Saturday, November 18, 2017
Harry was surprised to find, after being browbeaten by Ginny - as usual - into attending the party, that he was enjoying himself immensely.
Hermione was as intimidatingly clever as he remembered, but he no longer felt that he had to pretend to understand all her obscure and far-ranging references. He doubted anyone could, really, except maybe Pansy.
He'd always assumed, back in school, that there was nothing more to the still-terrifying girl than razor-sharp claws and a vapid existence spent fawning over Draco. In reality, she was nearly as clever as Hermione, and the two together were a force to be reckoned with - one he never wanted to get on the wrong side of an argument with. He'd gotten to know Pansy in a professional capacity during the divorce, and had quickly come to appreciate her uncanny ability to sink those ebony, perfectly manicured - if a bit sharp - nails into the heart of a matter, and her ruthless competence. She reminded him of a shark - sleek, sharp, deadly, and compelling.
He'd never bothered to get to know her personally until now, and regretted the divisions their school years had forced on them. He'd been far too quick to judge back then, he decided, and wondered what his life would have been like had he allowed the Sorting Hat to place him in Slytherin, or had the war that was brewing then not ripped them all apart.
Ginny had handed him off to Astoria as soon as she'd got him in the door, and Harry immediately saw what appealed to her about the winsome blonde with a wicked gleam in her eyes. She had that same fire and spark that had always attracted Harry to Ginny, and his heart ached at how right they looked together.
Astoria soon had him dredging up ridiculous stories from the past - and how she managed to do that without making him maudlin, Harry had no idea. He'd suspect magic, if he didn't know it were impossible.
He caught Hermione's speculative gaze, then, and wondered. But then Astoria cracked a joke - one the twins would have loved - and Harry's surprised and delighted laughter drew the kids into their circle, and Harry forgot to be suspicious.
He looked up, then, and saw Draco hastily turning away. It hurt. He'd hoped they could still be friends, but...
No. He shook his head, tearing his gaze from the lean, slightly bowed back across the room, that deliciously tempting silver-blonde hair, tied neatly back in a way that made his fingers itch to undo the leather thong holding it in place, and muss up the no-doubt silky strands. It was better this way. He only ever hurt people.
Harry tried to focus on Astoria's convoluted tale of a photo shoot gone wrong, but he quickly lost the thread of the conversation, dropping it without noticing as his eyes were drawn inexorably back to Draco. Luna had approached him, as he stood disdainfully separate, back turned to the rest of them. Harry stood, rooted to the floor, resisting the almost painful pull that insisted he go and rescue Draco. It was Luna. He could hardly excuse "rescuing" the man from Luna! But she was standing too close - far too close, invading Draco's personal space - and her expressive hands were dancing through the air between them as she talked, fluttering like exotic hummingbirds, never pausing in their movements, and every so often she touched him - his arm, his shoulder - and Harry felt his fists clenching.
She'd drawn a laugh from him, and was now leading him from the room, a possessive hand on his elbow. Harry's heart gave a nauseating lurch.
He's gay, he reminded himself. And Luna - well, who knows what Luna is? He thought he remembered her dating both girls and boys indiscriminately - if rarely - back in school. That didn't make him feel any better.
He hastily excused himself, leaving the others looking somewhat startled and cutting Astoria off mid-word.
He didn't see the discreet thumbs-up Astoria sent Hermione as he strode across the room toward the door Draco and Luna had just disappeared through, nor did he see Tilly's triumphant grin. He had only one thing on his mind - Draco. The word ran through his mind like a drumbeat, a heartbeat. Draco...Draco...Draco...
His heart lurched again when he found them, by the simple expedient of listening at every door he passed until he heard the soft murmur of voices. He eased the door open, just enough to be able to see in. Soft light spilled out into the hall, and he grabbed the door-frame for support.
They looked so... content, sitting there by the fire. Draco, relaxed and animated, leaning back in an overstuffed chair, and Luna, sweet and giggly and sparkling as she perched comfortably on the arm of the chair, gauzy sleeves trailing and bare feet on display. She touched his shoulder, leaning in to whisper something, and Harry stumbled. He slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle the curse that slipped out, but it was too late. Draco looked up, right into his eyes, and his expression hardened. The light faded from his eyes, as if he'd drawn the shutters, and Harry's stomach dropped.
Luna smiled brightly at him. "Harry! Come in! I was just telling Draco about the class we're going to teach next term. We're asking all the teachers to pitch in - we got rather more interest from the students than we expected, you see - and I was going to find you next. And now you're here - isn't that lovely? Now I don't have to waste time looking for you."
Harry was about to say that he had hardly been hiding - unlike some people - but Luna was too fast for him. She chattered on as he hesitantly moved closer, something about theatre and special effects and costuming and music and Shakespeare...and Harry let the words wash over him without sinking in. He was far too busy staring at Draco.
Something in his expression must have startled Draco, for his eyes widened, and then some of the fire returned. He wasn't angry, exactly - Harry was well acquainted with what an angry Draco looked like, and this wasn't it - nor was it any expression Harry could name.
Then Luna called his name, sounding fondly exasperated. "Harry! Harry Potter! Are you even listening to me?"
"Hmm?" he said absently, eyes locked with Draco's, then, yanking his attention back to her - a wasted effort, since it immediately swung back to Draco - "Yeah, I'm listening."
"Good." She launched back into her story, and he went back to staring at Draco, reserving only enough of his attention for Luna that when she wound down at last, with a "You will, won't you, Harry?" that straddled the line between question and demand, he agreed without any idea of what it was he was agreeing to. Ginny would no doubt fill him in later.
He could be agreeing to just about anything - it was Luna, after all, not to mention the other girls - but just couldn't bring himself to care, not with Draco sitting there in front of him, a tempting mixture of poise and relaxation, invitation and rejection, soft and hard and oh, Harry wanted. The fire crackled and sparked, the air seemed to heat, and the space between them crackled with an energy he couldn't put a name to. He was about to reach out - rejection be damned - but then Luna grabbed his arm and tugged him away, back to the party. Draco stayed in the chair, eyes burning, immobile. He didn't break eye contact, and the image of those eyes stayed burned into Harry's brain long after Luna had tugged him around the corner and he'd lost sight of them.