Wix Ever After

Sunday

Stumbling off a plane first thing in the morning was not a good look for anyone. They had to fly overnight to address the five hour time difference, and “red eye” was living up to its name.

At the castle, Pansy gave him no time to nap. Draco was dragged into a confessional booth and put through the runner. Pansy’s halter top was back, with its improbable notecard storing cleavage.

Pansy started him off easy, with “What was your favorite part of the trip?” and “Tell me about a time when you and Harry had a connection,” but then it swiftly drifted into, “Why do you think Marcus accused you of manipulating Harry?” and “What part of the lava diving sparked you to be afraid?” Then, somehow with a straight face, “How do you think your parents would react if you came out to them as gay?”

“How did your parents take it?” Draco snapped, because he hadn’t had any sleep and didn’t want to be talking about his parents. It was a low blow and he knew it. Pansy hadn’t spoken to her parents in five  years after they disowned her for “her multitude of sins.”

Pansy, ever the one to take the low road, asked, “Do you think Lucius would hate you more for buggering men, or that you’re debasing yourself in this competition to win over Harry Potter?”

“You’re a cow.”

Pansy was as unmovable as stone. “Tell me why you’re in a shit mood.”

“I’m tired!” Draco yelled. Pansy made “say more” gesture with her hands. Draco nearly pulled out his hair, he yanked on it so hard. “Why didn’t you tell me this was so much work!”

“You signed the contract.”

Draco glowered. “Oh fuck you, you know what I meant.”

“And we tried to get you kicked off episode five, if you remember.”

“Is that what you want?” Draco snarled, “For me to go home?”

“What I want,” Pansy said, icy as a frost giant, “Is for you to stop acting like a twat and give me grade-A content so that when this show is over, all the producers say ‘that Pansy, she did good work. We should give her a promotion.’ You think you can pull your head out of your ass and do that?”

Draco, showing the maturity he had at fourteen, shouted out, “Why does it always have to be about you?” Pansy gave him a look so cold and flat Draco actually wilted.

Pansy was digging her claw-like nails into her arms because she wasn’t allowed to slash Draco with them. “You little toerag,” she said, each word short and crisp. “I will pretend you did not say that. And in return, you will tell me right the fuck now what got you angry.”

Draco deflated entirely. “I’m not angry. I’m just tired.”

Pansy wasn’t buying it. “You’re not angry at Marcus?”

“You know I am,” Draco begrudgingly admitted.

“In a full sentence.”

Draco couldn’t help his scowl. “I’m angry at Marcus.”

Pansy pointed to the camera.

Draco huffed and turned his body away from his friend to stare at that damned red blinking light. He was so tired of it, but if he got through this Pansy would let him go sleep like the dead.

“I’m angry,” started Draco. He sighed very deeply. “But I think mostly I’m tired.” Pansy gave him space to look tired and upset while making eye contact with the public. He already felt their stares and hostility. In his imagination it was exactly like the disastrous Witch Weekly interview. It felt so self-pitying to explain himself, but Pansy was right that he owed her for getting him on this objectively out-of-his-league show, solving his financial troubles, and backing him up when he admitted he was actually in it for love.

“I think I could handle just the pressure of trying to make Harry happy. I think I’d be really good at making him happy.” Draco looked at nothing for a moment and laughed. “I feel a bit like Everett, actually. He said he was likable, and I’m likable, too. At least I was, you know. Before. Plus, Harry does like me. Can you believe I’m still here on episode eight?” For a moment, just a moment, Draco looked hopeful.

“I’m just not sure I can handle all of…” Draco trailed off as he fidgeted and looked straight into that red light. He gulped. “All of you.” He looked down at his feet, then caught himself and made himself lift his head back up. He gulped again. “It’s just gotten so much bigger than I expected. Every day I’m put in front of hostile people and being told to be likable, and now the other contestants are sabotaging me.” Draco gestured to his not-quite healed sunburn. “There was a time when I might have admired how underhanded they’re being, and I understand wanting to win, I really do, but I know Harry wouldn’t want to marry someone who acted like that. I certainly could never get away with acting like that. And now I’m trying to stay calm and collected and likable and perfect, for the public, and the contestants, and especially Harry, and I’m just terrified because I don’t know who I’ll have to make happy next.”

-

Draco said to hell with effort and fashion and showed up to the episode screening in leggings and a baggy hoodie that went down to his thighs. It was black with a cat face and whiskers across the front that he would never tell anyone he found cute, and it had very large pockets where he could stuff his hands so he wouldn’t constantly fidget. They weren’t clothes he brought to the castle, but rather items left in his room by Dominique, who apparently agreed with Silas that Draco looked good dressed down.

Which meant he looked his most ridiculous when he walked into the theater room and was greeted by Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

Their eyes did not bug out like Draco’s, which meant they were aware Draco would be there among the contestants. Hermione went so far as to smile at him when he walked in, even if the smile was less warm than the one she’d just been wearing as she caught up with Susan. At least it was better than whatever demented spasm passed as Draco’s attempt to smile back.

“Ferret!” called Ron from his wife’s side. Hermione elbowed him, but Susan laughed.

The familiarity of the jibing broke through Draco’s panic. It made it easy, almost, to stroll further into the room and drone out, “Weasel, always a pleasure.” Surprisingly, Ron laughed, as if Draco’s retort was a shared joke instead of built off years of animosity.

“How was your trip, Draco?” Hermione asked to cut through the awkwardness.

Draco shifted his weight and gripped at fistfulls of the hoodie through the pockets. “It was lovely,” he said, which was true enough he didn’t feel awkward saying so. “The beaches were gorgeous, and we visited all sorts of historic sites.”

