FIC: The Pure and Simple Truth, part 7
Title: The Pure and Simple Truth
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, but this fic might as well be gen. Besides Harry and Draco, mostly canon pairings
Rating: PG
Warnings: No porn. No plot. No, really!
Summary: Harry, Draco, and Hermione go to a pub. Harry, Draco, and Pansy go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Pansy, and Hermione go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Hermione and Ron go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron, and Pansy―you guessed it―go to a pub. I could go on. In fact, I did. Harry, Draco, Hermione, Pansy, Ron, Blaise, Luna, Goyle, Neville, and Theodore Nott go to a pub. In various combinations.
Word Count: 70,000 It happened by accident.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter, in case you didn’t know, and talekayler wrote Nunquam Securus
Previous
5 November, 2004
“Hey,” Malfoy said, stepping into the lift at the Ministry.
“Hi,” Harry said. Malfoy hadn’t come around to his cubicle since the incident with Neville and Greg. He’d sort of kept his distance, Harry thought―not as though he were still angry, but as though he was afraid things could go pear-shaped again. Malfoy was very careful about some things, Harry had noticed. He treated them as fragile, even though they weren’t.
“What is this a celebration of, again?” Malfoy said.
“Phoenix Day,” Harry said.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes. That explains everything.”
Harry grinned. “It’s Guy Fawkes. He tried to blow up Parliament.”
“Muggles celebrate someone trying to blow up their government?”
“Only once a year,” Harry said. “Dumbledore must have known about it. He was always funny.”
“Oh,” Malfoy said.
“Stop worrying,” Harry told him.
“I’m not worrying.”
Once the doors to the lift opened, they stepped out. “Yes, you are,” Harry said.
“No, I’m not.”
“You hold on to things too tight when you worry,” Harry said. “Give me that.”
Frowning down at the bottle of champagne he was holding, Malfoy gave it over. “I don’t hold on too tight.”
“Yes, you do.”
They walked toward the Floo. “She invited everyone,” Malfoy said.
“It’s Luna,” Harry said, carrying Malfoy’s champagne. “She invited her friends.”
Malfoy stopped. “Don’t you ever . . .”
Stopping also, Harry turned back to him. “No,” he said. “Not really.”
Malfoy wasn’t in a suit, because they were going to a party, and it wasn’t formal. Maybe he’d changed. He could not have been wearing a black polo-neck all day.
No one would have got any work done.
“Okay,” Harry said, unable, really, to take his eyes off the stark line where the neck of Malfoy’s jumper ended and Malfoy’s skin began. “Maybe I do. About some things.”
Brushing hair back from his brow, Malfoy said, “The great Harry Potter, afraid of something?”
“Not afraid,” Harry said. “Just cautious.”
Malfoy smiled slightly, his faint, elusive smile. “The great Harry Potter, cautious?”
Harry turned away. “There are some things worth taking time for.”
They walked toward the Floo. “Blaise is going to be there,” Malfoy said, after a moment.
Harry smirked. “I’ll ask him to save you a dance.”
“You’ve never seen me dance, Potter.” Malfoy turned haughty.
“Yeah.” Harry just kept smirking. “I bet you waltz divinely.”
“As it so happens,” Malfoy turned haughtier, “I do.”
Harry just laughed. “You people are weird.”
If Malfoy got any more haughty his nose was going to get stuck in the ceiling somewhere. “You’re just uncivilized.”
Harry snorted. “Oh, yes, please, Malfoy. Tame me.”
Malfoy’s nose came down. He looked away. “Maybe you should ask Blaise.”
Harry just laughed again. “Ottery St Catchpole,” he told the Floo.
*
Luna moved around a lot, studying and observing creatures all over the world. When she stayed in England, she usually stayed above a fossil shop in Lyme. On hols, she stayed with her father in his house. Apparently Phoenix Day was a holiday, according to Luna. She had only invented it this year.
For the occasion, Luna had spelled a magic terrace that covered the whole yard. The Snargaluff and Dirigible plums were nowhere to be seen, though the crab-apple trees still stood on either side of the front door, lit with fairy lights. Magic stoves kept the terrace warm, and there were so many floating lanterns that it was almost bright, though the shadows caught and danced.
The kitchen had been expanded, though the wrought-iron stair case still spiralled up the middle, and tables had been added to hold food and drinks.
“Spinach,” Malfoy said, and looked delighted.
“Onion,” Greg said, and looked delighted.
“Alcohol,” Pansy said, and didn’t look delighted, but probably would have if she could.
“The pub caters,” Luna said.
Xenophilius had invited an older wizard and two witches Harry didn’t recognize; they sat in the kitchen for most of the evening, speaking of Snorkacks and Blibbering Humdingers. Sven, Luna’s new boyfriend, hadn’t come.
“I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend,” Luna said.
“Oh,” Harry said. “Er, what would you call him?”
“A fling. I think this needs more cheese.” Luna wandered off to refill the fondue.
Blaise had brought Teddy, and made a point of reintroducing him to Hermione, who shook his hand.
“Applied arithmancy,” Hermione said. “I was eyeing that program.”
“But you are more pragmatic,” Teddy said. “What was your degree?”
“Muggle Relations,” said Hermione. “What an utter crock. Endor wouldn’t know Muggle culture if Cambridge came and sat on it.”
Teddy quirked a brow. “Cambridge?”
“It’s a Muggle uni,” Hermione said. “I wrote my dissertation on it.”
“Abstract?”
“Oh, that the wizarding world has a thousand and one things to learn about education.”
“Interesting,” said Teddy. “Such as?”
“The House system at Hogwarts, for one thing,” Hermione said. “Regarding Endor specifically, they’re stuck in this Renaissance ‘classics’ approach, instead of focusing on new research and―and, sorry. Sometimes I get carried away.”
“You’re referring to the emphasis on medieval works of magic and art, are you not?”
Hermione twirled her hair around a finger. “Yes. In the Muggle world, they were doing the same thing―only, it was Greeks and Romans, but of course Greek and Roman times were a golden age for Muggles, whereas for the wizarding world, it’s the Middle Ages.”
Teddy raised a brow again. “You don’t think the Middle Ages have much to teach us?”
“Of course I do. Look at Merlin. Look at Morgana. But that’s another thing, even if we are going to focus on medieval wizardry, why is it all western?”
“Ah,” said Teddy. “Sheherazade?”
“Among others. Sun Wukong in , Kintarō in Japan. Don’t even get me started on the Native American shamans Renaissance wizards got busy decimating.”
“But I would like to get you started,” Teddy said.
Harry walked over to Pansy, who was standing alone on the patio, arms folded up in her voluminous sleeves. Her robes, burgundy and black, covered almost every inch of her, except her pale face. Her black hair glinted in the lanterns, and she looked exceedingly bored. “I don’t think you should be jealous,” Harry said.
Pansy looked away from Teddy and Hermione. “You use foreign words.”
Harry smiled. “Okay, do you steal Malfoy’s jokes, or does he steal yours?”
“Nothing is original.” Pansy sounded even more indifferent than usual.
“Even turnabout,” Harry suggested.
Pansy went back to looking at Teddy and Hermione. “It isn’t turnabout. Hermione isn’t that clever.”
“You once said she was very clever.”
“I was wrong.”
Harry thought he’d go find Malfoy, because even though Malfoy thought Pansy was a cow, he wouldn’t like to see her upset like this. When Harry looked around, though, he didn’t see him. Wandering off the patio, he went around to the side of the house, where the vegetable garden lived.
Malfoy was standing beside a pumpkin patch, full of preposterously sized pumpkins. Two of Luna’s magic lanterns bobbled beside him, and he was talking quietly. His hands moved expressively, as they always did. He looked pink with pleasure, lit up from within; in the light of the lanterns, he was almost gold against the austere darkness of his clothing.
Beside him stood Neville.
Harry watched them for a little while; Neville said something, and Malfoy smiled. Neville went on, and Malfoy nodded. Whenever Neville spoke, Malfoy stood there quietly with his listening expression, as though every word that Neville spoke was worth a thousand Galleons. Neville looked calm and affable and very Neville-like, strong and friendly, just as though he talked to Malfoy in a pumpkin patch every other day.
Harry walked up to them. “Hey,” he said to Neville. “I didn’t know you were here yet.”
“Mostly I’ve been talking to Draco,” Neville said.
Malfoy beamed. “Did you know that Neville’s raised another species of Datura?”
“No,” Harry said.
“Tell him, Neville. It’s really amazing.”
Neville looked at Malfoy strangely, then turned to Harry. “Er. It’s really only interesting if you’re a fan of herbology.”
“But I’ve been looking for a substitute for jimsonweed for ages,” Malfoy said. “Angel’s trumpet doesn’t work the same way with henbane and nightshade.”
“I told him he better not be brewing anything lethal,” Neville said, but he didn’t sound concerned.
“Malfoy’s the potions expert for Specialist Ops,” Harry said.
“I know,” Neville said. “He’s said SO needs an herbology consultant.”
Harry was surprised. “You’re going to be a hit wizard?”
Now it was him Neville looked at strangely. “Are you mental?” he asked, after a moment.
“I think Neville’s better in research. He’s found a new way of growing cowslip. Isn’t that remarkable? Cowslip!”
Malfoy was completely capable about getting excited over ingredients for potions, only he usually didn’t get this excited. Maybe it was just having someone to share the passion with, or maybe it was the fact that it was Neville in particular he was sharing with.
“Cowslip is pretty insane,” was all Harry said.
Malfoy looked at him for a moment in confusion, and then there came that small, absent smile, that sometimes seemed to happen without Malfoy really noticing it. “You don’t know what I’m talking about.” He turned to Neville, smile growing wider. “He doesn’t know what we’re talking about.”
“I know what cowslip is,” Harry said.
“I told you,” Neville said to Malfoy. “Harry’s pants at herbology.”
Malfoy looked perfectly happy that Harry was pants at herbology. “You’re teaching the seminar for gnomes at the sanctuary, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Neville said. “You’ve been doing some pretty good work there yourself, I’ve heard.”
Malfoy was going to float away, if he wasn’t careful. “I’ve been thinking about briar.”
“What?” Neville said.
“Gnomes have taken up in wizarding gardens due to predation in the wild, yeah? They’re going to need protection―at least until Hermione gets her wood-working and earth magic projects off the ground. What better than briar?”
“There’s an idea,” Neville said. “I’ve been focusing on pests. Gnomes don’t have insect or weed-killer potions, either.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” Malfoy chewed the inside of his cheek. “Do we need to brew up stores for them, or . . . ?”
Neville shook his head. “The idea is self-sufficiency, right? I’ve been looking into plants that are hardy and insect resistant. What I want to focus on really―where the gnomes are concerned, anyway―is certain plants they could mix themselves, without really having to brew, that could deter weeds and pests.”
“Only, don’t say pests.” Malfoy gave him a wry smile. “Hermione doesn’t like it.”
Neville smiled back. “Insects and species of sprites.”
