset about the breakup."
"She kicked Dad out last month," Pansy explains.
Gemma looks at her daughter conspiratorially. "Like I said, adult problems are too complicated to worry about."
"Oh, Gemma, dear," Francesca says, "I was so hoping you'd get back together."
"Well, after fourteen years of marriage it wasn't meant to be, I guess ... but enough about me, tell me how your husband is doing - is he on the mend now?"
Francesca sighs. "The food poisoning has hit him hard, and he'll have to stay at St. Mungo's for a while."
"Oh, you poor thing!"
While their mothers commiserate each other, Blaise comes over to Pansy. "Your dad has moved out?"
"It's okay," she lies. "He's staying at a hotel at the moment, but when he has found a house, I'm going to spend all upcoming holidays with him."
"That will break her heart."
"Please, you know my mother. As long as there's a party that she's invited to, her world is fine."
"I mean Tessy."
"Ha, ha. At least Gemma won't introduce me to the umpteenth stepfather. Speaking of, how are things going with … Richard?"
"Carter," Blaise corrects. "Richard was the last one."
"Right, may he rest in peace ... Is Carter a bit, um, elderly too?"
"Eighty-three."
"Oh. Your mum said he's in the hospital. Do you think he'll get back on his feet?"
"No," Blaise says, taking a sip.
"I see." Pansy swirls the wine in her glass. "Well, he's old, isn't he? And old men die, eventually."
"Mm-hm."
The opening dance is over, and Pansy absently claps along with the crowd. She watches Draco greeting people, as he makes his way to the boys from their class at the other end of the dance floor. Crabbe and Goyle have the appearance of Neanderthals in tuxedos, while Ted looks cute, even though his suit is a size too big. He's talking to Tracey, who's wearing a long-sleeved, blue satin dress.
Suddenly, someone covers Pansy's eyes from behind. She slaps the stranger's hands away and whirls around. It's Daphne grinning at her. Her golden blonde hair cascades down a white babydoll dress, that would have looked like a nightdress on anyone else, but Daphne just resembles an angel.
Vomit alert.
"Millie and I fled from Snape," she says.
Pansy follows her gaze. Their Potions teacher (still greasy-haired, despite the formal attire) is chatting with the stocky Mr Bulstrode, his tarted up wife, and Mr and Mrs Greengrass, who, in stark contrast, look like they've sprung from a perfume campaign.
"How nice to see you again, Gemma!" Millicent exclaims. Her hair, twisted into corkscrew curls, emphasises her round face in an unfavourable manner. Not to mention the tight, bronze-coloured dress and the long, white gloves.
Gemma smiles benevolently, but fixes her eyes on Daphne. Ever since she met the Greengrasses at her Christmas party last year, she has been fond of Pansy's blonde, pretty, slim classmate. "Hello girls, you look great as always. Daphne, your dress fits you perfectly."
"Oh, yes," Pansy sneers, "it's so nice and … simple."
Daphne giggles. "I like yours too, especially the colour. Did you design this, Gemma?"
"Indeed. And you would look stunning in it, given your figure."
"If you'll excuse us," Pansy says with a mock smile, "it's time to thank Draco for the invitation." Then she links arms with Blaise, pulling him through the crowd without waiting for anyone's reaction. "No matter how many more men your mother puts six feet under," she mutters angrily, "at least she wouldn't trade you for someone else."
Shortly afterwards they join their classmates. Blaise and Ted greet each other with a complicated series of handshakes to demonstrate their coolness (whereas Crabbe's and Goyle's attempt at imitation is rather embarrassing), and Pansy kisses the air next to Tracey's cheeks before turning to Draco. "You danced wonderfully, bravo!"
He points at her hairpins adorned with forget-me-nots. "You have weeds growing out of your skull, you know that?"
"Charming as always. By the way, the poor girl who had to dance with you didn't look familiar. Let me guess: first-year, Hufflepuff?"
"False," he replies smugly. "The poor girl receives private lessons, her name is Olivia Fudge, and she happens to be the niece of Cornelius Fudge, our Minister. Maybe there was even one moment when you weren't painting your fingernailsand happened to hear about him."