“Draco monopolized the tour guide at the botanical garden,” Susan said lightly, almost as if she were joking instead of making an accusation.

“I didn’t know you liked herbology,” Ron chimed in, as if they were actually going to do small talk.

Draco played along. “Got an O on my N.E.W.T.”

“You don’t say,” Ron might actually have been impressed.

Draco was spared from continuing the charade by the arrival of the rest of the contestants. Of course everyone recognized Hermione and Ron. They were two-thirds of the golden trio, and to this day the three were often together championing some cause or another. Not to mention their solo achievements. After Harry retired, it was Ron that was recruited for the Head Auror role when it opened. Meanwhile Hermione was one of the few muggleborns who secured a seat in the Wizengamot.

And here they were, Harry’s best friends, introducing themselves to the five people who had a shot at becoming Harry’s spouse.

“We just want a chance to get to know each of you,” Hermione tried to make light of the visit. “We’ll be in and out all week, to help with the activities.”

Thankfully, this first activity wouldn’t require Draco to exchange any further words. The trade off was the two people Harry trusted the most would be right there for the entire episode viewing and Draco worried what would make it to the screen.

The episode kicked off with the contestants arriving at the airplane, where Lee announced the trip. There was a brief montage of wix reacting to muggle technology and the muggle-born explaining how it all worked. The confessionals focused on two things: being on a plane, and what it meant that Silas was gone. Narratively it painted the picture that no one was safe if someone Harry had such a strong connection with could be sent home. Practically, Draco just wondered if the producers wanted to appease Silas’s fans by dedicating a chunk of time to them.

Camera footage captured the plane landing then cut to all the contestants stepping out and gathering on the runway for Lee to announce their destination. Then a solid minute was dedicated to establishing shots of the contestants arriving at the resort, with voice overs about how amazing and beautiful it was. There was an aerial shot of all the contestants walking over the heart-shaped dock to their individual bungalows. A camera followed Rene into hers and watched her react to every feature.

It showed a brief clip of the contestants lounging on the beach watching the live-air of the previous episode, ending with when Harry and Lee initiated their portkey. The screen cut to their arrival in the lobby of the resort. It couldn’t have been instantaneous, and the producers definitely edited out the harsh reality of a long-distance portkey landing, but it looked good on camera when the two were able to walk into the bar and Lee ordered them both mai tais to kick the trip off.

They chatted like two old friends, and almost offhandedly Harry said things like “I’ve never taken an actual vacation before” and “I’m really looking forward to just spending time with everyone. You don’t let me see them enough.”

The episode did focus on Harry constantly spending time with his suitors. From the small visits he paid to each contestant one on one, to the group activities when Harry always seemed to be leaning in close to someone. Draco had always thought of Harry as distant, maybe because he was never touching anyone in the pictures they printed in magazines. On screen he was constantly taking hands or wrapping his arm around someone’s shoulder. He was more relaxed there, dressed in beachwear instead of suits, strolling around tourist destinations, without constant challenges or overly structured schedules.

Harry probably didn’t realize how all of that was impacting the contestants. The camera had a special knack for catching sideways glances when a contestant noted Harry brushing his hand over someone else’s lower back. Small snippy comments began to be cut in between sweeping scenes of paradise. Of course it exploded when they were all on top of a volcano.

The camera had caught everything. Draco’s initial grimace. The moment he had to walk away to remember how to breathe. The complete terror on his face when he was fitted out with the protective harness. How stubborn Draco looked when he refused to just back down. The exact moment Harry decided to leap with Draco. The way his arm circled around Draco. The jump.

There wasn’t actually a camera that followed them down into the volcano’s depths. At some other point they must have equipped a camera to make the journey, because they showed video of what it looked like to swim through lava. Outlines of the salamanders slid in and out of view, brief, magnificent glimpses of creatures of such extreme magical properties they could thrive in a volcano’s depths.

Seeing wonder on his own face made sense after experiencing all of that. It was there on Harry’s, too. Maybe that’s why Harry kissed him. He was simply feeling wonderful.

The kiss ignited the tensions that had been brewing since everyone arrived. Offscreen, Susan said, “Why did Harry kiss him? He didn’t even want to be there.” Rene said, “Of course Harry can kiss people if he wants to, but I think it would be nicer if he didn’t do it in front of the rest of us.” The camera tried to show Harry building connections on his group dates that night, but everything was leading up to the men back at the resort.

They showed the whole fight. It was big, dramatic, and embarrassing. Draco sank into his hoodie, scrunching up small so he could pull it over his entire body as if he could block out the fight ever having happened.

The camera caught and aired every awkward moment during the next day’s activity. There was hardly an attempt to care about the distillery tours, they held nothing on the drama. Everett’s neediness, Draco’s standoffishness, Marcus gregariously overcompensating for his guilt at having started something that got out of hand. Meanwhile, Sol was trying to keep up with Marcus, like he was afraid he was being overshadowed. Susan was sugar sweet in front of Harry, but made more than one cutting remark when he wasn’t around. Rene saw all of it, and with each added tension she fell quieter until she was completely disengaged.

Marcus was the star of the group date. Draco and Everett had less hope distracting Harry than Sol had, and it was clear that for as hard as Everett was trying, Draco was burnt out and uninterested in competing for Harry’s attention.

They really, really made Everett look bad, with his hovering at Harry’s elbow, and his constant, high-pitched, overly-enthusiastic laughter Harry never echoed. It made it a mercy when Draco strong-armed Everett into leaving the table with him.