“Pixies aren’t sprites,” Malfoy said absently, chewing on his cheeks. “They’re another genus of fey. I hadn’t thought about it that way. Gnomes mixing their own―you’re thinking a sort of pot-pourri?”
Neville shrugged. “Salmagundi, if you will.”
Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly.
Don’t talk like that to him, Harry wanted to say.
Neville was right; he was mental.
Harry swallowed hard. “I’ll go check on Pansy.”
“No thanks,” Malfoy said absently, then focused on Neville. “So, you’re thinking cypress, naturally. What else?”
Harry went back around the house, but instead of finding Pansy, found Ginny. “Hi,” he told her.
“Harry,” she said. “Good, you’re here. Tell Ron he’s an imbecile.”
“Ron,” Harry said, “you’re an imbecile.”
“Gibson is a-bloody-mazing,” Ron said, “and if you weren’t on the Harpies―”
“I wouldn’t be on the Cannons,” Ginny said, “not even if they bloody paid me.”
“I thought they did pay you,” Greg said.
“There’s no amount in the world that’d be enough,” said Ginny.
“How about a million Galleons?” said Greg.
“Manning can't even get his hands on that, because no one will invest,” Ginny said. “And if he did, I’d still say no.”
“Manning?” Harry said. “I thought Dorkins managed the Cannons.”
Ron glared. “You’re all against me.”
“We can’t help it you like a stupid team,” Greg said.
Ginny looked pleased. “Yes, Greg, thank you.”
“I just said I thought Dorkins managed the Cannons,” Harry said. “I didn’t say Clark couldn’t catch a Quaffle if you handed her one.”
Greg snorted. “Well, she couldn’t.”
“Clark’s not even the issue,” said Ginny. “It’s Gudgeon―”
Greg grunted, which was sort of like the snort, only louder. “I could catch the Snitch better than that butterfingers.”
“Harry,” Ron moaned. “Manning’s managing the Cannons now; don’t you see? That’s why it’s all going to change; we’ve got Shen; we’ve got bloody Bashar―”
“Did Dorkins finally check in at Janus Thickey, then?” Harry asked innocently.
Greg sort of snorgrunted. “Never recovered from that win in ’99.”
Ginny laughed, large and loud. She always threw her head back when she did that; her throat was milky white, and her hair red like fire. Harry had always loved to hear her laugh.
She’d done it far more often after they’d broken up.
“Greg.” Ginny slapped him heavily on the back. “You’re all right.”
“I am?” Greg looked at her in surprise.
It was no wonder, really; her freckled face flushed in amusement, her wide mouth stretched wider still in a grin. Harry supposed that not many girls who looked like Ginny had ever slapped Greg on the back before. He might as well get used to it; Ginny slapped everyone she liked on the back, and when she didn’t like them, she sometimes punched them in the face.
“Who do you favour for next season?” she asked Greg
“Tornadoes,” Greg said.
“Here’s what’s wrong with the Tornadoes,” Ginny said.
“Don’t understand what’s so wrong with the bloody Cannons,” Ron said, but Ginny went on talking to Greg right over him. “Ginny used to be good people.”
“You mean she’s consorting with the enemy?” Harry asked.
“Greg’s not an enemy,” said Ron. “He’s just a bloody goon.”
“Hey,” said Greg. “I heard that.”
“Shut your gob,” Ginny told Ron. “You’re just jealous about how some people can think straight, when it comes to Quidditch.”
“Bloody Malfoy supports Tornadoes,” Ron said. “That’s the only reason Greg does.”
“Draco supports the Tornadoes because I support Tornadoes.” Greg’s chin jutted out. “I’m the Quidditch expert of the family.”
There was that word again. Harry’s chest went tight, even without Malfoy saying it.
“Expert.” Ron snorgrunted, but it wasn’t nearly as impressive as Greg.
“Come along, Greg,” Ginny said. “Let’s leave Wonny-kins alone to cry.” She squeezed Harry’s arm. “Come find me later, yeah? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
“That went well,” Harry said, when Ginny and Greg moved away a little.
“Well?” Ron moaned. “Harry, my sister’s practically a traitor.”
Harry tried to break it to him gently. “Ginny hasn’t liked the Cannons since her third year, Ron.”
“Everyone’s against me.” Ron was acting mournful, but then his eyes wandered over across the patio. The acting stopped, and he turned away. “Maybe I’ll go get something to drink.”
On the other side of the terrace, Hermione was still deep in conversation with Teddy Nott.
“I’ll go with you,” Harry said.
In the kitchen, they were waylaid by Xenophilius, who wanted to introduce them to his witch friend Helga, who’d seen a camel-backed turtle off the coast of Africa. Neither Harry nor Ron had any interest in camel-backed turtles, but for some reason Xenophilius thought they did. By the time they went back outside, someone had got the music started.
The cylinder for the gramophone, Harry later found, was under one of the crab-apple trees, but it had eight horns. Some were in the trees and a couple were wrapped around the floating lanterns. How exactly they amplified the music when they weren’t even attached to the gramophone was confusing, but Harry had never really tried to make magic make sense, particularly when it came to Luna. Honestly Harry thought that some of the horns might have been alive.
“This is bloody brilliant,” Ginny said.
“This?” said Ron, appalled. “You listen to N’spelled? Shove off. You’re not my sister any more.”
Ginny shrugged. “I can’t help it if you have no taste. Anyone wanna dance?”
“Dancing is for pussies,” said Greg.
Ginny frowned at him. “What kind of dances you been dancing?”
“Minuets, mainly,” said Greg.
Ginny did Greg’s snorgrunt. “Pure-bloods.”
Greg frowned at her. “Thought you were a pure-blood.”
“No,” said Ginny. “I’m a blood traitor. It’s different. Come on and dance with me.”
Greg looked shocked. “Well,” he said, “if you want me so bad.”
Ginny pulled him out onto the terrace. She’d always been gorgeous, but she’d only got more so in the last several years. Flat-chested, slim-hipped, her limbs were long and toned, her eyes large and brown, and her smile absolutely devastating. She’d always been a good dancer, too―the grace and strength she’d learned in Quidditch looking lethal on a dance floor. She could even make Greg look good.
Harry thought she might be the prettiest person he’d ever seen, except for maybe Blaise, except that Ginny was more beautiful, because she was dancing with Greg, who was big and clumsy and not beautiful at all.
“Now there’s a sight.” Malfoy had come up somewhere beside him.
Harry looked around; Neville was talking to Luna. “Yeah,” Harry said, and reminded himself to look back at Ginny instead of staring at Malfoy.
“Did you put her up to that?” Malfoy said.
“No.” Harry shrugged. “Ginny’s just like this.”
“Greg’s always hated dancing.” Malfoy’s voice was wondering. “He’s rotten at minuets.”
Greg was still no good at dancing, in Harry's opinion, but he appeared to be having a good time, moving his hips to the music with Ginny. Harry turned to Malfoy. “You and Neville seemed to be getting on all right.”
“Potter, did you know there are approximately 12,000 species of moss?” Malfoy smiled. “No. Of course you didn’t. Neville’s a bloody genius with plants.”
Harry went back to looking at Ginny. “Plus, he has a large vocabulary.”
“Yeah.” Malfoy sounded happy.
They looked back out at the terrace. After several moments, Pansy joined them, watching Greg and Ginny dance without any expression. “Is he having spasms?” she asked eventually.
Malfoy rounded on her. “Why do you have to be such an arse?”
Pansy kept looking at Ginny and Greg. “It’s my nature.”
“Fine,” Malfoy said. “Can you be someone else for five minutes while I introduce you to Neville?”
“I believe I know Longbottom,” Pansy said.
“You believe wrong.” Malfoy took her arm―less in a polite way and more in the way he dragged Greg around―then paused. “Potter,” he said, looking back, “will you come?”
Harry came.
They went over to where Neville was talking to Luna. “Hi Luna,” Malfoy said, letting go of Pansy’s arm. “Neville, here’s Pansy.”
“Hello, Parkinson,” Neville said.
Pansy looked at him with boredom. “Sorry I called you Longbum all those years.”
“Er,” said Neville. “That’s okay.”
The song on the gramophone ended, and there was a moment of silence in which Harry tried to think of something to say. Then a new song began, and Luna said, “I’m glad people are dancing.”
Pansy looked back at Greg and Ginny, who were already moving to the next number. “Is that what they’re calling it?”
Neville frowned. “What would you call it?”
“Primal thrusting,” Pansy said.
Surprised, Neville laughed. “Ginny’s always been an amazing dancer.”
Slowly turning back to look at him, Pansy said, “I’m having horrible flashbacks to the fourth year Yule Ball.”
“Oh,” said Neville. “So, I’ve thought of something to apologize to you for.”
Pansy raised a brow. “Yes?”
“Sorry you had to go to the Yule Ball with Malfoy,” Neville said.
“Don’t be a ponce,” Malfoy said, looking terribly pleased.
“Would you like to dance, Draco?” Luna said.
“What?” Malfoy stopped looking pleased. “No.”
Neville turned to Harry. “I’m pretty sure they thought it was going to be a cotillion, the Yule Ball. That’s how come they all stood around looking so awkward. Pure-bloods don’t know what to do with themselves without a quadrille.”
“You’re pretty much speaking another language,” Harry told him.
“Don’t worry about it,” Neville said, laughing again. “I don’t know it either. Kept tripping over my own feet. Gran said I was impossible, and refused to teach me.” He shrugged.
“Malfoy says he’s a wonderful dancer,” Harry said.
“Not to this.” Malfoy looked horrified.
“Come on, Draco,” Luna said. “I can teach you. I know lots of dances.”
Horrified turned to mortified. “Absolutely not,” said Malfoy.
Harry grinned at him. “Afraid, Malfoy?”
“I’m not afraid.” Malfoy drew himself up. “I’m just . . .” His shoulders sagged a little. “Abstaining.”
Harry smirked. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
Glaring, Malfoy straightened his shoulders again. “Luna, I’m sure there’s someone else who’d like to dance. Potter, for instance.”
“Sure.” Harry turned to Luna. “I’m not afraid.”
“Or even abstaining,” Luna agreed.
Neville turned to Pansy as Harry and Luna moved out farther onto the patio. “I suppose you’re a lost cause,” Neville said.
“You wouldn’t catch me dead,” said Pansy. There was a pause. “Why don’t you ask Hermione?”
Harry wasn’t a great dancer, but he wasn’t bad, either. He’d learned a lot dancing with Ginny for the two years they’d gone out, but he wasn’t nearly as good as she was. Still, it was fun, and Luna was right; she was fantastic.
Harry would have thought she would dance . . . ethereally; he would have thought that she would move kind of hazily, as in water, or a dream. But though she was just as graceful as he might have imagined, she gave herself utterly to the music, which was poppish and―well, just the slightest bit raunchy. She closed her eyes and moved her hips, and when she moved it was nimble and quick, and utterly in time.
The song ended, then Ron cut in for the next one; Neville was still dancing with Hermione.
