Chapter 10
The evening passed in a whirl of laughter, music, and stolen glances. Harry had already danced a few songs with Cedric, two with Hermione, and one with Ron. The Hufflepuff had proved to be a decent dancer—perhaps a bit clumsy at times, but still enjoyable. He had stepped away to get a drink, leaving Harry alone in the center of the dance floor.
That’s when Draco Malfoy made his move. Harry heard him before he saw him—the firm, confident hands that rested on his waist with a naturalness that left no room for hesitation.
«I thought you weren’t together.» whispered the blonde in his usual arrogant tone, his velvety voice barely audible over the music, as they began to move together.
Harry looked up, meeting those silver-gray eyes that scrutinized him with a mix of amusement and something harder to decipher. Malfoy was perfect, as always. The dark suit he wore looked tailor-made for him, the jacket left open to reveal an elegant vest, the lines of his body sculpted in a studied elegance. His hair, for once not slicked back perfectly, fell in a slight, disheveled perfection that made him appear even more lethal than he already was.
He smiled with a hint of malice.
«We’re not, in fact.» he said, then tilted his head to the side, feigning a thoughtful expression.
«Are you sure it’s all right for you to be dancing with me? Astoria Greengrass doesn’t seem happy about it.»
The Slytherin cast a distracted glance toward the table where Astoria glared at them with a cold, plainly irritated look. A smile briefly flickered on his thin lips.
«Forget her.» he replied without hesitation, turning back to face Harry.
«I only invited her because my parents insisted, and now I’m regretting it.» the other chuckled softly, allowing himself to be guided effortlessly through the dance.
Draco’s body was closer than it had been with Cedric—more assured, more intentional. There was no hesitation in his movements, no clumsiness.
«So you’re telling me you’d rather have me as your dance partner?»
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes.
«I’m telling you that you’re the only person who doesn’t make me want to leave this stupid Ball.»
The dark‑haired guy held back a smile, though the spark of amusement in his green eyes did not go unnoticed.
He let himself be led by the taller one for a few more turns, the warmth of his hands steady on his waist, his body moving with precision and confidence. It was… pleasant, but in the end, none of it really mattered.
He lifted his chin slightly, meeting the Slytherin’s attentive gaze, which seemed to scrutinize every one of his movements as if trying to decipher them.
«And what if I told you I want to leave?» he asked in a low voice, barely audible above the music.
Draco didn’t hesitate for a moment. «I’d follow you.»
He tilted his head, studying him with a spark of amusement in his eyes. The blonde squeezed him a little tighter around the waist, reducing the space between them further as a smile curved his lips.
«Then let’s go.»
He didn’t wait for a response. He stepped back, releasing him from his arms, and strode across the floor with the confidence of someone who knew he was being watched.
Seated on the bank of the Black Lake, the Yule Ball seemed to belong to another world—distant, insignificant. The music reached them in a muffled way, overlaid by the sound of water lazily lapping at the shore. Harry had taken off his heeled boots and was slowly moving his feet on the cool grass, while the blonde—impeccable despite the evening—sat beside him with the air of someone trying to appear relaxed, though clearly lost in thought.
They talked about trivial matters—the latest Quidditch matches, Blaise’s baffling choice to dance with Weasley, classes—about this and that.
Then Draco broke the silence.
«So, how’s Mister Perfectly Combed doing? Too busy admiring himself to notice you’ve disappeared?»
The other burst into laughter, which made him raise an eyebrow, though he felt almost proud.
«Still jealous, are you?»
«Me? Jealous of him?»
Harry shook his head with a faint smile playing on his lips. He gazed at the lake, where the moon reflected on its dark surface.
«Cedric is a bit like Astoria for you.» he finally said in a flat tone.
«I had to do it, and I did. And yes, I admit I overdid it, but it was for a good cause.»
The taller one turned to look at him intently, as if trying to gauge his sincerity. Then he sighed, running a hand through his perfectly arranged hair.