Out on the dance floor there was no competition. Draco had danced to let go and the camera captured how much freer he felt when he stopped thinking about who was watching. Draco led Everett in dancing with the intent of Everett joining him in letting go. The producers cut out the journey, but they did show the two men letting loose. They showed Everett looking happy, and Draco looking hot. They showed Harry noticing, and the moment Harry asked Marcus to give him a minute. They showed Harry molding himself to Draco’s body, laughing in Draco’s ear at some joke Draco didn’t remember making. They showed that Harry never did go back to finish his conversation with Marcus.

If only that was the end of the night. Of course it wasn’t. The real drama was Everett alerting Sol that Harry stayed the night with Marcus, and the aftermath of everyone gossiping over whether or not Everett was making it up. It went on and on all morning, long after Draco left to get himself space. Susan aggressively speculated that Everett was seeing things, before aggressively speculating what Marcus was up to. By the time Rene heard the tale, it was blown out of proportion and left her crushed. The camera caught the moment Harry left Marcus’s bungalow, clearly in the same outfit as the night before.

There were highlights from the snorkeling trip, but any possibility of lightening the mood was decisively undercut by the editor’s choices to feature sniping and frustrated glancing. Everett edging Rene out for time with Harry. Susan’s underhanded trick with the sunscreen. Sol directly asking Marcus what he’d done all night with Harry. Marcus getting flustered, which led to Marcus getting angry and storming off.

There were no answers provided, at least not yet. But with Marcus chosen first, the show invited everyone to reach their own conclusions.

Monday

Blessings of blessings, Draco had nothing on the schedule for the day. After the last couple weeks that felt remarkable in and of itself. Decadent, even. For the first time in weeks his mind felt fresh. Physical and mental strain eased. He could almost forget how tense everyone was when they left the theater the night before. How vigilantly Hermione watched them slink away.

Draco lounged in bed for the entire morning and didn't bother to get up until he was too hungry to stay hidden. Then he put on another of the mystically comfortable outfits Dominique left for him. These pants were light weight with an elastic band at the waist and snug cuffs at his ankles. He’d never in his life consider buying them for himself. Likely, his parents would burn them on sight, more outraged by the casualness than the fact they were most certainly muggle. The shirt was thick and cozy, and inexplicably had chipmunks all over it. Even as a child, Draco hadn’t owned clothing featuring animals. It was odd, but also so, so soft. And no one was meant to see him.

Draco should have known better than to take solitude for granted in the Wix Ever After castle. He got so far as to secure food and sent down with what was now lunch, when Harry walked into the drawing room where Draco was eating. Draco choked on his first bite of a ham sandwich.

Harry was the picture of concern. “You alright?”

Draco waved the concern away, trying to simultaneously cough, breath and swallow. “Fine!” he got out eventually.

Harry was sitting next to him at the snug little table Draco had chosen because it had a view of the gardens. “Good sandwich?” He managed to keep a straight face, but his eyes were filled with mirth.

“So good.” Draco took an even bigger bite this time, moaning around it as if it were the best thing he’d ever eaten. Harry’s eyes shifted from twinkling to dark and steamy. Draco swallowed hard and put the sandwich down. “What brings you here?”

“Was in the mood to go for a walk and I thought you might come with me.” Harry’s smile eased into something sweet and encouraging. “It’s kind of our thing.”

Draco’s heart swelled at the idea that he and Harry had a thing. Like, a dating thing, not the shared animosity of their youth thing. He squeezed in two more bites of his sandwich before following Harry out of doors.

The castle’s grounds had the sort of graceful perfection that only came from a team of hedge wix’s daily attention. That meant that even in today’s drizzle, fresh charms kept the dirt path from turning muddy. From habit, Draco still cast protective charms on his and Harry’s legs and feet. The manor’s garden charms had long since died out, and it took less magic to keep the mud off his hems then to make his own garden half as accommodating as this castle’s. Harry had his own habits. He cast the umbrella charm wandlessly, and it was large enough to shield both men even with a polite gap between them.

Draco glanced at Harry, wondering if he was the sort of man who’d appreciate fawning over what was unquestionably impressive magic, or the sort of man too humble to enjoy such attentions. It was the sort of thing Draco really should know, if Harry were to be his husband.

“Do you have a trick to doing that wandless?” Draco asked, trying to walk the line between his inclinations to better understand Harry’s wants and desires.

Harry glanced at the charm up above him. “Laziness, I reckon.”

Draco actually laughed. “Laziness?” Wandless magic was twice as finicky and often took thrice the magic to pull off.

Harry half shrugged and Draco could see he didn’t appreciate the tone in Draco’s laugh. That was fair, it had been disbelieving. “I can’t do it when I think about it,” Harry explained. “Just when I want something, and it’s easier to let myself have it.”

“Hmmm,” hummed Draco thoughtfully. His thoughts trailed off to the first wandless spell he’d ever learned. The first many gay wizards learned. For when they wanted something very badly, and taking the time to pull out their wand would be quite the hassle. Draco realized he was blushing, and worse, Harry had noticed. Draco cleared his throat and made himself think of other applications. “I’d quite like to test that technique out,” he said after a moment. “I’m certain one could arrange experiments with different variables arranged to be more or less convenient, to see if that played a role in the exertion required to successfully cast.”

“Is that the sort of thing you like to do? Experiments?”

Like was such a strong word. Draco tried not to dwell on what parts of his life, his normal life outside of this show, were things he liked or disliked. His parents had taught him all sorts of bad lessons, but before the blood-supremism and blind loyalty to a madman were more virtuous traits. Honor. Duty. Fortitude. Resourcefulness. It did not matter how hard something was or how long it took, if it was your role to play you figured out how to get it done.

“I’ve had to learn to do many things I didn’t expect. I don’t experiment so much as… try things, I suppose. If there’s any difference between the two.”