Malfoy stood stiffly at the edge of the terrace, looking―for the first time since Hogwarts―just a little bit pointy. Pansy stood just as gracefully as she always did by his side, but the distance between them and the utter lack of movement made them both look awkward. Not paying much attention to the dancing, Teddy was holding a drink and talking to Blaise, who kept stealing glances at Ginny.
Harry went over to them. “Hey,” he said, a little breathless from the dancing. “Are you sad this isn’t a cotillion?”
It was a new word he’d learned; he was trying it out. Harry guessed he’d better go back to reading the thesaurus, if Neville was going to start coming to the pub.
“We’re not sad,” said Pansy. “We’re bored. Aren’t we, Draco?”
“Pansy’s bored,” said Blaise. “Teddy’s bored. Draco and I are embarrassed.”
Harry looked at him in surprise. “Why?”
“Draco’s embarrassed that he’s been asked to dance,” said Blaise. “I’m embarrassed because I haven’t been.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” Malfoy said, sounding about as stiff as he looked. “This just isn’t my kind of dancing.”
“It’s my kind of dancing,” Harry said. Grinning, he turned to Blaise. “Wanna dance?”
“This isn’t my kind of dancing either.” Blaise put out his hand. “But I can learn.”
Harry took his hand. “Good.” They went back out onto the terrace, and Teddy went in to refill his drink.
Blaise, of course, was Blaise―exquisite and perfect and devastatingly attractive in everything he did, even when it came to shaking his arse and doing something with his arms. Harry never could figure out what to do with his arms. But then Blaise put his hands on Harry’s waist, and Harry put his hands on Blaise’s shoulders, which was what Ron and Luna were doing, and Ginny and Greg. Hermione and Neville were mostly just laughing.
On the edge of the terrace, Malfoy and Pansy stood woodenly, watching. Eventually, Pansy tilted her head, saying something to Malfoy. Malfoy looked back out on the dance floor, nodded once. Harry turned back to Blaise, and smiled.
“I don’t think algae dance like this at all,” Harry said.
“Sometimes being human is all right,” said Blaise. “We have all these interlocking parts.”
Harry laughed. “You say that to Ginny, she’ll punch you in the eye.”
Blaise laughed as well. “Eyes and fists don’t interlock as well as some other parts; doesn’t she know?”
Grinning, Harry said, “Not Ginny.”
“If I tell her she’s an exquisite specimen of ape, what will she do then?”
“Probably punch you in the other eye.”
Blaise smiled. “I love a lady who appreciates symmetry.”
Harry shook his head. “You’re crazy.”
Glancing Ginny’s way, Blaise said, “Does she appreciate crazy?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
Blaise looked like he was sighing, but Harry couldn’t hear it over the music.
“What?”
Blaise leaned in. “I prefer to be shown.”
Harry just laughed again, and the music ended.
“Hey,” said Greg. “Where’s the next song?”
Malfoy was standing over by the crab-apple tree.
Harry looked around. Hermione was moving over to the side, and Ginny was going over to talk to Neville. Ron looked like he was going over to talk to Hermione, but Luna went too, and Ron hesitated.
Greg was still standing in the middle of the dance floor. “Hey, you tosser,” he shouted at Malfoy, “put it back on!”
Pansy walked out to the middle of the terrace.
“We will,” Malfoy said, and set the crank spinning on the gramophone’s cylinder with his wand. “Just as soon as this one’s done.”
The music was something with strings and horns and nothing like N’spelled, or the Pixie Sisters, or anything Ron or even Ginny would approve of.
Walking out in middle of the terrace as well, Malfoy stopped by Pansy. “Pansy,” he said, putting out his hand.
“Draco,” she said, and took it.
They began to dance.
First they walked one way, Pansy smoothly, gracefully, Malfoy erect and proper. Then they turned and walked the other way, and something strange began to happen. Pansy spun, and began to glide, then when Malfoy took her hand again, they stepped on air.
The wand movement was part of the dance, only Harry didn’t catch it the first time. They stepped higher on the air, as though on an invisible staircase, and Pansy spun around, her wine-coloured robe flaring out. Malfoy caught her, and they walked back down to the ground.
It wasn’t fast, but it was intricate, incredibly complex. They didn’t make it look that way, though. They made it beautiful, like two people perfectly attuned to each other, each move anticipated by the other, met with unhurried expectation, and above all, grace. It was less like waltzing, Harry realized, and a little bit more like something else Harry had seen Petunia watch: it was like figure skating, magic lending all the elegance and ease of ice.
Malfoy and Pansy were standing, hands linked, arms’ length apart, and Pansy dipped back―back and back and back―she dipped down so far, it was only Malfoy’s arm, holding her up, and he let go.
Someone gasped―it was Hermione, Harry later realized; they were all standing on the edge of the terrace, watching―only, it didn’t register just then. Pansy was falling, and then Malfoy was there, a metre and a half from where he had been, catching her easily, as though she weighed nothing. It was a long moment before Harry realized Malfoy had Apparated.
Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of them. He’d never seen all Pansy’s lazy, feline way of moving bent to such liquid, flowing purpose. He’d never seen Malfoy’s tall form look quite so lithe and fluid; a narrow, tensile strength that was capable of holding nearly all her weight, and bringing her back up again with no sign at all of effort. That was the word for it―effortless.
Malfoy just looked so . . . capable, at ease, like he was born to do a thing, and was doing it; he looked so powerful, all that graceful strength, like he could go on and on forever, but it wasn’t why Harry couldn’t look away. It wasn’t that at all.
It was that when they had begun, he had looked blank and bored―polite; Harry was pretty certain it was the way you were supposed to look, when you danced this way, when you could create something this beautiful, and pretend like it was nothing. And yet, as they went on, Pansy had begun her little smirk, and Malfoy had begun to smile.
By the time that Malfoy bowed, and Pansy dipped in a low curtsy, he was grinning at her and Pansy―Pansy was smiling back.
Then the music ended, and taking Pansy’s hand, Malfoy led her off the floor.
Hermione clapped and clapped. “That was so beautiful,” she said.
“I don’t see what’s so great about it,” Greg said.
Harry could feel that he was grinning also; he didn’t know why, but he didn’t think he could have stopped it had he tried. “That was brilliant,” he told them.
Malfoy glowed, his breathing quick, cheeks pink with exertion. “Thanks,” he said, and turned his incandescent smile onto Harry.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Hermione looked like she was wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.
Malfoy looked surprised. “Mum, of course.”
“A dancing instructor,” Pansy said.
“But those spells,” Hermione said. “And silent Apparition! I didn’t know that could be done!”
Teddy had come back outside at some point, and joined them on the sidelines. “It’s quite simple, really,” he told Hermione.
She turned her shining eyes on him. “But how did she glide like that?”
“A promenade spell,” Teddy said. “If you’re interested, I can show you.”
Hermione shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m terrible at dancing. Did you see me earlier? I have no rhythm.”
“You’re a bright witch. You’ll learn.” Teddy put out his hand.
When Hermione took it, Pansy pulled her own hand from Malfoy’s.
“One forgets how dull waltzing is,” she said.
“Pansy,” Malfoy said, and reached for her.
“I’ve always hated balls.” Pansy turned around and walked away.
Malfoy looked as though he might go after her, but just then Ginny stepped toward them. “I was going to tell you two how good that was,” she said. “Where’s she going?”
Malfoy sighed. “To have a sulk.”
“What’s she sulking for?” Ginny said. “Was she scarred for life by dancing, too?”
“Were you scarred for life by dancing?” Harry said, mostly so Malfoy didn’t have to explain. He figured it was something about Pansy and Hermione, and maybe something more about the way that Pansy blushed when Teddy came into a room. “Was it me? I never thought I was that bad.”
“You dance fine,” said Ginny. “It was my childhood that scarred me.”
Blaise, who’d been talking to Luna, joined them in time to hear Ginny’s comment. “Scars are very attractive,” he told her.
Ginny winked at Harry. “Yes, I know.”
Harry shifted uncomfortably. Beside him, Malfoy stopped looking out in the direction Pansy had gone, attention snapping back to the conversation at hand.
Blaise looked at Ginny sadly. “I’ve tried to acquire scars, but nothing seems to stick.”
“What were you saying about your childhood?” Malfoy asked Ginny.
“Wizard waltzing lessons,” Ginny said. “Six brothers. You do the maths.”
“Also,” said Blaise, “do scars require pain? I don’t approve of pain at all.”
Harry frowned. “You mean your mum made your brothers teach you dancing? You never told me that.”
“No,” said Ginny. “Dad made them. Can you believe it?”
“Do you think a scar breaks the skin?” said Blaise. “I hate to break anything. Especially anything that is perfect―or at least, anything that’s extremely valuable.”
“Ron never told me he had to teach you dancing,” Harry said. “I didn’t even know Ron danced.”
“I’ve got this image of Mr Weasley dancing.” Malfoy sounded kind of morbidly fascinated. “I can’t seem to shake it.”
“Great,” said Ginny. “Now I’ve gone and scarred you.”
“It truly is a pity I'm so flawless,” Blaise said sadly. “Even Draco has more scars than me.”
A cold feeling spilled over Harry, and he turned to Malfoy. “Do you,” his eyes dropped from Malfoy’s face to Malfoy’s chest, his abdomen, “do you have―”
“Draco,” Blaise interrupted smoothly, “I’m wondering if you’ll direct a slight scratching hex my way. Maybe one across one cheek?”
Malfoy didn’t look at Harry. His voice was sort of flat. “I’ll direct one across your whole face, if you like, Blaise.”
“Malfoy,” Harry began again.
“Don’t think I won’t do it,” Malfoy said.
Blaise turned to Ginny. “Miss Weasley, will I be dashing, with a modicum of maiming?”
“I think you’ll be crazy,” Ginny told Blaise.
“But I hear you’re fond of violence,” Blaise went on. He was putting on quite a show, really, and Harry couldn’t figure out whether it was for Ginny’s sake, or for the sake of protecting Malfoy’s scars. “Harry here tells me you enjoy a lovely bruise.”
Ginny’s brows rose, but she looked amused. “Harry, did you tell him about that time we―”
“Nope,” Harry said, and looked as innocent as he could, which was pretty much not innocent at all.
Malfoy’s brows rose as well. “Potter,” he began.
“What Blaise is trying to say, Ginny,” Harry said, “is he would like to wizard waltz with you.”
Ginny’s brows went up again. “Is that what you were trying to say?” she asked Blaise.
“Well,” said Blaise, “either that, or I thought you might hex me, if Draco refuses to provide me with facial lacerations. I hear you inflict pain in such delightful ways.”
Ginny began to look devious. “Harry, did you tell him about that other time we―”
“Nope,” Harry said again, even more quickly. “I’m sure it was Malfoy. Must’ve told Blaise about your Bat Bogey Hex.”
“Oh, yeah.” Ginny turned to Malfoy. “Sorry about that, Malfoy.”
“Er,” said Malfoy. “It’s Draco. Hey, can you tell me about that ‘other’ time you and Potter―”
“Nope.” It was Ginny, this time. She grinned. “Zabini wants to dance.”