Pansy blinks. "Fudge? Oh. And why don't you introduce us to her?"
"Because she's annoying."
"So what?" Blaise mumbles. "It might be an advantage to know her."
"No way. She's been sticking to me like a limpet since the dance rehearsals, I'm glad to be rid of her."
"Have you seen Daphne?" asks a bored voice from behind them. It's Daphne's little sister, in a black tulle dress, with a neon pink hair strand, and - clearly visible - chewing a colour-matching bubble gum.
Pansy thinks that the name Astoria is too pretentious for that girl, even though she's just as blonde, blue-eyed and perfect as Daphne.
"Why?" Draco asks. "Is she your babysitter?"
Crabbe grunts.
"Our parents want to speak to her," Astoria replies coolly.
"Oh, they just have to follow the slime trail leading to my mother," Pansy says, but in the very next moment, Daphne and Millicent emerge from the crowd.
"What do you want here, Tori?" Daphne asks.
"Mum and Dad want to see you, it's about your mark in Potions."
"What?!"
"They want to discuss with you and Professor Snape how you can achieve an Exceeds Expectations."
Pansy and the others try to suppress their giggles.
"Now? Here? You're kidding me."
"Nope."
Daphne takes a deep breath. "Fine. Tell them I'll be right there."
Smirking, Astoria pops a big gum bubble and walks back.
Daphne watches her leave, then turns to the others. "Hide me!"
Draco grins. "We have several trapdoors leading into the dungeon. How about that?"
"Wait - you have a dungeon?" Millicent asks.
He shrugs his shoulders. "The mansion was built in the eleventh century, when people had prisoners from time to time."
"Cool, I want to see that!" says Tracey.
Blaise nods in agreement. "Me too."
"I would prefer a wine cellar," says Pansy.
"As long as we're getting out of here," Daphne whines, looking at Draco. "Please!"
*.*.*.*
Draco throws a glance at his parents. They wouldn't approve of him bunking off the soiree without having spoken to the most important guests. But they are in deep conversation with the Minister's secretary, probably talking about political matters, money, sensitive information, money, mutual favours and, last but not least, money, embellished with lots of small talk.
With a nod, Draco motions for the others to follow him into the red marbled entrance hall. Crabbe and Goyle had been here before, as well as Ted when they were little.
While the girls admire the paintings and a stone lion, Blaise bluntly asks about the dungeon entrance. His expression doesn't reveal if Malfoy Manor actually leaves him cold or if he's just pretending. Even after two years together in school, Draco still can't read him at all and knows hardly anything about his life before Hogwarts.
As requested, Draco leads his classmates into the drawing room, where his mother not only invites her friends for tea, but where's also a door hidden in the floor under the carpet. Only Blaise, Tracey and Goyle follow Draco down the steep stairs. Since no one has their wand with them (and they aren't allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts anyway), they use a small, flickering lantern as light source. Predictably, no one feels the need to explore the mouldy smelling vault, and when Goyle states that a mouse has run over his feet, Blaise is the first to hurry back upstairs.
Meanwhile, the others have gone next door to the music room; Ted is randomly hitting the piano keys, while Pansy, Daphne and Millicent are holding hands and dancing in circles like little girls.
Draco can barely watch Ted abusing the antique instrument. He obviously has no clue that playing piano is a very own kind of magic, immersing you into another world within minutes, and conveying feelings that can't be expressed otherwise. But if Draco tried to explain, they all would just mock him.
His mother not only taught him how to play piano, but also how to waltz. He still has one image in mind from when he was six. He kept mixing up the steps and was annoyed with himself, but she patiently encouraged him to try again, while his father leaned against the doorframe and watched them with a smile.
But in recent years, this room has only been used sporadically (like Draco and Olivia practising the choreography for today's opening dance).
After taking a look at the small library, they climb the double staircase. Draco doesn't even notice the ranting of Elladora Black anymore, on whose portrait he once drew a distinctive moustache as a toddler. Just like he has learned to ignore the large oil painting at the top of the stairs - but today he didn't count on his childish companions.