“What sort of things?” Harry asked, somehow shaping the conversation to be entirely about Draco, when it was Draco who had hoped to learn all about him. Draco supposed Harry was the curious sort. But he’d known that, from back at school. Harry was always diving head first into situations and problems, without thinking through how he’d find his way out. It was novel for Harry to apply the same approach to Draco.

“Anything. Everything.” It wasn’t a cop out, even if it sounded that way. He tried to find something more specific. “When my town had a chizpurfle infestation I had to sort out any number of things. The most common treatments are patented, but my great aunt Hestia had written several books on household magics that pre-dated any legal standing the patents might have. She never was quite clear enough in her measurements, though, so it took several tries to get the potion right. I think I even improved upon it, in the end.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just buy the potions?” Harry didn’t say it like a gotcha question, even though it yanked at all of Draco’s worst insecurities.

“Sometimes making it yourself is the easier route,” Draco said cryptically. He tried to adopt his charming grin as if doing so would make the story a lighthearted joke instead of a glimpse into how far he’d fallen. He was tired of talking about himself. Surely, whatever Harry might say would be better in every way. “Tell me something about how you spend your time, when you’re not tending to sick children or searching for love.”

It was Harry’s turn to duck his head bashfully. “I’m not learning how to make my great aunt’s potions, that’s for sure.”

“I’ve seen you do potions, Harry. That’s truly for the best.”

That won Draco another amused smile. Draco thought he’d be happy spending the rest of his life collecting all the types of Harry’s smile.

“I’ve been taking it easy, these last couple of years. Outside of the charities. I go to the pub with friends, let Ron beat me at chess, Sunday dinner with the Weasleys.”

This morning had been going so well. He and Harry had a thing, a go on a walk one-on-one thing. In these moments, one-on-one, Draco could almost see himself with Harry. Actually with Harry. Compatible natures that could build a life together, filled with big and small pleasures, big and small joys. Now, hearing Harry’s answers to his questions… It wasn’t that Draco didn’t believe him, just that it was the exact same thing he told the Profit when interviewed about life after the aurors. Draco felt the sudden urge to demand more. As if, if Harry actually was considering Draco as someone he’d dedicate the rest of his life to, then Draco needed him to open up about… something. Draco kept the sudden frustration tight inside where it churned in his chest, but not on his face where Harry could see it. So Harry kept smiling, kept what felt like small talk flowing instead of connection.

“We should have done this on the island,” Harry remarked.

“Go for a walk?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Isn’t that the cliche? Long walks on the beach. We could have done that. It would have been nice.”

It would have been nice, Draco agreed, but everything had been so hectic on the “romantic getaway” and Draco didn’t want to think about the ways Harry chose to spend his down time with other contestants. Tried not to wonder if he’d ever get as much one-on-one time as he wanted.

He kept from fidgeting when he said, casual as can be, “England has lovely beaches.” He kept his eyes ahead, carefully not making it a suggestion. “I used to go to Bournemouth, when I was little.”

Harry said nothing for too long. Draco made a point of studying the flowers. Delphiniums and peonies. His mother had kept those, too, because once the Malfoy’s had time to dedicate to things beyond practicality. Draco missed beauty for the sake of beauty. For the sake of sharing it with people you loved.

“I got you something,” Harry finally said. Draco looked away from the flowers now that it wouldn’t be imposing to give Harry his full attention. Harry looked nervous, almost. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown paper bag, decidedly muggle.

Draco took it when offered with a reverence brought on by it simply coming from Harry. He peered into the little bag and saw something small and silver. He poured it out onto the palm of his hand so he could inspect it closer. He had to peer close before he recognized the shape as the branches of a Soufriere Tree, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines' national flower that he had been dazzled by at the botanical gardens.

No one had given him flowers since his mother.

“Oooh,” the sounded wooshed out of Draco’s mouth. Surprise and pleasure all mixed up.

“For your bracelet,” Harry explained.

Draco’s heart was suddenly beating hard. He could feel his face heat up again, more pleasure than embarrassment. He hadn’t thought… Harry had only promised Rene… Draco tried not to wonder if Harry had been equally inspired to find a trinket for Rene on the trip. He wanted to stay here in this moment when Harry’s attention and smiles were only for Draco.

“Can you put it on for me?” Draco asked to distract his thoughts from going anywhere dark and sour. He pulled back the sleeve on his right arm, which had covered the charm bracelet from sight.

“You’re wearing it.” Harry sounded pleased. Draco didn’t explain that he always wanted to wear it, but not where others could see. Rene wore hers in the open, and she probably didn’t mean to flaunt it but Draco always had to fight the urge not to look. Not to be reminded that Harry was romancing other people. Draco tried to be happy when Harry took the charm from Draco and fiddled with it and the bracelet. He connected the charm then pulled back and held Draco’s arm out, as if admiring how it looked.

“Thank you.” Draco felt the words weren’t enough, but were also so deeply heartfelt.

They conjured up another smile. Pleased and self satisfied. Draco had found the right thing to say, after all. Harry looked genuinely happy.

Tuesday

9:00 am: Breakfast with the Granger-Weasleys.

Draco tore through his entire wardrobe with furious desperation. Dominique’s comfort-wear would not do. Draco’s pureblood robes would not do. Everything else Draco owned looked suddenly ragged and shabby. He had half a mind to wear the glittery suit he’d started the competition in despite it being glamorous and over the top. He’d look ridiculous, but anything he put on would make him ridiculous. This was Hermione and Ron. Hermione and Ron! They were Harry’s best friends. They hated Draco. He had to be perfect.