“When you say want,” said Blaise.
“He’s dying to,” Ginny said. She turned to Blaise. “I can tell. Aren’t you?”
“When you say dying,” said Blaise.
“Come on, Zabini,” Ginny said, and took his hand.
“When you say Zabini,” Blaise said, “you really should say Blaise.” He allowed himself to be pulled out onto the floor, where Teddy was attempting to teach Hermione a wizard waltz.
When Malfoy turned to Harry, his eyes were heavy-lidded, and darker than usual. “So, Potter,” he said, in a low voice very much like a purr.
“Nope,” Harry said.
Malfoy smirked. “You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“I suppose not,” Harry said. “But I know I’m going to say nope.”
“Are you,” Malfoy said, and moved a little closer.
“If it’s about that other time with Ginny, then, nope.”
Malfoy’s eyes went darker still. “She said―”
“If you wanted to waltz, Draco,” Luna said, “you could have just said.” She’d come up with Neville, who’d been talking to Ron.
Harry looked around.
Ron was standing alone, staring at the middle of the terrace―where Hermione was tripping on her own feet, and Teddy, smirking slightly, caught her. Hermione laughed, and Teddy steadied her with his hand on her elbow.
“You two looked good, Draco,” Neville said.
“Thanks,” Malfoy said, glowing again.
“I suppose we all dance a little differently,” said Luna. “Will you dance with me if I do it your way, Draco?”
Malfoy looked surprised. “I,” he said, and then for some reason, looked at Harry.
Harry looked at Ron, who was gritting his teeth. Suddenly Ron turned, and stalked away.
“I’ve got to go,” Harry said.
Malfoy turned to Luna. “Of course,” he said, and took her hand.
Harry went to go catch up with Ron.
Around the side of the house, Pansy was sitting by the pumpkin patch on a stone bench, looking nothing other than completely bored. The two lanterns that had been there early bobbled a little distance from her head.
Just as Ron started to step into her line of sight, Harry pulled him back.
“What?” said Ron.
Harry cast a quick muffling charm. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said.
Ron frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Harry said.
Ron shook him off. “Harry, she’s dancing with him.”
“She was dancing with Neville earlier.” Harry pushed up his glasses. “Ron, you’re not seriously jealous of Teddy Nott.”
Huffing a sigh, Ron scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. No. Fucking hell. I don’t know. She won’t―she won’t even bloody talk to me. We’ve been fighting for months.”
“That’s not all her fault,” Harry pointed out.
“It mostly is.”
“No, it’s not.”
Ron scowled. “Yeah. Well. She bloody started it. I never did anything with Parkinson.”
“Hermione knows that.”
“Does she? Because if she does, then why are we still fighting? We’re practically broken up. Did she tell you that?”
Rubbing his forehead, Harry said, “Did you tell her that?”
Ron shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, we are.”
“If you want to break up,” Harry said, “then break up. Just don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Especially not with Pansy, he wanted to add, and didn’t.
“I’m not doing anything I regret.”
“Yeah?” Harry raised his brows.
“I can be friends with Parkinson. Hermione can be friends with Draco, can’t she? Fucking hell, she can even be friends with Nott. But can I be friends with Parkinson? Oh, no, can’t have that. Why? Because she’s bloody hot? That’s not fair.”
“Maybe it’s because you think she’s hot.”
“That’s rich. Like she doesn’t think Nott is hot, with his big brain.”
“No,” Harry said. “You’re right. Just . . .” don’t ruin everything. “Be careful,” he said, instead.
“It’s Parkinson,” Ron said. “Not a bloody dragon.” He waved away the muffling charm and walked over to Pansy, and Harry let him go.
When he came back into the front yard, Hermione was learning to wizard waltz with Teddy, Ginny was waltzing with Blaise, and Malfoy was waltzing with Luna. The music was a lot like classical music, only a little more medieval sounding, with lutes and harpsichords, and something that must have been like pan pipes. It was the sort of music that could cast spells, and really, the dancing could have too.
Blaise and Ginny would have been like magic even if they weren’t using spells to glide across the patio; he bent her back and twirled her, and she fell into his arms over and over. Still, there was power in the way she danced; in that way, it reminded Harry of tango. She used her legs and arms and everything, and it used to be that whenever he saw her this way, or saw her playing Quidditch, he didn’t understand why they’d ever broken up to begin with.
They were, perhaps, the most beautiful people Harry had ever seen, and the dance was twenty times what Malfoy’s and Pansy’s had been, and they were better at it. Next to Blaise and Ginny’s, Malfoy’s and Pansy’s waltzing had been rather elementary, and at least a little stilted, now that Harry saw how it was supposed to be. Malfoy and Luna were the same way―proficient, but a lot more like water from a pump―pretty, catching light and flowing, but nothing like the wild beauty of water flowing in a stream.
Harry wondered, then, why he still couldn’t take his eyes off Malfoy.
“Hey,” Neville said.
Swallowing, Harry forced himself to look away. “Hey,” he said.
“Happy Phoenix Day,” said Neville.
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Are you sure you don’t know how to . . . do that?” Harry waved his hand out at the terrace, so he didn’t have to look back out there.
Neville laughed. “Are you asking me to dance?”
Harry smiled at him. “Yeah.”
Still laughing, Neville said, “You don’t like your toes?”
“Toes,” Harry said. “Who needs ‘em?”
“I’m sorry,” Neville said. When Harry looked at him inquiringly, he explained, “About last time. At the pub. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.”
Harry shook his head. “I should’ve made sure you got the owl. I wasn’t―Malfoy kept telling me. I didn’t listen.”
“Yeah,” said Neville. “Draco.”
Harry looked at his feet.
“He’s really trying,” Neville said, “isn’t he.”
“Yes.”
When Harry looked up, Neville was frowning at something Harry couldn’t see.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I know you’re trying, too.”
Neville shook his head. “I still can’t even look him in the eye.”
Harry looked around for Greg.
Sighing, Neville said, “He’s in the kitchen. Here we’re all here―Luna and her Phoenix Day, as if that wasn’t just some excuse to get everyone together―and I can’t even . . . I can’t even share the bloody spinach with him.”
Harry smiled crookedly. “I’m not sure Luna is that calculating.”
“Don’t be so sure. She should’ve been in Slytherin.” Neville thought about it a while. “Lots of people should’ve been. They want something bad enough, they go out and get it. But I just can’t seem to . . .” He shook his head again.
“Neville, it’s not like you’re holding a grudge,” Harry said. “It’s not like you’re a bad person just because you can’t forget that . . .” Harry knew he had to say it; he had to say it, or he’d be lying to himself, and Neville, and even to everyone―to Malfoy―and that wasn’t fair. “Because you can’t forget that someone tortured you, or tortured someone you love. If you were Bellatrix, right now―I couldn’t forgive you.”
“It’s not forgiveness.” Neville ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just the forgetting part that’s hard.”
Harry looked at him a while, Neville’s strong, kind face; his large, capable hands. “Malfoy says, don’t forget. He says we shouldn’t forget, so that it can’t happen again, and that’s how we make the world a better place.”
Neville looked startled, then smiled a little, wryly. “Harry,” he said. “Do you even realize how many times Malfoy has said to me, ‘Potter says’?”
“Oh.” Harry desperately wanted to ask how many, but just then the music ended, and Malfoy and Luna came up.
“Luna says it’s time for fireworks,” Malfoy said.
“Great,” said Neville. “Who’s going to set them off?”
“You,” said Luna.
“Uh.” Neville went a shade paler. “I don’t know anything about―”
“Come on, Longbottom.” Malfoy gave him a goading smile. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little magic gun powder.”
“Well, yes,” said Neville. “In fact, I’m terrified.”
“Although I generally don’t approve of animal cruelty,” said Luna, “I did think it remarkably brave of you to kill that snake.”
“What does that have to do with,” Neville began, then switched tacks. “Anyway, Harry here―”
“No way,” Harry said, mostly just because it was funny.
“Come along, Neville.” Malfoy used the voice he used with friends, when he fully expected that they would follow him. He really was high-handed.
It lifted Harry’s heart, to hear him speak that way to Neville.
“I will help you set the fireworks,” Malfoy went on, “since Harry Potter here is too much of a coward.”
“Yep,” said Harry. “That’s me.”
“Pyrotechnics really bring people together,” Luna said, as they trooped off toward the house.
“Explosions and dying bring people together too,” Neville said.
“I like you a lot,” Malfoy said, “but I’m not ready to die with you just yet.”
Wizard fireworks were different from Muggle fireworks because after they exploded, the sparks took on a life of their own. Sometimes the explosions formed pictures―animals, which ran through the crowd after bursting in the air, or bouquets of flowers, which fell into single stems. It seemed you could reach right out and touch them, before they burst into smaller, disappearing sparks before your eyes. Other times the explosions were just shapes and patterns that zigged and zagged among the spectators, or else shot up higher, as though to join the stars.
Luna had mostly picked firecrackers that exploded into the shapes of fantastic beasts. Blaise waved his wand at some of them as they ran through the little party, and made them wizard waltz down on the terrace. Xenophilius had brought his friends outside, and the rest of the party guests lounged on the lawn or in conjured chairs, except for Malfoy, Neville, and Luna, who were setting off the fireworks, and Pansy and Ron, who were missing.
Greg and Blaise sat on either side of Ginny, who didn’t seem to mind that either of them were flirting with her dreadfully in their individually disastrous ways. Mostly she just laughed and laughed, and called them tossers both.
Hermione sat with Teddy, and they talked about the stars and astrosorcery. Harry sat with them for Ron’s sake, and mostly looked at Malfoy.
Malfoy didn’t actually seem to be much help setting off the fireworks. Luna, for that matter, didn’t seemed to be much help either, but they oohed and ahhed the most at all the explosions, and made much of Neville’s bravery.
Mostly Neville just grunted, set off fireworks, and said, “Why does it gotta be me? Least you could’ve invited Seamus.”
When Pansy came back from the vegetable garden, Harry couldn’t read anything in her face. That was no surprise, but anyway, it hadn’t been very long, and it wasn’t like they would . . . in Luna’s pumpkin patch, but then Harry remembered that they were wizards, weren’t they, and they could Apparate. It wasn’t like her clothes were out of place or anything like that, though.
Of course, she was a witch, and she was Pansy. It wasn’t like there was a strand of hair out of place. There never was.
There was no sign of Ron.
Harry assumed Pansy would sit with Blaise, or maybe him and Teddy, but she didn’t. Instead she went to go stand next to Malfoy, who turned his happy smile on her and gave up on the fireworks.
Ron came a little while later, plopping down next to his sister.
Harry watched the stars explode, and thought about Ron, and about Hermione. He thought about the nights they’d had to camp, and how big and empty the sky had looked then, how cold. He hadn’t known, then, that things would be all right.
Harry guessed he still didn’t know, but he guessed that was all right too.
In the shadowed darkness beyond the terrace, Pansy put her hand out.
Malfoy took it. He looked like he was holding tight.