"Is that YOU?" Pansy cries, and Ted claps his hand over his mouth. "What are you wearing?"
They burst out laughing, and no one else manages to keep a straight face at the sight of little Draco in a one-piece velvet suit with a ruff collar. To be fair, he looks bloody stupid in that outfit.
"How very funny," Draco hisses. "Now, do you want to see the family heirlooms or what?"
"Nah, that's boring," says Millicent.
"Right, you'd better show us your room," Daphne suggests.
He snorts. "Forget it."
"But it's not far anymore," says Goyle, gesturing to one of the two iron spiral stairs leading further upwards. "We just have to go up there."
Draco gives him a withering look as Tracey starts taking off her shoes. "Good, my feet are killing me."
"Yeah, I'm tired of walking," Crabbe complains.
"And I'd love to see a boy's room," says Daphne.
Draco glares at each one of them. "If you break anything, you'll all end up in the dungeon."
Shortly afterwards they follow him up the stairs to the second and attic floor, until he finally opens the dark panelled door of the tower room.
A moment after they have entered, Pansy sighs in annoyance, but is drowned out by Teds "Awesome!"
"Totally," Blaise agrees, letting his gaze wander over the countless fan merchandise from the Montrose Magpies, Draco's favourite Quidditch team. Apart from posters, tricots and toy broomsticks, his collection includes a group photo with the team, a Quaffle signed by every player, and a miniature Quidditch stadium.
The boys gather around the latter and cheer on the tiny Seeker from 1974, who once again catches the Snitch with his legendary feint, helping the Magpies to win the British League Cup.
"My father is a fan too," says Tracey, sinking into an armchair from the seventeenth century that once belonged to Louis XIV. "Didn't they win a game just yesterday?"
Goyle nods. "Against the Quiberon Quafflepunchers from France."
"Now they just have to beat the German Heidelberg Harriers and they'll be European champions again," Crabbe adds.
"How very interesting," Millicent murmurs, looking around in confusion, "but say, where is your bed?"
"In my bedroom. Obviously," Draco replies.
"You have several rooms?"
"Only two actually, if you don't count the reading room."
"Sure, who counts their reading room? Crystal clear."
"Oh, Millie, come over here!" Daphne looks out into the gardens from one of the small windows. "The peacocks, they are all white. Pretty, aren't they?"
"My mother's hobby breeding," Draco says. "You can choose one for 270 Galleons. Except for Alberto, he's mine ... hey, what are you doing?" he asks Pansy, who's rummaging through his old toy trunk in the other corner.
But instead of explaining herself, she holds up a white, elastic bracelet and beams with joy. "You have Fibbing Bands!"
"Kids' stuff."
"They're funny," Blaise interjects. "Pansy, her brother and I used to play with them a lot."
With a smile, Pansy puts on the bracelet and says, "I am not Pansy," whereupon it lights up red and she claps her hands in excitement.
"What are these things?" Goyle asks.
"Fibbing Bands can sense if you're telling the truth," Blaise explains. "You put it on the wrist of your wand hand, then you're asked a question you have to answer honestly. If you're lying, the bracelet glows red and you've got to do something embarrassing as punishment."
"Sounds funny."
"That's what I'm saying."
"Or maybe, after the holidays, the liar has to do the questioner's homework in the subject of his choice," Pansy suggests.
"Nice idea."
"So, we have ten bracelets here. Who's in?"
"Oh, yes!"
"I'm in."
"Me too."
The others sit down in a circle on the floor, so Draco finally gives in to peer pressure and seats himself between Ted and Blaise."Whatever."
"Okay, let's get started," Pansy solemnly says after everyone has put on a bracelet. "I get to ask the first question, because it was all my idea."
"You just made that rule up," says Blaise, but she ignores him and turns to Millicent, who is sitting to her left. "Millicent, who in this group is best dressed today?"
"Um … you?" Millicent answers hesitantly, but then nods to confirm her statement. The next second, however, her bracelet lights up red and Pansy's content smile freezes.
"Uh, I mean, Tracey's dress is really pretty too. Well, you two, I'd say," Millicent stammers, her bracelet turning white again.