Nearly in tears, he ran out of time to make an intentional decision and had to pull on whatever was on the top of the piles he’d stacked all around his bed and floor. Brown wool trousers and one of his self-darning sweaters. It was terribly plain and if he didn’t have a deeper fear of being late than disrespecting Harry’s friends he would have run back and tried again.

Hermione actually got to her feet and greeted Draco with a hug when he arrived at the drawing room set up for breakfast. It caught Draco so off guard that he hugged back, like they were old friends and Hermione had never punched him. More unnerving, Ron shook his hand. One of the advantages of being raised by high society parents was Draco absolutely knew how to play nice with people who hated his guts. He just hadn’t realized Hermione and Ron knew how to do that, too.

“This isn’t meant to be an inquisition,” Hermione kicked off the conversation, being less reassuring than she hoped. “We just would like to get to know you better.” Draco could fill his whole manor with things Hermione left unsaid.

Now was not the time to rehash childish squabbles (or very grown up wars). It was the time to play nice for the camera and prove to the man he wanted to marry that he could measure up to his friends.

“Thank you for that,” Draco said, as warm as he could manage. “I’d like to get to know you better, too.”

“Harry’s our best mate,” Ron chimed in. He was looking all affable, but somewhere beyond those smiling eyes was hard steel that set Draco on edge. “He’s family. So whoever he marries will be family.”

The idea that marrying Harry would be marrying into a mob of Weasleys was a concept Draco should have made peace with earlier. Maybe Harry could make peace with who Draco was and who he’d since become, but would all the people he loved most in the world? Would they be able to look at Draco and see anything other than the Mark on his arm and the absolutely rotten things he’d done to each and every one of them? Would they be able to embrace Draco like a son, as they did Harry? Would they include Draco in their shared meals and pick-up quidditch games and ugly sweater traditions?

Ron’s steely gaze made clear it was all that or nothing. That he wouldn’t let Draco marry Harry and take his best friend away from his family and the people who loved Harry most.

As if Draco would want to. As if Draco would rather trap Harry all alone in his dilapidated manor rather than surround him with love.

“I’ve always admired how the Weasleys took care of their family.” Draco tried to keep his tone as gentle and earnest as he could, lest Ron think he was taking the piss. The things Draco didn’t share about his own family could fill up this castle, and both his breakfast dates followed the unspoken rule of asking no questions about it.

“So tell us more about you,” Hermione encouraged. “We’ve been watching the show, of course,” there was no ‘of course’ about it, Draco had rather hoped they’d not watched a thing, “and it’s been fascinating to learn bits and pieces. You’re Lord of the manor now?” Her eyes were bright in that way they got in school when she’d written twice as long an essay as everyone else. “I’ve been reading up on it, and it’s really quite fascinating.”

“It’s not,” Draco said automatically, “It’s mostly tedious.”

Hermione was not one to be thrown off her research. “I had to dig through archives to discover the records, but the first Wizengamot were the sacred 77, as they were known then. 77 pure blood families that pooled their lands’ magic to create a central, governing hub.” Genuinely, she didn’t think this was tedious.

“Binns covered that in second year,” Draco reminded her, because it was true and he hoped it would squash the conversation.

“Did he really?” Hermione asked. Maybe that was a day when Hermione was petrified because Draco’s father released a basilisk on the school, and hardly anyone would have stayed awake in class to take notes to share with her after. She shrugged like it was no matter. “Well. Until I reviewed the archive, I simply had no idea that as a Malfoy you have direct access to a Wizengamot seat.” Now she had steel behind her enthusiastic smile, silently demanding.

Draco tried not to roll his eyes at the risk of the conversation devolving into politics. “It’s an antiquated law.” He didn’t say it to cause Hermione to arch a brow in interest. “Most of the ‘sacred’” Draco did actual air quotes, “families have died out or sold their lands, either to developers or the ministry, and the ministry is able to produce enough magic on its own it no longer needs us to tithe in order to keep things stable.”

At some point while Draco was talking Hermione forgot to keep her face pleasant for the cameras and she was now staring Draco down with a hawkeyed intensity. “You still could, though. For a small price you’d have the Malfoy seat back. I believe your father was very influential, at the ministry.” He’d had influence because margins to pass legislation were often thin, and at the time the Malfoy’s had magic enough to pay multiple fees to keep various families in Wizengamot seats they couldn’t independently afford. Voting margins were still razor thin, and the minister's progressive agenda failed more often than not. Hermione was asking in all but words whether Draco had sinister intent. Whether he would use this show as a platform to launch back into wix political society and carry out his father’s legacy.

As if he had the magic to pay the tithe. He struggled to gather magic enough to maintain the wards that kept chizpurfle out.

Draco’s eyes were steel themself as he met Hermione’s accusing gaze. “As I said, antiquated.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly before she shrugged. She picked up her fork and began eating. It would probably be impossible for Draco to prove his intent to her unless he somehow restored enough magic to his land that he could pay the tithe to the ministry, show up on day one and introduce a law to change the very constitution that wix society was founded on.

It was far more likely Harry would choose Draco to marry, and despite how wonderful it felt when Draco and Harry were alone together, without all the pressures of the world, Draco just didn’t see how Harry picking him was possible as he sat through the painstakingly polite breakfast where Harry’s two best friends subtly reminded Draco of all the reasons they didn’t trust him.

Wednesday

“What if we did something in silver?” Draco asked as he doodled an outfit. Pansy had made it very clear he didn’t have to draw well, the camera just needed footage of him “designing his look.”

“You look good in silver,” Pansy chimed in.

Dominique was sketching actual designs that had the barest resemblance to Draco’s doodles. “Too much pizzazz.”

“It’s a party,” Pansy used her driest voice, “it’s meant to have pizzazz.”