* * *
Next
This entry was originally posted to Dreamwidth. Read Comments | Reply
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, but this fic might as well be gen. Besides Harry and Draco, mostly canon pairings
Rating: PG
Warnings: No porn. No plot. No, really!
Summary: Harry, Draco, and Hermione go to a pub. Harry, Draco, and Pansy go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Pansy, and Hermione go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Hermione and Ron go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron, and Pansy―you guessed it―go to a pub. I could go on. In fact, I did. Harry, Draco, Hermione, Pansy, Ron, Blaise, Luna, Goyle, Neville, and Theodore Nott go to a pub. In various combinations.
Word Count: 70,000 It happened by accident.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter, in case you didn’t know, and talekayler wrote Nunquam Securus
Previous
5 November, 2004
“Hey,” Malfoy said, stepping into the lift at the Ministry.
“Hi,” Harry said. Malfoy hadn’t come around to his cubicle since the incident with Neville and Greg. He’d sort of kept his distance, Harry thought―not as though he were still angry, but as though he was afraid things could go pear-shaped again. Malfoy was very careful about some things, Harry had noticed. He treated them as fragile, even though they weren’t.
“What is this a celebration of, again?” Malfoy said.
“Phoenix Day,” Harry said.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes. That explains everything.”
Harry grinned. “It’s Guy Fawkes. He tried to blow up Parliament.”
“Muggles celebrate someone trying to blow up their government?”
“Only once a year,” Harry said. “Dumbledore must have known about it. He was always funny.”
“Oh,” Malfoy said.
“Stop worrying,” Harry told him.
“I’m not worrying.”
Once the doors to the lift opened, they stepped out. “Yes, you are,” Harry said.
“No, I’m not.”
“You hold on to things too tight when you worry,” Harry said. “Give me that.”
Frowning down at the bottle of champagne he was holding, Malfoy gave it over. “I don’t hold on too tight.”
“Yes, you do.”
They walked toward the Floo. “She invited everyone,” Malfoy said.
“It’s Luna,” Harry said, carrying Malfoy’s champagne. “She invited her friends.”
Malfoy stopped. “Don’t you ever . . .”
Stopping also, Harry turned back to him. “No,” he said. “Not really.”
Malfoy wasn’t in a suit, because they were going to a party, and it wasn’t formal. Maybe he’d changed. He could not have been wearing a black polo-neck all day.
No one would have got any work done.
“Okay,” Harry said, unable, really, to take his eyes off the stark line where the neck of Malfoy’s jumper ended and Malfoy’s skin began. “Maybe I do. About some things.”
Brushing hair back from his brow, Malfoy said, “The great Harry Potter, afraid of something?”
“Not afraid,” Harry said. “Just cautious.”
Malfoy smiled slightly, his faint, elusive smile. “The great Harry Potter, cautious?”
Harry turned away. “There are some things worth taking time for.”
They walked toward the Floo. “Blaise is going to be there,” Malfoy said, after a moment.
Harry smirked. “I’ll ask him to save you a dance.”
“You’ve never seen me dance, Potter.” Malfoy turned haughty.
“Yeah.” Harry just kept smirking. “I bet you waltz divinely.”
“As it so happens,” Malfoy turned haughtier, “I do.”
Harry just laughed. “You people are weird.”
If Malfoy got any more haughty his nose was going to get stuck in the ceiling somewhere. “You’re just uncivilized.”
Harry snorted. “Oh, yes, please, Malfoy. Tame me.”
Malfoy’s nose came down. He looked away. “Maybe you should ask Blaise.”
Harry just laughed again. “Ottery St Catchpole,” he told the Floo.
*
Luna moved around a lot, studying and observing creatures all over the world. When she stayed in England, she usually stayed above a fossil shop in Lyme. On hols, she stayed with her father in his house. Apparently Phoenix Day was a holiday, according to Luna. She had only invented it this year.
For the occasion, Luna had spelled a magic terrace that covered the whole yard. The Snargaluff and Dirigible plums were nowhere to be seen, though the crab-apple trees still stood on either side of the front door, lit with fairy lights. Magic stoves kept the terrace warm, and there were so many floating lanterns that it was almost bright, though the shadows caught and danced.
The kitchen had been expanded, though the wrought-iron stair case still spiralled up the middle, and tables had been added to hold food and drinks.
“Spinach,” Malfoy said, and looked delighted.
“Onion,” Greg said, and looked delighted.
“Alcohol,” Pansy said, and didn’t look delighted, but probably would have if she could.
“The pub caters,” Luna said.
Xenophilius had invited an older wizard and two witches Harry didn’t recognize; they sat in the kitchen for most of the evening, speaking of Snorkacks and Blibbering Humdingers. Sven, Luna’s new boyfriend, hadn’t come.
“I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend,” Luna said.
“Oh,” Harry said. “Er, what would you call him?”
“A fling. I think this needs more cheese.” Luna wandered off to refill the fondue.
Blaise had brought Teddy, and made a point of reintroducing him to Hermione, who shook his hand.
“Applied arithmancy,” Hermione said. “I was eyeing that program.”
“But you are more pragmatic,” Teddy said. “What was your degree?”
“Muggle Relations,” said Hermione. “What an utter crock. Endor wouldn’t know Muggle culture if Cambridge came and sat on it.”
Teddy quirked a brow. “Cambridge?”
“It’s a Muggle uni,” Hermione said. “I wrote my dissertation on it.”
“Abstract?”
“Oh, that the wizarding world has a thousand and one things to learn about education.”
“Interesting,” said Teddy. “Such as?”
“The House system at Hogwarts, for one thing,” Hermione said. “Regarding Endor specifically, they’re stuck in this Renaissance ‘classics’ approach, instead of focusing on new research and―and, sorry. Sometimes I get carried away.”
“You’re referring to the emphasis on medieval works of magic and art, are you not?”
Hermione twirled her hair around a finger. “Yes. In the Muggle world, they were doing the same thing―only, it was Greeks and Romans, but of course Greek and Roman times were a golden age for Muggles, whereas for the wizarding world, it’s the Middle Ages.”
Teddy raised a brow again. “You don’t think the Middle Ages have much to teach us?”
“Of course I do. Look at Merlin. Look at Morgana. But that’s another thing, even if we are going to focus on medieval wizardry, why is it all western?”
“Ah,” said Teddy. “Sheherazade?”
“Among others. Sun Wukong in , Kintarō in Japan. Don’t even get me started on the Native American shamans Renaissance wizards got busy decimating.”
“But I would like to get you started,” Teddy said.
Harry walked over to Pansy, who was standing alone on the patio, arms folded up in her voluminous sleeves. Her robes, burgundy and black, covered almost every inch of her, except her pale face. Her black hair glinted in the lanterns, and she looked exceedingly bored. “I don’t think you should be jealous,” Harry said.
Pansy looked away from Teddy and Hermione. “You use foreign words.”
Harry smiled. “Okay, do you steal Malfoy’s jokes, or does he steal yours?”
“Nothing is original.” Pansy sounded even more indifferent than usual.
“Even turnabout,” Harry suggested.
Pansy went back to looking at Teddy and Hermione. “It isn’t turnabout. Hermione isn’t that clever.”
“You once said she was very clever.”
“I was wrong.”
Harry thought he’d go find Malfoy, because even though Malfoy thought Pansy was a cow, he wouldn’t like to see her upset like this. When Harry looked around, though, he didn’t see him. Wandering off the patio, he went around to the side of the house, where the vegetable garden lived.
Malfoy was standing beside a pumpkin patch, full of preposterously sized pumpkins. Two of Luna’s magic lanterns bobbled beside him, and he was talking quietly. His hands moved expressively, as they always did. He looked pink with pleasure, lit up from within; in the light of the lanterns, he was almost gold against the austere darkness of his clothing.
Beside him stood Neville.
Harry watched them for a little while; Neville said something, and Malfoy smiled. Neville went on, and Malfoy nodded. Whenever Neville spoke, Malfoy stood there quietly with his listening expression, as though every word that Neville spoke was worth a thousand Galleons. Neville looked calm and affable and very Neville-like, strong and friendly, just as though he talked to Malfoy in a pumpkin patch every other day.
Harry walked up to them. “Hey,” he said to Neville. “I didn’t know you were here yet.”
“Mostly I’ve been talking to Draco,” Neville said.
Malfoy beamed. “Did you know that Neville’s raised another species of Datura?”
“No,” Harry said.
“Tell him, Neville. It’s really amazing.”
Neville looked at Malfoy strangely, then turned to Harry. “Er. It’s really only interesting if you’re a fan of herbology.”
“But I’ve been looking for a substitute for jimsonweed for ages,” Malfoy said. “Angel’s trumpet doesn’t work the same way with henbane and nightshade.”
“I told him he better not be brewing anything lethal,” Neville said, but he didn’t sound concerned.
“Malfoy’s the potions expert for Specialist Ops,” Harry said.
“I know,” Neville said. “He’s said SO needs an herbology consultant.”
Harry was surprised. “You’re going to be a hit wizard?”
Now it was him Neville looked at strangely. “Are you mental?” he asked, after a moment.
“I think Neville’s better in research. He’s found a new way of growing cowslip. Isn’t that remarkable? Cowslip!”
Malfoy was completely capable about getting excited over ingredients for potions, only he usually didn’t get this excited. Maybe it was just having someone to share the passion with, or maybe it was the fact that it was Neville in particular he was sharing with.
“Cowslip is pretty insane,” was all Harry said.
Malfoy looked at him for a moment in confusion, and then there came that small, absent smile, that sometimes seemed to happen without Malfoy really noticing it. “You don’t know what I’m talking about.” He turned to Neville, smile growing wider. “He doesn’t know what we’re talking about.”
“I know what cowslip is,” Harry said.
“I told you,” Neville said to Malfoy. “Harry’s pants at herbology.”
Malfoy looked perfectly happy that Harry was pants at herbology. “You’re teaching the seminar for gnomes at the sanctuary, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Neville said. “You’ve been doing some pretty good work there yourself, I’ve heard.”
Malfoy was going to float away, if he wasn’t careful. “I’ve been thinking about briar.”
“What?” Neville said.
“Gnomes have taken up in wizarding gardens due to predation in the wild, yeah? They’re going to need protection―at least until Hermione gets her wood-working and earth magic projects off the ground. What better than briar?”
“There’s an idea,” Neville said. “I’ve been focusing on pests. Gnomes don’t have insect or weed-killer potions, either.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.” Malfoy chewed the inside of his cheek. “Do we need to brew up stores for them, or . . . ?”
Neville shook his head. “The idea is self-sufficiency, right? I’ve been looking into plants that are hardy and insect resistant. What I want to focus on really―where the gnomes are concerned, anyway―is certain plants they could mix themselves, without really having to brew, that could deter weeds and pests.”
“Only, don’t say pests.” Malfoy gave him a wry smile. “Hermione doesn’t like it.”
Neville smiled back. “Insects and species of sprites.”