«I should be indignant about that comparison, but that would be hypocritical of me.»
Harry smiled sideways. «Yeah, it would.»
They fell silent for a moment, the gentle wind ruffling their hair. Draco sank back, resting on his elbows, his gaze turned toward the sky.
«So, what was the good cause then?» he asked after a while, without turning around.
Harry didn’t answer immediately. He idly ran his fingers through the grass, feeling the cool night air against his exposed skin.
«Sometimes you do something just for the fun of it.» he finally said with a lazy smile. «And that was for my own personal amusement.»
Malfoy snorted. «Self-centered as always.»
The dark‑haired guy turned to him with an arched eyebrow.
«And yet, you’re still here.»
«It’s not my fault if you’re more interesting than the ball.»
«Oh, so you admit you find me interesting.»
Draco glared at him, but Harry merely laughed softly, as if indifferent to his reaction. The silence returned between them, but it wasn’t awkward—it was a pause, a suspended moment between jokes.
Then the music changed—something more rhythmic. The Slytherin diverted his gaze from the sky to look at the shorter one.
«So, are we going back inside or do you want to continue your dramatic escape?» Harry asked, tilting his head, feigning that he was considering it for him: «Hmm, tough choice. Staying here with the Chosen One, or going back inside and riling Astoria up a bit more?»
The blonde sighed. «Merlin, you’re insufferable.»
«And yet, you’re still here.» No reply—only a soft laugh from both.
The music vibrated in the air, an enchanting rhythm filling the room with laughter and dancing. Ron had momentarily slipped away from the chaos, trying to catch his breath after being swept into an endless series of dances by friends and strangers. He still held the glass he had just refilled.
That’s when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
«I see you’re rather alone, Weasley.»
He turned and found himself face to face with Blaise Zabini. The Slytherin sported his usual relaxed smile, and his dark suit seemed to reflect the soft lights of the room.
«Merlin, not you again.» Ron grumbled, taking a sip from his cup.
Blaise raised an eyebrow, his gaze vaguely amused. «Are you planning to keep pretending nothing’s wrong?»
Ron looked at him, puzzled.
«What are you talking about?»
Blaise shrugged with deliberate nonchalance.
«Oh, nothing… Haven’t you yet met the person behind that anonymous invitation you received for the ball?»
The red‑haired guy stiffened slightly. «Yes, and so?»
Blaise stepped closer, lowering his voice. «So, I thought you’d be smart enough to figure it out on your own.»
Ron blinked, watching him suspiciously. Then, as if struck by a bolt of realization, he said: «Wait a minute… You want to tell me that—»
«Very perceptive, Weasley.» Blaise interjected with a broader smile.
«I don’t see what’s so shocking about it, Weasley.» he continued in his usual velvety, cheeky tone.
«I invited you to the ball, and you accepted without inviting anyone else.»
Ron blinked as if his brain were scrambling to process the information, then laughed nervously. «Okay, that’s good. You’re teasing me, right? It’s a joke.»
«A joke?» Blaise raised an eyebrow, stepping even closer.
«Do you really think I’m the type to waste time on such jokes, Weasley?»
Ron was about to retort, but the taller one didn’t let him finish. With a fluid motion, he grabbed Ron by the collar and pulled him forward, pressing his lips against his.
Ron stiffened. It took a few seconds for him to register what was happening—the warmth of the other’s lips, the certainty with which he held him, his heart pounding—and when the kiss ended, it was too late to pretend it hadn’t happened.
Blaise smiled, taking Ron by the wrist and pulling him toward the dance floor.
«Come on, before your brain shuts down from overload.»
Still in shock, Ron followed mechanically. He moved his feet almost by instinct, allowing himself to be guided into the dance without even realizing it.
Only after several turns, when Zabini’s hands gripped his hips a bit more firmly, did he seem to recover.
«Wait, wait…» he said, stepping back with short, ragged breaths.
«I…I need some air.»
Without waiting for a reply, he turned sharply and headed for the exit, not looking back.