“It’s not his party,” Dominique countered.

He was right. It was Rene’s party. Harry had a spontaneous meet up with her yesterday, not dissimilar to his and Draco’s stroll, and what Harry got out of it was that Rene’s birthday was this Friday and she was terribly homesick. So he was changing what was intended to be a small meet and greet with Harry’s inner circle to a birthday bash extravaganza.

“We need him to stand out.” Pansy was digging her heels in.

Dominique pushed aside a finished design and started on another idea. “I don’t tell you how to do your job.”

“I also look good in blue,” Draco offered before Pansy and Dominique’s disagreement could sound too much like parents fighting.

“Rene is wearing blue,” Dominique said almost apologetically.

Pansy huffed. “If it’s what’s best for Draco we should just do it. You can do him up to outshine Rene.”

Dominique put down his quill. He said more firmly than Draco had ever heard him speak, “We don’t want him to outshine Rene.”

“I thought the point of the party was to have an impact?” Draco tilted the words up in pitch, turning his thought into a question.

“The point of the party,” Dominique corrected, not unkindly, “is to make a good impression on Harry’s friends.” Dominique looked pointed at Pansy. “They’re all going to love Rene. So Draco will be nice to Rene.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed as thin as they could while still being open. “I thought you don’t tell me how to do my job.”

Dominique ignored her. He plucked the drawing Draco had assembled and matched it to one of his half dozen sketches. If you squinted as narrowly as Pansy you might see a resemblance. “We’re on the same team, Pans. I’ll make this,” he held up Draco’s drawing, “look spectacular. You go take care of the harder work.”

To Draco’s surprise, Pansy sighed the heaviest possible sigh and let it go.

Thursday

“You’re spoiling me.” Draco didn’t mean it, but it was the kindest way he could acknowledge Ron’s invitation to spend the afternoon together, one-on-one. It was like the opposite of a spontaneous walk with Harry.

Ron was unpacking an old and well beaten wizard chess set. “Damn straight. Time with me is a gift.” He set the board up so Draco played white. “Your move.” Draco would have appreciated being allowed to play first, but Ron said it with such relish that Draco suspected it was part of an elaborate joke.

The punch line being Ron crushing him into little pieces. Draco didn’t even hold his own. His smashed up king could barely crawl off the board. Ron didn’t spare him a word, even as he reset the board for another go.

By the third round, Draco was reminiscing to himself over how he’d once thought himself quite good at chess. He could take on any of his Slytherin classmates and was more likely than not to win. His time for games had more or less ended in sixth year, when he spent every spare moment he had working on fixing that blasted cabinet. However, chess was a safe subject when he was forced to spend time in the manor while the Dark Lord was in residence. The Dark Lord considered it appropriately pureblood, and useful for developing strategic thought, but he also personally found it boring. Draco would spend entire evenings playing with Dolohov, just to be ignored by scarier folk. Dolohov could have given Ron a run for his money if he wasn’t dead.

Draco held out a little longer in round four. Some of the strategy was being pulled from the recesses of his mind. Grandfather Cygnus’s words were in there somewhere, instructing Draco how to establish the board. His mother, teaching him to stay patient and watch every piece for opportunity.

In round six, Ron interrupted Draco when he picked up a knight. “You meant to move the bishop.”

Draco took a moment to review the board. He had meant to move a bishop. He set the knight down and made the more strategic attack. “How is this not boring for you?” he asked.

Ron chuckled. “Think of how embarrassing it’s gonna look for you when you lose a dozen times in a row on screen.”

“That would be boring TV. There’s no way they’re showing that.”

“Hermione gets final approval of this episode,” Ron said smugly. Undoubtedly a political move on her part in exchange for coming on the show.

Draco made another aggressive move. He doubted he’d keep control of the board, but he felt a great sense of achievement when he said, “Check.” Ron examined the board thoughtfully before making a strategic retreat. “Check,” Draco said after he moved again.

“You’re giving up your position,” Ron warned as he moved aside once more.

Draco grinned. “But I’m creating content. That’s the first rule of being on TV. It means the editors have options to pick from when they create the narrative, and it gives me the chance to talk Hemione into changing the final cut into making me look good.”

Ron looked entirely unimpressed. He moved a rook across the board. “Check mate.”

Draco laughed because he’d missed it entirely. “Well, I’m screwed. That was funny so it’s definitely going to be left in.”

Ron leaned back instead of setting the game up for a seventh time. He stared hard at Draco, studying him. “And you’re fine sitting here losing for however long I make you play?”

“It’s a game, Ron.” Draco started resetting the board himself. “We both know I’ve lost far worse than games.”

“Aye,” Ron agreed. “So what’re you out to win at, here?”

That gave Draco pause just as he was about to take his first move. He thought of his manor, his land, which was certainly falling to pieces without him there. He thought of Pansy and Dominique, who would both be rewarded as he advanced in the competition. He thought of Harry, who could be so light hearted when they were together, but who never opened up.

Draco went ahead and made his first move, something out of the box that his grandfather used to like. “I don’t think it’s about winning.” Ron countered with a move Draco had learned as a small child. Draco likely wouldn’t be able to channel his grandfather well enough to overcome, but he enjoyed the effort of trying. “I think when love is something you have to win at, you start justifying bad choices.” He thought of his grandfather once more. The Blacks had been just as cutthroat as the Malfoys in political marriages and building legacies. Just as quick to burn family off their family trees. He’d be as disappointed in Draco as Lucius would, chasing after Harry, failing to keep his home safe.

“So what’re you here for then?”

“You know I’ve always been obsessed with Harry,” Draco said it offhand, as if it was nothing. He was more focused on remembering the next step in the game, moving a pawn forward in a trap his grandfather had often laid for him.