“Pixies aren’t sprites,” Malfoy said absently, chewing on his cheeks. “They’re another genus of fey. I hadn’t thought about it that way. Gnomes mixing their own―you’re thinking a sort of pot-pourri?”
Neville shrugged. “Salmagundi, if you will.”
Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly.
Don’t talk like that to him, Harry wanted to say.
Neville was right; he was mental.
Harry swallowed hard. “I’ll go check on Pansy.”
“No thanks,” Malfoy said absently, then focused on Neville. “So, you’re thinking cypress, naturally. What else?”
Harry went back around the house, but instead of finding Pansy, found Ginny. “Hi,” he told her.
“Harry,” she said. “Good, you’re here. Tell Ron he’s an imbecile.”
“Ron,” Harry said, “you’re an imbecile.”
“Gibson is a-bloody-mazing,” Ron said, “and if you weren’t on the Harpies―”
“I wouldn’t be on the Cannons,” Ginny said, “not even if they bloody paid me.”
“I thought they did pay you,” Greg said.
“There’s no amount in the world that’d be enough,” said Ginny.
“How about a million Galleons?” said Greg.
“Manning can't even get his hands on that, because no one will invest,” Ginny said. “And if he did, I’d still say no.”
“Manning?” Harry said. “I thought Dorkins managed the Cannons.”
Ron glared. “You’re all against me.”
“We can’t help it you like a stupid team,” Greg said.
Ginny looked pleased. “Yes, Greg, thank you.”
“I just said I thought Dorkins managed the Cannons,” Harry said. “I didn’t say Clark couldn’t catch a Quaffle if you handed her one.”
Greg snorted. “Well, she couldn’t.”
“Clark’s not even the issue,” said Ginny. “It’s Gudgeon―”
Greg grunted, which was sort of like the snort, only louder. “I could catch the Snitch better than that butterfingers.”
“Harry,” Ron moaned. “Manning’s managing the Cannons now; don’t you see? That’s why it’s all going to change; we’ve got Shen; we’ve got bloody Bashar―”
“Did Dorkins finally check in at Janus Thickey, then?” Harry asked innocently.
Greg sort of snorgrunted. “Never recovered from that win in ’99.”
Ginny laughed, large and loud. She always threw her head back when she did that; her throat was milky white, and her hair red like fire. Harry had always loved to hear her laugh.
She’d done it far more often after they’d broken up.
“Greg.” Ginny slapped him heavily on the back. “You’re all right.”
“I am?” Greg looked at her in surprise.
It was no wonder, really; her freckled face flushed in amusement, her wide mouth stretched wider still in a grin. Harry supposed that not many girls who looked like Ginny had ever slapped Greg on the back before. He might as well get used to it; Ginny slapped everyone she liked on the back, and when she didn’t like them, she sometimes punched them in the face.
“Who do you favour for next season?” she asked Greg
“Tornadoes,” Greg said.
“Here’s what’s wrong with the Tornadoes,” Ginny said.
“Don’t understand what’s so wrong with the bloody Cannons,” Ron said, but Ginny went on talking to Greg right over him. “Ginny used to be good people.”
“You mean she’s consorting with the enemy?” Harry asked.
“Greg’s not an enemy,” said Ron. “He’s just a bloody goon.”
“Hey,” said Greg. “I heard that.”
“Shut your gob,” Ginny told Ron. “You’re just jealous about how some people can think straight, when it comes to Quidditch.”
“Bloody Malfoy supports Tornadoes,” Ron said. “That’s the only reason Greg does.”
“Draco supports the Tornadoes because I support Tornadoes.” Greg’s chin jutted out. “I’m the Quidditch expert of the family.”
There was that word again. Harry’s chest went tight, even without Malfoy saying it.
“Expert.” Ron snorgrunted, but it wasn’t nearly as impressive as Greg.
“Come along, Greg,” Ginny said. “Let’s leave Wonny-kins alone to cry.” She squeezed Harry’s arm. “Come find me later, yeah? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
“That went well,” Harry said, when Ginny and Greg moved away a little.
“Well?” Ron moaned. “Harry, my sister’s practically a traitor.”
Harry tried to break it to him gently. “Ginny hasn’t liked the Cannons since her third year, Ron.”
“Everyone’s against me.” Ron was acting mournful, but then his eyes wandered over across the patio. The acting stopped, and he turned away. “Maybe I’ll go get something to drink.”
On the other side of the terrace, Hermione was still deep in conversation with Teddy Nott.
“I’ll go with you,” Harry said.
In the kitchen, they were waylaid by Xenophilius, who wanted to introduce them to his witch friend Helga, who’d seen a camel-backed turtle off the coast of Africa. Neither Harry nor Ron had any interest in camel-backed turtles, but for some reason Xenophilius thought they did. By the time they went back outside, someone had got the music started.
The cylinder for the gramophone, Harry later found, was under one of the crab-apple trees, but it had eight horns. Some were in the trees and a couple were wrapped around the floating lanterns. How exactly they amplified the music when they weren’t even attached to the gramophone was confusing, but Harry had never really tried to make magic make sense, particularly when it came to Luna. Honestly Harry thought that some of the horns might have been alive.
“This is bloody brilliant,” Ginny said.
“This?” said Ron, appalled. “You listen to N’spelled? Shove off. You’re not my sister any more.”
Ginny shrugged. “I can’t help it if you have no taste. Anyone wanna dance?”
“Dancing is for pussies,” said Greg.
Ginny frowned at him. “What kind of dances you been dancing?”
“Minuets, mainly,” said Greg.
Ginny did Greg’s snorgrunt. “Pure-bloods.”
Greg frowned at her. “Thought you were a pure-blood.”
“No,” said Ginny. “I’m a blood traitor. It’s different. Come on and dance with me.”
Greg looked shocked. “Well,” he said, “if you want me so bad.”
Ginny pulled him out onto the terrace. She’d always been gorgeous, but she’d only got more so in the last several years. Flat-chested, slim-hipped, her limbs were long and toned, her eyes large and brown, and her smile absolutely devastating. She’d always been a good dancer, too―the grace and strength she’d learned in Quidditch looking lethal on a dance floor. She could even make Greg look good.
Harry thought she might be the prettiest person he’d ever seen, except for maybe Blaise, except that Ginny was more beautiful, because she was dancing with Greg, who was big and clumsy and not beautiful at all.
“Now there’s a sight.” Malfoy had come up somewhere beside him.
Harry looked around; Neville was talking to Luna. “Yeah,” Harry said, and reminded himself to look back at Ginny instead of staring at Malfoy.
“Did you put her up to that?” Malfoy said.
“No.” Harry shrugged. “Ginny’s just like this.”
“Greg’s always hated dancing.” Malfoy’s voice was wondering. “He’s rotten at minuets.”
Greg was still no good at dancing, in Harry's opinion, but he appeared to be having a good time, moving his hips to the music with Ginny. Harry turned to Malfoy. “You and Neville seemed to be getting on all right.”
“Potter, did you know there are approximately 12,000 species of moss?” Malfoy smiled. “No. Of course you didn’t. Neville’s a bloody genius with plants.”
Harry went back to looking at Ginny. “Plus, he has a large vocabulary.”
“Yeah.” Malfoy sounded happy.
They looked back out at the terrace. After several moments, Pansy joined them, watching Greg and Ginny dance without any expression. “Is he having spasms?” she asked eventually.
Malfoy rounded on her. “Why do you have to be such an arse?”
Pansy kept looking at Ginny and Greg. “It’s my nature.”
“Fine,” Malfoy said. “Can you be someone else for five minutes while I introduce you to Neville?”
“I believe I know Longbottom,” Pansy said.
“You believe wrong.” Malfoy took her arm―less in a polite way and more in the way he dragged Greg around―then paused. “Potter,” he said, looking back, “will you come?”
Harry came.
They went over to where Neville was talking to Luna. “Hi Luna,” Malfoy said, letting go of Pansy’s arm. “Neville, here’s Pansy.”
“Hello, Parkinson,” Neville said.
Pansy looked at him with boredom. “Sorry I called you Longbum all those years.”
“Er,” said Neville. “That’s okay.”
The song on the gramophone ended, and there was a moment of silence in which Harry tried to think of something to say. Then a new song began, and Luna said, “I’m glad people are dancing.”
Pansy looked back at Greg and Ginny, who were already moving to the next number. “Is that what they’re calling it?”
Neville frowned. “What would you call it?”
“Primal thrusting,” Pansy said.
Surprised, Neville laughed. “Ginny’s always been an amazing dancer.”
Slowly turning back to look at him, Pansy said, “I’m having horrible flashbacks to the fourth year Yule Ball.”
“Oh,” said Neville. “So, I’ve thought of something to apologize to you for.”
Pansy raised a brow. “Yes?”
“Sorry you had to go to the Yule Ball with Malfoy,” Neville said.
“Don’t be a ponce,” Malfoy said, looking terribly pleased.
“Would you like to dance, Draco?” Luna said.
“What?” Malfoy stopped looking pleased. “No.”
Neville turned to Harry. “I’m pretty sure they thought it was going to be a cotillion, the Yule Ball. That’s how come they all stood around looking so awkward. Pure-bloods don’t know what to do with themselves without a quadrille.”
“You’re pretty much speaking another language,” Harry told him.
“Don’t worry about it,” Neville said, laughing again. “I don’t know it either. Kept tripping over my own feet. Gran said I was impossible, and refused to teach me.” He shrugged.
“Malfoy says he’s a wonderful dancer,” Harry said.
“Not to this.” Malfoy looked horrified.
“Come on, Draco,” Luna said. “I can teach you. I know lots of dances.”
Horrified turned to mortified. “Absolutely not,” said Malfoy.
Harry grinned at him. “Afraid, Malfoy?”
“I’m not afraid.” Malfoy drew himself up. “I’m just . . .” His shoulders sagged a little. “Abstaining.”
Harry smirked. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
Glaring, Malfoy straightened his shoulders again. “Luna, I’m sure there’s someone else who’d like to dance. Potter, for instance.”
“Sure.” Harry turned to Luna. “I’m not afraid.”
“Or even abstaining,” Luna agreed.
Neville turned to Pansy as Harry and Luna moved out farther onto the patio. “I suppose you’re a lost cause,” Neville said.
“You wouldn’t catch me dead,” said Pansy. There was a pause. “Why don’t you ask Hermione?”
Harry wasn’t a great dancer, but he wasn’t bad, either. He’d learned a lot dancing with Ginny for the two years they’d gone out, but he wasn’t nearly as good as she was. Still, it was fun, and Luna was right; she was fantastic.
Harry would have thought she would dance . . . ethereally; he would have thought that she would move kind of hazily, as in water, or a dream. But though she was just as graceful as he might have imagined, she gave herself utterly to the music, which was poppish and―well, just the slightest bit raunchy. She closed her eyes and moved her hips, and when she moved it was nimble and quick, and utterly in time.
The song ended, then Ron cut in for the next one; Neville was still dancing with Hermione.
