Letters

March: The Waltz

Sure enough, they did dance together again. As the end of yet another Ministry Ball neared, they ended up joining the formal waltz as a pair. The fine navy cloth of Draco's dress robes felt soft and expensive under Harry's fingertips and he pressed his fingers deeper into the material, holding the slender bicep imperceptibly tighter.

It might only have been the second time they had met on the dance floor but they fell naturally into position like they'd done this a thousand times before and, once more, Harry let Draco lead. He didn't mind, he rather liked being guided expertly between the other dancing couples by the blond man. For just those few minutes, he could let go of all the responsibilities and expectations of being 'The Saviour' or whatever they liked to call him these days.

He was slightly shorter than the blond man, maybe only a quarter or half an inch, but he didn't mind that either, there was a comfort in it that he didn't quite like to admit to himself, it meant that for once he didn't need to be the 'dominant and powerful' one. Instead, on the dance floor, he met Draco as his equal. He was, as he'd said in his letter, learning to enjoy these affairs, even if it was only because he'd learnt to dance and now there was the added bonus of having Draco as a dance partner.

Another added bonus of letting Draco lead was that Harry was aching and feeling lazy as a result. They'd played their Seeker Game the previous day and the competitiveness had been outstanding; nothing was lost from their school days. He'd won, of course, but not without a formidable battle first. Draco had, as promised, invited the Prophet for a large donation to the War Veterans' Relief Fund and Harry had woken up to find his pictures across the front of the paper, yet again. Plus, the obligatory speculation about his love life and his questionable relationship. They'd been asked at the match too, but both men refused to answer; 'we've become friends' was Draco's immediate response and Harry followed his lead with the same answer.

He wondered, albeit briefly, what the Dursleys would think of him now, here, in his fancy formal Auror dress robes, the 'celebrity guest of honour' and dancing with Draco. A slight smile played at his lips. He understood now that part of Vernon's hatred for him arose from the Potters' Eastern-European heritage which showed in Harry's swarthy skin and thick black hair. Yes, sometimes it was a pleasure to take joy in his reversal of circumstances with them. Occasionally Dudley would invite him over and Harry would purposely swan in, completely ignoring Vernon's petulant behaviour and snide comments, and chat happily with Dudley about what he'd been up to. Then he'd normally leave a copy of Witch Weekly on the coffee table, as a parting gift. It was the only time he actually took glee from being on the front cover.

'What are you thinking about? You think so noisily,' Draco said quietly.

'I was wondering what the Dursleys would make of all this pomp and glamour...' Harry muttered, looking up into Draco's grey eyes.

'What?' Draco said haughtily. 'With you at the centre of it all and dancing with another man?'

'Am I that predictable?'

'Yes. Now stop thinking about your ghastly aunt and uncle and concentrate on me as no doubt I'll have to let some awful old hag put their filthy claws around your waist and whisk you off your feet for the next dance. I'm sure Dolores Umbridge keeps trying to catch your eye...'

Harry smiled properly this time, 'not happening, the Vision-in-Pink will clash terribly with my Auror dress robes.' Well, sometimes one had to draw the line somewhere. 'Don't worry, no one will be on a par with you.' He spoke quietly but he meant it. These precious few minutes with Draco were incredible. 'Do you really have to leave so early?'