Ron blocked his progress with a bishop. “Obsession ain’t a good look.”

Draco laughed as he examined the board. His grandfather would have known how to get out of this one, but he was stumped. “I guess it’s just up to Harry to decide what he’s looking for. I’m as surprised as anyone he hasn’t kicked me off yet, but every week is a new opportunity for you to see me pout the way you’re trying for today. Only, I’ll probably be all tough and noble so you still won’t get to see it. Because I know Harry is looking for love, and if he’s happy, I will do my very best to rise to the occasion of being happy for him.”

Ron took pity on Draco and picked up Draco’s knight and moved it to a spot on the board Draco hadn’t seen, but was exactly where he needed to go to be back in the game. Ron was already moving a rook to counter, playing against himself, really. “I bet you’ll cry when he sends you home,” he said jovially.

Draco laughed, because maybe he would.

Friday

Dominique made the suit seafoam green, which Draco thought was a tad ostentatious. Even if every other thing about it was as basic as it came. A dull, traditional cut, that Draco knew how to wear elegantly even if it wasn’t as eye-catching as more contemporary designs. Draco had to admit, the public might believe a pureblood wizard would have designed something like this.

Any skepticism about Dominique’s use of “pizzazz” resolved itself when Draco was lined up with Harry’s other suitors. They were in a hallway outside the lounge where the party would be held. Marcus was in jet black leather, coiled around him sensuously. Sol wore a shimmering gold blazer over a satin button up, above a brown and gold tartan kilt. Rene was in what Draco could only describe as a princess ball gown with puff sleeves and a flowing lacy skirt, ice blue with crystal decorations. She was absolutely stunning, and absolutely shown up by Susan. Susan wore just as extravagant a gown, in a darker royal blue, cut deeper into the bodice, and embellished with twice the beaded embroidery.

Draco would need to be dressed in Lee’s bright pink to draw attention away from all of that, and then it was still questionable if he’d succeed.

There was an abnormal quiet between the five of them as they waited. The quiet bred anticipation, which led to tension. They were used to putting themselves on display for Harry, and had learned to navigate shared space with him over the two months they’d spent in the castle. It was anyone’s guess who lay beyond the double doors. The escalated challenge had more people than Draco fidgeting.

Then the lounge’s large double doors swung inward, unleashing light and sound, and all five contestants channeled their nervous energy into bright smiles as they marched inside.

The space was dazzling, all done up in fairy lights and party streamers, with not one but two giant blue and white balloon arches. Someone had covered all the tables in white clothes, and created masterful center pieces featuring fishbowls with actual glowing fish. At the front of the room was an absolutely massive, four tiered cake.

None of this objectively over the top effort was what caused Rene to shriek with happiness. No, that only happened when some strange younger girl in a chiffon mini dress popped out of the crowd and ran straight to Rene to wrap her up in a hug. The crowd - Katie Bell, Ernie Macmillan, Terry Boot, the Patil sisters, Seamus Finnigan, Circe’s tits it was a Dumbledoor’s Army reunion - clapped and cheered as the two embraced.

“Deja got a bit ahead of me,” Harry said with an indulgent smile as he stepped out from the crowd to personally greet Rene, “but Happy Birthday. I wanted to get you something special, and I know how much you’ve missed your family.” Rene was crying now, uncaring of the tears smudging her perfectly applied makeup. She threw herself at Harry, hugging her thank you as everyone clapped again.

Once Rene released him to once again embrace her sister, Harry turned his attention to the other contestants. “Thank you all for coming together to celebrate Rene, and meet all of my friends,” he gestured towards the sea of people who Draco teased and tortured in school. “Tonight’s for Rene, but talking to her this week helped me realize how much each of you have given up to be here with me. I invited a special guest for each of you, to make tonight more special.”

That was the cue for more people in the audience to be revealed.

A short, plump woman in a homey, muggle-style dress wrapped Sol up in her arms as if he weren’t nearly two heads taller than her. Susan was greeted by a similarly curvy strawberry blonde girl who looked similar enough they must be related. None other than Tanner Van Burm, captain of the Wimbourne Wasps, was there to exchange manly back slaps with Marcus.

That was that, Draco thought. Since there was no one left in the world left for Draco.

Maybe that’s what Pansy was there to tell him, dressed up all nice as if she were attending instead of working the party. She wore this fitted, sleeveless satin floor-length gown that must be relying on magic to hold in her chest, and skill alone to stand stable in those gravity defying stilettos. Her eyes were painted as purple as her clothes, and her lips smirked at him in deep mahogany red.

It was her smirk that gave it away. They never did need words to communicate.

Draco walked to her, lest those heels be as deadly as they looked. As gentle as he could, he rested only his hands on her shoulders in the spirit of a hug. He leaned down to air kiss her, and felt her lips actually brush his cheek. “Have more faith in me,” she fake scolded. “I’d never let you suffer through this alone.” Then she wrapped her arm in his, and together they entered the fray.

Based on her behavior, no one would know Pansy hated crowds, or touching, or really just people. So gracefully did she ingratiate herself to her former classmates who had no reason to like either her or Draco. As was their way, Draco and Pansy didn’t need to discuss it before targeting the weakest prey: Hufflepuffs. Turns out Ernie had become a healer, an easy enough topic for Draco to ask questions about until Ernie started answering them without being suspicious. Justin Finch-Fletchley never cooled to their conversation, but he felt obligated to talk stiffly instead of shunning them. Hannah Abbot couldn’t bear to be impolite when asked all about her work at the Leaky, and a bonus to talking with her is Neville came over almost immediately, as if she needed defending, and Draco was able to disarm him with an enthusiastic discussion of tropical plants.