Malfoy stood stiffly at the edge of the terrace, looking―for the first time since Hogwarts―just a little bit pointy. Pansy stood just as gracefully as she always did by his side, but the distance between them and the utter lack of movement made them both look awkward. Not paying much attention to the dancing, Teddy was holding a drink and talking to Blaise, who kept stealing glances at Ginny.
Harry went over to them. “Hey,” he said, a little breathless from the dancing. “Are you sad this isn’t a cotillion?”
It was a new word he’d learned; he was trying it out. Harry guessed he’d better go back to reading the thesaurus, if Neville was going to start coming to the pub.
“We’re not sad,” said Pansy. “We’re bored. Aren’t we, Draco?”
“Pansy’s bored,” said Blaise. “Teddy’s bored. Draco and I are embarrassed.”
Harry looked at him in surprise. “Why?”
“Draco’s embarrassed that he’s been asked to dance,” said Blaise. “I’m embarrassed because I haven’t been.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” Malfoy said, sounding about as stiff as he looked. “This just isn’t my kind of dancing.”
“It’s my kind of dancing,” Harry said. Grinning, he turned to Blaise. “Wanna dance?”
“This isn’t my kind of dancing either.” Blaise put out his hand. “But I can learn.”
Harry took his hand. “Good.” They went back out onto the terrace, and Teddy went in to refill his drink.
Blaise, of course, was Blaise―exquisite and perfect and devastatingly attractive in everything he did, even when it came to shaking his arse and doing something with his arms. Harry never could figure out what to do with his arms. But then Blaise put his hands on Harry’s waist, and Harry put his hands on Blaise’s shoulders, which was what Ron and Luna were doing, and Ginny and Greg. Hermione and Neville were mostly just laughing.
On the edge of the terrace, Malfoy and Pansy stood woodenly, watching. Eventually, Pansy tilted her head, saying something to Malfoy. Malfoy looked back out on the dance floor, nodded once. Harry turned back to Blaise, and smiled.
“I don’t think algae dance like this at all,” Harry said.
“Sometimes being human is all right,” said Blaise. “We have all these interlocking parts.”
Harry laughed. “You say that to Ginny, she’ll punch you in the eye.”
Blaise laughed as well. “Eyes and fists don’t interlock as well as some other parts; doesn’t she know?”
Grinning, Harry said, “Not Ginny.”
“If I tell her she’s an exquisite specimen of ape, what will she do then?”
“Probably punch you in the other eye.”
Blaise smiled. “I love a lady who appreciates symmetry.”
Harry shook his head. “You’re crazy.”
Glancing Ginny’s way, Blaise said, “Does she appreciate crazy?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
Blaise looked like he was sighing, but Harry couldn’t hear it over the music.
“What?”
Blaise leaned in. “I prefer to be shown.”
Harry just laughed again, and the music ended.
“Hey,” said Greg. “Where’s the next song?”
Malfoy was standing over by the crab-apple tree.
Harry looked around. Hermione was moving over to the side, and Ginny was going over to talk to Neville. Ron looked like he was going over to talk to Hermione, but Luna went too, and Ron hesitated.
Greg was still standing in the middle of the dance floor. “Hey, you tosser,” he shouted at Malfoy, “put it back on!”
Pansy walked out to the middle of the terrace.
“We will,” Malfoy said, and set the crank spinning on the gramophone’s cylinder with his wand. “Just as soon as this one’s done.”
The music was something with strings and horns and nothing like N’spelled, or the Pixie Sisters, or anything Ron or even Ginny would approve of.
Walking out in middle of the terrace as well, Malfoy stopped by Pansy. “Pansy,” he said, putting out his hand.
“Draco,” she said, and took it.
They began to dance.
First they walked one way, Pansy smoothly, gracefully, Malfoy erect and proper. Then they turned and walked the other way, and something strange began to happen. Pansy spun, and began to glide, then when Malfoy took her hand again, they stepped on air.
The wand movement was part of the dance, only Harry didn’t catch it the first time. They stepped higher on the air, as though on an invisible staircase, and Pansy spun around, her wine-coloured robe flaring out. Malfoy caught her, and they walked back down to the ground.
It wasn’t fast, but it was intricate, incredibly complex. They didn’t make it look that way, though. They made it beautiful, like two people perfectly attuned to each other, each move anticipated by the other, met with unhurried expectation, and above all, grace. It was less like waltzing, Harry realized, and a little bit more like something else Harry had seen Petunia watch: it was like figure skating, magic lending all the elegance and ease of ice.
Malfoy and Pansy were standing, hands linked, arms’ length apart, and Pansy dipped back―back and back and back―she dipped down so far, it was only Malfoy’s arm, holding her up, and he let go.
Someone gasped―it was Hermione, Harry later realized; they were all standing on the edge of the terrace, watching―only, it didn’t register just then. Pansy was falling, and then Malfoy was there, a metre and a half from where he had been, catching her easily, as though she weighed nothing. It was a long moment before Harry realized Malfoy had Apparated.
Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of them. He’d never seen all Pansy’s lazy, feline way of moving bent to such liquid, flowing purpose. He’d never seen Malfoy’s tall form look quite so lithe and fluid; a narrow, tensile strength that was capable of holding nearly all her weight, and bringing her back up again with no sign at all of effort. That was the word for it―effortless.
Malfoy just looked so . . . capable, at ease, like he was born to do a thing, and was doing it; he looked so powerful, all that graceful strength, like he could go on and on forever, but it wasn’t why Harry couldn’t look away. It wasn’t that at all.
It was that when they had begun, he had looked blank and bored―polite; Harry was pretty certain it was the way you were supposed to look, when you danced this way, when you could create something this beautiful, and pretend like it was nothing. And yet, as they went on, Pansy had begun her little smirk, and Malfoy had begun to smile.
By the time that Malfoy bowed, and Pansy dipped in a low curtsy, he was grinning at her and Pansy―Pansy was smiling back.
Then the music ended, and taking Pansy’s hand, Malfoy led her off the floor.
Hermione clapped and clapped. “That was so beautiful,” she said.
“I don’t see what’s so great about it,” Greg said.
Harry could feel that he was grinning also; he didn’t know why, but he didn’t think he could have stopped it had he tried. “That was brilliant,” he told them.
Malfoy glowed, his breathing quick, cheeks pink with exertion. “Thanks,” he said, and turned his incandescent smile onto Harry.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Hermione looked like she was wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.
Malfoy looked surprised. “Mum, of course.”
“A dancing instructor,” Pansy said.
“But those spells,” Hermione said. “And silent Apparition! I didn’t know that could be done!”
Teddy had come back outside at some point, and joined them on the sidelines. “It’s quite simple, really,” he told Hermione.
She turned her shining eyes on him. “But how did she glide like that?”
“A promenade spell,” Teddy said. “If you’re interested, I can show you.”
Hermione shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m terrible at dancing. Did you see me earlier? I have no rhythm.”
“You’re a bright witch. You’ll learn.” Teddy put out his hand.
When Hermione took it, Pansy pulled her own hand from Malfoy’s.
“One forgets how dull waltzing is,” she said.
“Pansy,” Malfoy said, and reached for her.
“I’ve always hated balls.” Pansy turned around and walked away.
Malfoy looked as though he might go after her, but just then Ginny stepped toward them. “I was going to tell you two how good that was,” she said. “Where’s she going?”
Malfoy sighed. “To have a sulk.”
“What’s she sulking for?” Ginny said. “Was she scarred for life by dancing, too?”
“Were you scarred for life by dancing?” Harry said, mostly so Malfoy didn’t have to explain. He figured it was something about Pansy and Hermione, and maybe something more about the way that Pansy blushed when Teddy came into a room. “Was it me? I never thought I was that bad.”
“You dance fine,” said Ginny. “It was my childhood that scarred me.”
Blaise, who’d been talking to Luna, joined them in time to hear Ginny’s comment. “Scars are very attractive,” he told her.
Ginny winked at Harry. “Yes, I know.”
Harry shifted uncomfortably. Beside him, Malfoy stopped looking out in the direction Pansy had gone, attention snapping back to the conversation at hand.
Blaise looked at Ginny sadly. “I’ve tried to acquire scars, but nothing seems to stick.”
“What were you saying about your childhood?” Malfoy asked Ginny.
“Wizard waltzing lessons,” Ginny said. “Six brothers. You do the maths.”
“Also,” said Blaise, “do scars require pain? I don’t approve of pain at all.”
Harry frowned. “You mean your mum made your brothers teach you dancing? You never told me that.”
“No,” said Ginny. “Dad made them. Can you believe it?”
“Do you think a scar breaks the skin?” said Blaise. “I hate to break anything. Especially anything that is perfect―or at least, anything that’s extremely valuable.”
“Ron never told me he had to teach you dancing,” Harry said. “I didn’t even know Ron danced.”
“I’ve got this image of Mr Weasley dancing.” Malfoy sounded kind of morbidly fascinated. “I can’t seem to shake it.”
“Great,” said Ginny. “Now I’ve gone and scarred you.”
“It truly is a pity I'm so flawless,” Blaise said sadly. “Even Draco has more scars than me.”
A cold feeling spilled over Harry, and he turned to Malfoy. “Do you,” his eyes dropped from Malfoy’s face to Malfoy’s chest, his abdomen, “do you have―”
“Draco,” Blaise interrupted smoothly, “I’m wondering if you’ll direct a slight scratching hex my way. Maybe one across one cheek?”
Malfoy didn’t look at Harry. His voice was sort of flat. “I’ll direct one across your whole face, if you like, Blaise.”
“Malfoy,” Harry began again.
“Don’t think I won’t do it,” Malfoy said.
Blaise turned to Ginny. “Miss Weasley, will I be dashing, with a modicum of maiming?”
“I think you’ll be crazy,” Ginny told Blaise.
“But I hear you’re fond of violence,” Blaise went on. He was putting on quite a show, really, and Harry couldn’t figure out whether it was for Ginny’s sake, or for the sake of protecting Malfoy’s scars. “Harry here tells me you enjoy a lovely bruise.”
Ginny’s brows rose, but she looked amused. “Harry, did you tell him about that time we―”
“Nope,” Harry said, and looked as innocent as he could, which was pretty much not innocent at all.
Malfoy’s brows rose as well. “Potter,” he began.
“What Blaise is trying to say, Ginny,” Harry said, “is he would like to wizard waltz with you.”
Ginny’s brows went up again. “Is that what you were trying to say?” she asked Blaise.
“Well,” said Blaise, “either that, or I thought you might hex me, if Draco refuses to provide me with facial lacerations. I hear you inflict pain in such delightful ways.”
Ginny began to look devious. “Harry, did you tell him about that other time we―”
“Nope,” Harry said again, even more quickly. “I’m sure it was Malfoy. Must’ve told Blaise about your Bat Bogey Hex.”
“Oh, yeah.” Ginny turned to Malfoy. “Sorry about that, Malfoy.”
“Er,” said Malfoy. “It’s Draco. Hey, can you tell me about that ‘other’ time you and Potter―”
“Nope.” It was Ginny, this time. She grinned. “Zabini wants to dance.”