"As punishment, you're going to do my Astronomy homework," Pansy says coldly.
"But … aren't you quite good at that?"
"Yes, but for just one Wednesday, I'd like to go to bed at a reasonable hour instead of studying the night sky. I have dark circles under my eyes every Thursday morning!"
"Deal," Millicent mutters, but she brightens as she looks at Daphne. "Daphne, if your life depended on one of our teachers - our current teachers - standing naked in front of you, who would you choose?"
Roaring laughter follows, while Pansy grimaces in disgust and Blaise coughs "Sinistra" clearly understandable.
Daphne blushes deeply, but then she seems to have a brainwave. "Dumbledore, of course!"
In response to the horrified faces, she continues, "Just think about it, he has this very long beard!"
"Dumbledore is no teacher," Crabbe points out.
"Well then, I'd choose Flitwick and just look over him."
"Good save," says Ted, and Daphne smiles mischievously at him. "It's your turn! So, Teddy, which Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor girl in our year is the prettiest?"
"Uuh, exciting," says Tracey.
"Erm, let's think about it. Ravenclaw, definitely Lisa. And Hufflepuff … Susan."
"WHAT?"
"Um, no?"
"Is there something wrong with your eyes?"
"What is it?" Ted asks.
"Come on," says Draco. "Susan looks like a dumpling. Megan is prettier."
"Megan has an arrogant attitude. I say Susan. So that leaves Gryffindor …"
"You can choose from a different year," Pansy laughs, a hollow sound. "I mean, if you have to choose between Hermione, Lavender and Parvati, we'll still be here tomorrow morning."
"Parvati looks good."
"But we hate her, choose someone else."
"For Merlin's sake, Romilda Vane then!"
"Approved. Now ask Draco a question."
Sighing, Ted turns to Draco. "All right. What's the most embarrassing thing in your closet?"
Draco immediately pushes the image of his plush dragon out of his mind and answers as calmly as possible, "Chudley Cannons socks, a bad buy from my grandmother."
But just as he's about to ask Blaise his question, good old Monty pops into his head again and his bracelet starts glowing red.
Dammit.
"Punishment!" Pansy claims cheerfully.
"First I want the truth," Ted demands.
Draco scowls at him. "There's an old plush toy in my closet. I always forgot to throw it away and -"
The bracelet lights up again.
"All right, all right! My father eventually disposed of all my toys that he thought were too childish, but I wanted to keep him. Happy?"
"Him?"
By now, Draco's ears have turned red, too. "A dragon. His name is Monty."
"Oh, that's so cute!" says Daphne, while Crabbe and Blaise try to hold back a chuckle.
"He still needs to be punished," says Pansy. "Ted, what subject would you like Draco to do your homework for?"
"Herbology," he replies graciously. Sprout focuses on practical work in the greenhouses; her homework usually consists of some bullet point notes.
Blaise is next.
"What's your darkest secret?" Draco asks him.
Blaise doesn't seem to be nervous at all. "I hate Puffskeins. I really can't stand them."
"Shocking." Draco was hoping for something more exciting, but for a moment it looks like Blaise and Pansy are exchanging a glance.
"That was easy," Blaise states. "On we go. Goyle, what is your secret dream?"
"Oh ... I've got to think about that."
When Goyle thinks, you can almost hear the gears in his brain meshing together. After a while, his face takes on a dreamy expression. "I'd like to sing. In a band or something. That would be cool."
"Wow, Greg," says Ted, "I had no idea you could sing."
"Neither can I," says Goyle with a puzzled frown.
"Oh."
Goyle looks at Crabbe, then he laughs. "He, he, when was the last time you farted?"
"In the ballroom," Crabbe replies, his face impassive. He turns to Tracey, who has edged away from him. "What would you do if you were invisible for one day?"
Tracey ponders for a moment. "Break into the Ministry and steal the solution sheets for the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams."
"What for? We're only in third grade."
"But I could sell them for a fortune to the fifth- and seventh-years."
"Aah …"
"That's very clever, isn't it?" says Pansy with an insincere smile and looks around. "So, I, as the game leader -"
"There's no position like this," Blaise remarks.
