Chapter 19
Soft lights illuminated the enormous ballroom, reflecting off the golden and silver decorations adorning the walls and ceiling. Guests danced elegantly to the rhythm of the orchestral music, while hushed conversations filled the air with a sophisticated, festive atmosphere.
Ron felt out of place. In his elegant suit—a burgundy outfit with golden details that Harry had chosen for him, accompanied by a slightly loosened tie—he knew he looked at least presentable, but he did not feel at home. He nervously adjusted the cuffs of his shirt as he watched the ballroom, trying not to stare too long at the people who scrutinized him with curiosity.
Blaise, on the other hand, seemed born for such events. His dark-green suit fit his slender figure perfectly, the refined fabric accentuating every one of his movements with natural elegance. He moved with the confidence of someone aware that all eyes were on him—and indeed, several girls in the room were watching him with obvious interest.
«Weasley, would you like to dance?» the warm voice of Zabini reached him as he approached with a confident stride.
Ron looked at him for a moment as if he had proposed jumping off a cliff.
«What?»
«Dance with me.» Blaise extended a hand, his slender fingers seemingly waiting patiently.
Ron glanced over at the dance floor, where couples moved gracefully to the enchanted music, then turned his gaze back to Blaise.
«Shouldn’t you be dancing with some girl?» he asked, nodding toward a group of young women who were watching him with dreamy eyes.
Blaise sighed theatrically, placing a hand on his heart as if wounded.
«You hurt me, Weasley. After two years, you still ignore my feelings?» he said, shaking his head with a amused little smile.
«If that’s what you want…» Blaise offered a half-bowing gesture, as if to take his leave.
Suddenly, Ron felt empty. A sense of unease clenched his stomach as he watched the Slytherin turn, ready to leave with too much ease. Usually, he wouldn’t be like this. Normally, he would have insisted, provoked him, continued to tease him until he lost his patience.
The words escaped him before he could stop them. «No.»
Blaise halted mid-step.
Ron lowered his gaze to his own hand—which he had instinctively grabbed the sleeve of his suit. Declining the invitation would have been the simplest choice, yet something in him didn’t want to let go.
He swallowed, his voice barely a whisper.
«No…» Ron repeated, almost to convince himself of his choice.
A slight triumphant smile spread across the Zabini’s face as he retraced his steps, guiding Ron back onto the dance floor with disarming naturalness. He placed a hand on Ron’s back, leading him to the rhythm of the music. Ron tried to ignore the warmth he felt on his skin and the rapid beating of his heart.
«Oh, relax…» he murmured, drawing him along onto the dance floor «...I could never give up on you.»
Ron gave him a wry look, though the blush on his cheeks betrayed him. Zabini laughed softly, guiding him through the waltz’s movements, and Ron, with his heart pounding a little too fast in his chest, allowed himself to be led.
Later, Draco stretched lazily among the silk sheets, squinting his eyes to adjust to the soft light filtering through the heavy curtains of his room. It was a movement by the bookshelf that caught his attention.
Harry was there, engrossed in choosing a book, his fingers casually gliding along the spines of the covers. But Draco wasn’t interested in the books. He was interested in him.
The nightshirt Harry wore—yes, his very own nightshirt—hung too loosely on him, the lightweight fabric falling softly along his body, leaving one shoulder bare and revealing the pale skin marked with hickey and bite marks from the previous night. The black boxers, peeking out from beneath the nightshirt, emphasized the line of his lean legs, while his bare feet brushed the floor with an almost unnatural grace.
The blonde let himself fall back, draping an arm over his eyes with a dramatic sigh.
«Someday, I’ll die…»
The Gryffindor turned, raising an eyebrow with that amused yet ineffable look of his. Draco raised his arm, scrutinizing him carefully as Harry approached the bed at a relaxed pace. In an instant, he grabbed him by the hips and pulled him down, letting him fall onto the bed with a muffled thud. Before Harry could protest, his lips were already upon Draco’s—a slow, languid kiss, still heavy with the languor of waking.
«We have to go downstairs for breakfast.» Harry murmured between kisses, his voice barely a whisper against Draco’s lips.
Draco melted into a lazy embrace, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face against the curve of his neck.
«Give me two minutes, and I’ll get ready.» he mumbled, though he showed no sign of letting him go.
Harry sighed, allowing himself a brief moment against him before casually running his fingers through Draco’s hair. The Slytherin knew that eventually Harry would force him to get up. But for now, for these stolen two minutes, he would hold him close.
They descended the stairs of Malfoy Manor with a relaxed pace, still enveloped in the morning’s tranquility. The dining hall was as impeccable as ever; the winter light filtered through the tall windows, illuminating the long table set to perfection.
Narcissa greeted them with a faint smile, while Lucius stood by, ready to leave.
Noticing them, he simply lifted his walking stick with nonchalance before saying in a neutral tone: «I’ve cleared things up with the Greengrasses.»
Draco blinked in surprise but asked no questions. Lucius didn’t give him a chance anyway; without further comment, he left the room.
Draco shrugged and helped himself to a cup of tea, then looked at Harry with a mischievous smile.
«Come with me to Diagon Alley later?»
«Why?» Harry asked.
The blonde made a vague gesture with his hand.
«Business.»
Harry studied him for a few moments but did not press further.
Diagon Alley was bustling, with the lingering Christmas decorations illuminating the shop windows in warm, festive lights. The blonde (Draco) walked beside his boyfriend with an inscrutable expression, but anyone who knew him well would notice the satisfaction hidden behind his feigned indifference.
Of course, there were no real business matters. He’d simply found an excellent pretext to spend time with him, far from his family’s prying eyes.
«So, were those "business" an appointment?» the shorter one asked playfully as they passed by the Flourish & Blotts bookstore.
Draco stopped, looking at him with an offended air.
«You give me so little trust. I might indeed have had some errands to run.»
Harry didn’t reply, but he took Draco by the wrist and drew him close, planting a light kiss on his lips, unconcerned with the crowd around them. The Slytherin returned the kiss without hesitation.
The next day, Narcissa welcomed them with an almost amused sigh, folded the newspaper, and handed it to them.
«It seems your stroll in Diagon Alley has aroused some interest.»
On the front page was a rather clear photo of the two of them kissing.
The young Malfoy, seated next to him at breakfast, fixed his gaze on the newspaper with a satisfied little smile, lazily nibbling on a slice of toast.
The dark‑haired one shook his head and smiled, recalling a detail from the past.
«You know, now that I think about it, you were much less enthusiastic when that photo of me and Cedric came out.»
«You can’t blame me!» Draco shrugged nonchalantly, sipping his tea.
«So you were jealous.» Harry teased; he could have denied it, but his aura said it all.
The blonde cast a haughty glance at the newspaper, then returned his focus to his breakfast.