“When you say want,” said Blaise.
“He’s dying to,” Ginny said. She turned to Blaise. “I can tell. Aren’t you?”
“When you say dying,” said Blaise.
“Come on, Zabini,” Ginny said, and took his hand.
“When you say Zabini,” Blaise said, “you really should say Blaise.” He allowed himself to be pulled out onto the floor, where Teddy was attempting to teach Hermione a wizard waltz.
When Malfoy turned to Harry, his eyes were heavy-lidded, and darker than usual. “So, Potter,” he said, in a low voice very much like a purr.
“Nope,” Harry said.
Malfoy smirked. “You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“I suppose not,” Harry said. “But I know I’m going to say nope.”
“Are you,” Malfoy said, and moved a little closer.
“If it’s about that other time with Ginny, then, nope.”
Malfoy’s eyes went darker still. “She said―”
“If you wanted to waltz, Draco,” Luna said, “you could have just said.” She’d come up with Neville, who’d been talking to Ron.
Harry looked around.
Ron was standing alone, staring at the middle of the terrace―where Hermione was tripping on her own feet, and Teddy, smirking slightly, caught her. Hermione laughed, and Teddy steadied her with his hand on her elbow.
“You two looked good, Draco,” Neville said.
“Thanks,” Malfoy said, glowing again.
“I suppose we all dance a little differently,” said Luna. “Will you dance with me if I do it your way, Draco?”
Malfoy looked surprised. “I,” he said, and then for some reason, looked at Harry.
Harry looked at Ron, who was gritting his teeth. Suddenly Ron turned, and stalked away.
“I’ve got to go,” Harry said.
Malfoy turned to Luna. “Of course,” he said, and took her hand.
Harry went to go catch up with Ron.
Around the side of the house, Pansy was sitting by the pumpkin patch on a stone bench, looking nothing other than completely bored. The two lanterns that had been there early bobbled a little distance from her head.
Just as Ron started to step into her line of sight, Harry pulled him back.
“What?” said Ron.
Harry cast a quick muffling charm. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said.
Ron frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Harry said.
Ron shook him off. “Harry, she’s dancing with him.”
“She was dancing with Neville earlier.” Harry pushed up his glasses. “Ron, you’re not seriously jealous of Teddy Nott.”
Huffing a sigh, Ron scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. No. Fucking hell. I don’t know. She won’t―she won’t even bloody talk to me. We’ve been fighting for months.”
“That’s not all her fault,” Harry pointed out.
“It mostly is.”
“No, it’s not.”
Ron scowled. “Yeah. Well. She bloody started it. I never did anything with Parkinson.”
“Hermione knows that.”
“Does she? Because if she does, then why are we still fighting? We’re practically broken up. Did she tell you that?”
Rubbing his forehead, Harry said, “Did you tell her that?”
Ron shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, we are.”
“If you want to break up,” Harry said, “then break up. Just don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Especially not with Pansy, he wanted to add, and didn’t.
“I’m not doing anything I regret.”
“Yeah?” Harry raised his brows.
“I can be friends with Parkinson. Hermione can be friends with Draco, can’t she? Fucking hell, she can even be friends with Nott. But can I be friends with Parkinson? Oh, no, can’t have that. Why? Because she’s bloody hot? That’s not fair.”
“Maybe it’s because you think she’s hot.”
“That’s rich. Like she doesn’t think Nott is hot, with his big brain.”
“No,” Harry said. “You’re right. Just . . .” don’t ruin everything. “Be careful,” he said, instead.
“It’s Parkinson,” Ron said. “Not a bloody dragon.” He waved away the muffling charm and walked over to Pansy, and Harry let him go.
When he came back into the front yard, Hermione was learning to wizard waltz with Teddy, Ginny was waltzing with Blaise, and Malfoy was waltzing with Luna. The music was a lot like classical music, only a little more medieval sounding, with lutes and harpsichords, and something that must have been like pan pipes. It was the sort of music that could cast spells, and really, the dancing could have too.
Blaise and Ginny would have been like magic even if they weren’t using spells to glide across the patio; he bent her back and twirled her, and she fell into his arms over and over. Still, there was power in the way she danced; in that way, it reminded Harry of tango. She used her legs and arms and everything, and it used to be that whenever he saw her this way, or saw her playing Quidditch, he didn’t understand why they’d ever broken up to begin with.
They were, perhaps, the most beautiful people Harry had ever seen, and the dance was twenty times what Malfoy’s and Pansy’s had been, and they were better at it. Next to Blaise and Ginny’s, Malfoy’s and Pansy’s waltzing had been rather elementary, and at least a little stilted, now that Harry saw how it was supposed to be. Malfoy and Luna were the same way―proficient, but a lot more like water from a pump―pretty, catching light and flowing, but nothing like the wild beauty of water flowing in a stream.
Harry wondered, then, why he still couldn’t take his eyes off Malfoy.
“Hey,” Neville said.
Swallowing, Harry forced himself to look away. “Hey,” he said.
“Happy Phoenix Day,” said Neville.
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Are you sure you don’t know how to . . . do that?” Harry waved his hand out at the terrace, so he didn’t have to look back out there.
Neville laughed. “Are you asking me to dance?”
Harry smiled at him. “Yeah.”
Still laughing, Neville said, “You don’t like your toes?”
“Toes,” Harry said. “Who needs ‘em?”
“I’m sorry,” Neville said. When Harry looked at him inquiringly, he explained, “About last time. At the pub. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.”
Harry shook his head. “I should’ve made sure you got the owl. I wasn’t―Malfoy kept telling me. I didn’t listen.”
“Yeah,” said Neville. “Draco.”
Harry looked at his feet.
“He’s really trying,” Neville said, “isn’t he.”
“Yes.”
When Harry looked up, Neville was frowning at something Harry couldn’t see.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I know you’re trying, too.”
Neville shook his head. “I still can’t even look him in the eye.”
Harry looked around for Greg.
Sighing, Neville said, “He’s in the kitchen. Here we’re all here―Luna and her Phoenix Day, as if that wasn’t just some excuse to get everyone together―and I can’t even . . . I can’t even share the bloody spinach with him.”
Harry smiled crookedly. “I’m not sure Luna is that calculating.”
“Don’t be so sure. She should’ve been in Slytherin.” Neville thought about it a while. “Lots of people should’ve been. They want something bad enough, they go out and get it. But I just can’t seem to . . .” He shook his head again.
“Neville, it’s not like you’re holding a grudge,” Harry said. “It’s not like you’re a bad person just because you can’t forget that . . .” Harry knew he had to say it; he had to say it, or he’d be lying to himself, and Neville, and even to everyone―to Malfoy―and that wasn’t fair. “Because you can’t forget that someone tortured you, or tortured someone you love. If you were Bellatrix, right now―I couldn’t forgive you.”
“It’s not forgiveness.” Neville ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just the forgetting part that’s hard.”
Harry looked at him a while, Neville’s strong, kind face; his large, capable hands. “Malfoy says, don’t forget. He says we shouldn’t forget, so that it can’t happen again, and that’s how we make the world a better place.”
Neville looked startled, then smiled a little, wryly. “Harry,” he said. “Do you even realize how many times Malfoy has said to me, ‘Potter says’?”
“Oh.” Harry desperately wanted to ask how many, but just then the music ended, and Malfoy and Luna came up.
“Luna says it’s time for fireworks,” Malfoy said.
“Great,” said Neville. “Who’s going to set them off?”
“You,” said Luna.
“Uh.” Neville went a shade paler. “I don’t know anything about―”
“Come on, Longbottom.” Malfoy gave him a goading smile. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little magic gun powder.”
“Well, yes,” said Neville. “In fact, I’m terrified.”
“Although I generally don’t approve of animal cruelty,” said Luna, “I did think it remarkably brave of you to kill that snake.”
“What does that have to do with,” Neville began, then switched tacks. “Anyway, Harry here―”
“No way,” Harry said, mostly just because it was funny.
“Come along, Neville.” Malfoy used the voice he used with friends, when he fully expected that they would follow him. He really was high-handed.
It lifted Harry’s heart, to hear him speak that way to Neville.
“I will help you set the fireworks,” Malfoy went on, “since Harry Potter here is too much of a coward.”
“Yep,” said Harry. “That’s me.”
“Pyrotechnics really bring people together,” Luna said, as they trooped off toward the house.
“Explosions and dying bring people together too,” Neville said.
“I like you a lot,” Malfoy said, “but I’m not ready to die with you just yet.”
Wizard fireworks were different from Muggle fireworks because after they exploded, the sparks took on a life of their own. Sometimes the explosions formed pictures―animals, which ran through the crowd after bursting in the air, or bouquets of flowers, which fell into single stems. It seemed you could reach right out and touch them, before they burst into smaller, disappearing sparks before your eyes. Other times the explosions were just shapes and patterns that zigged and zagged among the spectators, or else shot up higher, as though to join the stars.
Luna had mostly picked firecrackers that exploded into the shapes of fantastic beasts. Blaise waved his wand at some of them as they ran through the little party, and made them wizard waltz down on the terrace. Xenophilius had brought his friends outside, and the rest of the party guests lounged on the lawn or in conjured chairs, except for Malfoy, Neville, and Luna, who were setting off the fireworks, and Pansy and Ron, who were missing.
Greg and Blaise sat on either side of Ginny, who didn’t seem to mind that either of them were flirting with her dreadfully in their individually disastrous ways. Mostly she just laughed and laughed, and called them tossers both.
Hermione sat with Teddy, and they talked about the stars and astrosorcery. Harry sat with them for Ron’s sake, and mostly looked at Malfoy.
Malfoy didn’t actually seem to be much help setting off the fireworks. Luna, for that matter, didn’t seemed to be much help either, but they oohed and ahhed the most at all the explosions, and made much of Neville’s bravery.
Mostly Neville just grunted, set off fireworks, and said, “Why does it gotta be me? Least you could’ve invited Seamus.”
When Pansy came back from the vegetable garden, Harry couldn’t read anything in her face. That was no surprise, but anyway, it hadn’t been very long, and it wasn’t like they would . . . in Luna’s pumpkin patch, but then Harry remembered that they were wizards, weren’t they, and they could Apparate. It wasn’t like her clothes were out of place or anything like that, though.
Of course, she was a witch, and she was Pansy. It wasn’t like there was a strand of hair out of place. There never was.
There was no sign of Ron.
Harry assumed Pansy would sit with Blaise, or maybe him and Teddy, but she didn’t. Instead she went to go stand next to Malfoy, who turned his happy smile on her and gave up on the fireworks.
Ron came a little while later, plopping down next to his sister.
Harry watched the stars explode, and thought about Ron, and about Hermione. He thought about the nights they’d had to camp, and how big and empty the sky had looked then, how cold. He hadn’t known, then, that things would be all right.
Harry guessed he still didn’t know, but he guessed that was all right too.
In the shadowed darkness beyond the terrace, Pansy put her hand out.
Malfoy took it. He looked like he was holding tight.
* * *
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