Letters

February: The American Smooth

The first time they'd danced together publicly, it caught Harry off guard.

Though Harry probably wasn't as surprised as the rest of the guests in the Ministry Ballroom.

It wasn't because Harry didn't want to dance with Draco but simply because Harry thought Draco was still on house arrest and didn't know he was at the ball. Therefore, he certainly wasn't expecting Draco's familiar languid voice to drawl into his dance-partner's ear, 'would you mind awfully if I stepped in?'

It had felt like the eleventh-billion Ministry function Harry had to attend that year and it was only Valentine's Day. Harry hadn't particularly bothered about that because of the speech and auction he was giving to 500 Ministry workers and their guests for a new fundraiser for the St Mungo's Relief for War Veterans. It was an important date and they had raised a stunning 3900 galleons, partly due to an anonymous bidder paying 1200 galleons to play a Seeker Game against Harry at the Wimbourne Wasps stadium. Mione had organised that and he assumed that it was The Daily Prophet that had paid for that privilege. At least it wasn't a meal, that had been the first suggestion but Harry had refused, repulsed by the idea of spending an awful three hours trapped with someone who tried to inundate him with personal questions, or worse still, ply him with expensive wine in the hope of a drunken shag with the Chosen One.

Once the ordeal of the speech and auction was over and done with, he was able to relax and start enjoying himself. The only problem was, to everyone else, that meant vying for the honour a dance with 'The Saviour' because he'd attended the ball without a formal partner. He only truly recognised his predicament when a series of pink paper hearts proceeded to plague him around the ballroom, all jostling for his attention and bashing against his head like annoying moths. They were from people requesting a dance or asking for a date or inviting him for dinner or, for the less coy, simply offering sex. Despite being three years after the war, people were still far too interested in what Harry did every minute of the day.

As a result, Harry had reluctantly accepted a dance with one of the clerks in Arthur's department whose name he really couldn't remember (Huey or Huxley or something). He'd been stalking Harry hopefully for a number of months.

Harry was fairly certain there was a collective pause in the ballroom as people stopped to watch his well-publicized school-nemesis approach and interrupt the dance. The cheerful bubble of noise had dropped suddenly and there was an air of disbelief mixed with concern that another war might break out in the middle of the Ministry. He could sense people holding their breath. He was surprised the music hadn't ground to a scratchy halt.

He mentally shrugged and stoically ignored the whole bloody lot of them. As did Draco.

The man (maybe it was Hunter) scowled.

'Draco!' Harry exclaimed joyfully before his dance partner (perhaps it was Hurley) had a chance to interrupt and say something derogatory. 'What are you doing here?' He relinquished his hold on Huckleberry (possibly) and swept Draco into huge hug.

'Contain yourself, Potter. You're making a spectacle of yourself!' Draco said as he awkwardly patted Harry on the back.

'Well, you'd better take the lead then! Thank you for the dance, er, ...'

'Hudson,' the man replied sourly, shooting daggers at Draco.

'Oh, that's it!' Harry exclaimed joyfully. 'I knew it was something American related.'