"- would suggest that Tracey is now asking a question for all of us. That would be a funny ending."
"Or a free ticket for you?" Tracey asks, frowning.
"I don't understand."
"It wasn't your turn yet."
"Of course, I asked Millicent who is best dressed."
"You know exactly what I mean, you haven't answered -"
"Tracey," Pansy croons as if talking to a child, "please ask us a question, we're all waiting just for you."
Draco chuckles. Typical of Parkinson.
Tracey no longer bothers to protest and gives them a meaningful look. Then she asks with a smug grin, "Who - apart from myself - has ever kissed someone with tongue?"
The boys cast her stolen glances, Millicent and Daphne giggle. One by one, they shake their heads.
"I have," says Draco finally, and can't resist to grin wryly as he looks into astonished faces.
"Really?"
"Whom?"
"Olivia," he answers.
"Fudge?"
"Sure, who else?"
"So you're a couple now?"
"Of course not. I already told you she was getting on my nerves."
That's not entirely true, but he has taken off his bracelet unnoticed.
Blaise grins, too. "How was it?"
"Pretty good."
At least that's not a lie …
At some point during their dance rehearsal a week ago, Olivia had pulled a small, sunshine-yellow bottle out of her dress and offered him a sip. Until then, Draco had only heard of the so-called Elixir to induce Euphoria, but it did exactly what its name suggests. Afterwards they joked around a bit, when Olivia suddenly stuck her tongue down his throat (not that he would have complained, she is good-looking with her ice blue eyes and long, strawberry blonde hair).
He had never felt so awkward and so good at the same time. And so they smooched for a while, before they continued with dancing. And then smooching. And dancing. And smooching.
When they saw each other again today, she acted as if nothing ever happened between them and, after the dance, went out into the gardens with another boy. Draco could't care less. He will keep the hours with her in good memory, and that's it.
"Well," Pansy says a bit snarky, "some people just don't want to get their first kiss from a random person."
Tracey puts her arm around her shoulders. "Luckily I'm not a random person."
Pansy frowns at her, when Tracey suddenly presses her lips against her's.
Draco's jaw hits the floor; he's barely aware of Blaise nudging him with his elbow and the other boys cheering - there are two girls, sitting in his room and kissing each other. Well, technically one is kissing the other, against her will. And both are actually annoying chickens. But who cares! Draco has already stored this wonderful image in his brain forever.
Pansy pushes Tracey away from her. "Are you crazy or what?"
"You took away my chance of getting your homework service," Tracey defends herself, grinning. "So I decided you owed me a kiss. And now you had a great first kiss."
"That doesn't count," Pansy hisses, her cheeks flushed. "And it certainly wasn't great!"
"But at least you have some practise before you get started with Roger."
"Who?" Blaise asks.
"No one," Pansy waves aside.
"Roger Davies."
"Tracey!"
"What does 'get started' mean here?"
"He's a fifth-year," says Ted irritated.
"So what?" Pansy snarls.
But Draco feels the need to interfere as well. "You just can't get involved with the enemy, Davies is the Ravenclaw's captain, and we play against them …" he pauses. "Wait, she could squeeze their tactics out of him."
"True," Blaise admits, looking at Pansy. "On which relationship level are you both?"
"None yet," Tracey replies.
"Would you stop exposing my private matters here?" Pansy snaps. "Besides, Roger simply needs a shove in the right direction. It's just a matter of time."
Draco raises an eyebrow. "A matter of time until you become his closest confidante, or until he knows you exist?"
"Of course he knows I exist! For your information, he once said I was pretty."
Now Draco has to bite his lip to not drop a snappy remark, otherwise she'll probably stab his eyes out with her weird hairpins.
Blaise scratches the back of his head. "Anyway, the game is only a week and a half after the holidays, Malfoy. Slytherin just needs to be better and faster than Ravenclaw, I guess."
"Believe it or not, Zabini, that's the plan."
Offended, Pansy crosses her arms, and Draco can't help but wonder why she thinks, she and that Ravenclaw guy could be a good match.