Letters

February: The American Smooth

Draco whisked him off in hold with a barely-contained smug grin which Harry returned.

'Well, he's an absolute bore and won't get the message that I'm really not interested. How are you? What are you doing here?' he repeated. 'I thought house-arrest didn't end until June.'

'They let us out early for good behaviour,' Draco sneered but Harry could tell his lips were twitching slightly.

'Hmmm!' Harry mused.

'Stop it!' Draco retorted sharply. 'Don't give me that evil glint...'

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'You had enough on your plate with the fundraising.'

'Oh. I don't know whether to be mortally wounded or not. You look fabulous, by the way.' Harry said the last part loud enough for the intrigued witch wearing a voluptuous ruched bronze ballgown to hear. She made Harry think of an intimidatingly oversized Sorting Hat. Harry was also fairly certain she worked for The Prophet, and she and her partner were trying to dance close enough to surreptitiously eavesdrop. He noticed with glee that she looked shocked.

'I always look fabulous, Potter.' Draco stuck his nose in the air but Harry could tell he was rather pleased and there was slight pink tinge to his cheeks. Draco lead him through a gap in the dancers using a series of rise and fall steps which took him well away from the frightful mountain of brown material.

Draco did look fabulous, slender and angular, in navy knee-length tailored dress robes with a Mandarin-style black velvet collar and matching cuffs and small black velvet buttons which ran diagonally across his chest. His white-blond hair fell softly about his face, no longer gelled back, but freshly cut so the front nearly skirted his angular jawline while at the nape of his neck it was cut razor-short. Just looking at him made Harry's insides clench so he idly watched the other couples around him to take his mind of the handsome man pressed up close against him.

'You smell good too,' Harry muttered. He liked Draco's aftershave, probably always had, if he thought back to their school days, not that he would have admitted it then. The blend of spices and citrus tones made Harry want to lean in closer.

'Pervert!'

'How on earth does appreciation of your aftershave make me a pervert? Your logic is simply bizarre sometimes.'

Draco didn't answer, he simply lead the way through a calmer part of the dance and Harry thought it was wonderful as he took in the vibrant mix of couples around him. The beautiful thing about the wizarding world was no one cared, there were no prejudices about race or sex or gender identity or ability or age or Magical-being status. Even the ideas of blood purity had diminished dramatically since the war, especially after people found out about Voldemort's half-blood status. He supposed his mother's well-publicised muggle parentage combined with his hero-status did quite a lot to throw pureblood superiority into the wind too. Yes, anyone could have power, but it was what you did with your heart that mattered. The inclusiveness of the dance floor was a visual representation of the openness of the Wizarding World – there was no 'normative' here and there was simply an amazing hedonistic decadence to the whole colourful carnival. He'd lost track of the many differing people he'd danced with over the years since the war, all unique and special in their own ways.

'It was a good speech, by the way... very motivating to get all those tight bastards to delve into their money bags,' Draco said.

'Do you really think so?' Harry asked. 'I was shitting myself!'

'Most uncouth, Potter. But you covered it well. You must be pleased with the amount raised.'

'Yes...' a sickle dropped. 'You're the anonymous bidder!'