It was hard work, remaining pleasant to all these people who stared at Draco and Pansy as if they shouldn’t be there. As if they couldn’t fathom why Harry was giving Draco a chance at love. They weren’t half as standoffish when Susan glided over, all elegance and smiles, to accept their love and affection.

Maybe Pansy made the choice to hold Draco so she could feel the strain of tension in his arm that he’d never let flit across his face. He grew tight enough to snap, she carefully extracted them from Susan’s friends before things had a chance to sour.

Both Slytherins kept their party smiles on, the smiles their parents taught them to wield from a very young age, as they walked slow and deliberate to where Rene held court. Family lessons had included learning how to read the politics in any ballroom, and while this might be a classed up bar, it was still clear there was Team Susan and Team Rene.

Draco squeezed Pansy’s hand and let her arm go before stepping forward to Rene. He pulled out a bundle from his pocket, followed by his wand (and heard a gasp from his left when someone saw and assumed the worst), and kept his face perfectly blank as he cast a quick unshrinking charm. The bundle grew until it was the size of a thick book. Draco pocketed his wand and didn’t look once at the gasping Maisy Reynolds.

He tried to forget about all the distrusting people in the room who had reason to scorn him, and focus instead on the one person still here who treated him kindly. “Happy birthday, Rene!”

Rene looked pleasantly surprised as she received the bundle. “There weren’t supposed to be presents.” That didn’t stop her from pulling the brown wrapping off her gift, revealing a yellowing tomb titled “A witch’s guide to handicraft.” Her eyes widened happily and she immediately began to flip through it.

“You’ll probably find parts overly simple, but the self-mending charms at the end are a dream. My sweaters never stay snagged.”

“This is brilliant,” Susan exclaimed as she flipped through a chapter on untangleable yarn balls. Draco ducked his head, bashful but pleased.

“Careful with that,” Terry Boot said out of nowhere. “Never trust an old journal from a Malfoy.” There were titters from the crowd that zipped through Draco until his teeth ached.

“Don’t say that about Draco!” Of course Rene was defending him. She was kind like that, or maybe she just didn’t know the horrible things he’d done.

“It’s fine,” Draco said, already backing away. “I’ll just let you enjoy your party.”

Rene was already saying, “Please stay, Draco,” but Draco was halfway to the exit. He wasn't running away. He just needed space to breathe.

He’d come on the show with his heart in the sky and a pipe dream of a fairy tale romance. Eight weeks in, he could half imagine what his life could actually be like at Harry’s side. Lazy mornings followed by long walks, pick up quidditch games and learning to make bread.

It broke down when Draco started wondering if they’d live in his manor, which Harry must hate, or Harry’s cottage, which would leave the manor in ruins until the ministry came in to repossess it for the public good.

It broke down when Draco had to share Harry’s space with other people, be it contestants he worried Harry was falling in love with, or all of Harry’s friends who might be watching Harry’s love journey on TV, but they still thought Harry was mad for making Draco a part of it.

Draco was out of the room now, back in the hall, where the temperature dipped from fewer bodies and a noise cancelling charm brought him peace. Pansy stepped out right after him, her remarkable heels not slowing her down one bit.

“Draco,” her voice was soft, soothing. So unlike her and discomforting.

“I’m fine, Pans.” Only the smile he summoned was cracked around the edges. “I just need air.”

Pansy knew him to his bones and let it go. He wouldn’t have asked her to go back in alone, and he didn’t want her to, but he could see in her hard stare that was the cost for him getting a minute. Whatever thoughts were whirling in her work brain, whatever she knew about production and schedules, it was enough that she had to go back in on his behalf. And she was willing to do it. She’d always be willing to do it. The way Draco would do anything for her.

Draco tried not to do anything as undignified as fleeing, but he certainly walked with purpose down the hallway. If he remembered there was a door up ahead that led to a patio where he could take a minute to center himself. That’s all he needed. Just a minute. Just a clear breath of air outside in the -

He’d reached the glass doors and had a perfect view of the moon-lit patio, with its stylized lanterns hanging from artistic trellis. Planted pots of ferns and petunias created a picture perfect scene. The perfect backdrop for Harry to be sharing a passionate kiss with Marcus.

Without thinking, Draco gripped his right wrist where his charm bracelet lay hidden under long sleeves. He saw an outdoor camera shift angles to better capture Draco watching Harry’s romantic moment with someone else unfold. Draco let go of his bracelet as if it burned him. He turned on his heel before anyone could spot him. Before he provided any further footage that the producers could exploit.

Draco found Pansy talking to Padma, who had every right to hate them, only they’d been raised together in pure-blood society and been prefects together at Hogwarts. There was enough familiarity there to cut through the war history that came after. It wasn’t so hard for Draco to mold himself to the conversations. Every prefect had anecdotes of monitoring the mischievousness in your own House, which was a far cry safer than unpacking the ways in which Draco and Pansy had monitored the rest of the school when given too much authority. Draco adopted his charming smile and stayed still unless spoken to. It was safer that way, to stay very, very still.

Safer not to react when Harry came back and wrapped an arm around Rene, and led the room in an off-key rendition of Happy Birthday. Not to cringe when Rene smiled so happily when Harry brushed a kiss onto her cheek. As if that night was truly, specially, just for her.

Saturday

Draco was fidgeting with his charm bracelet again, but he stopped when he caught Harry looking. He smoothed down his cuff and tried to sit attentively as he waited for Harry’s questions, for once following the Interview Room rules, because he didn’t have an ounce of cleverness left in him after the party the night before. Draco had wanted to leave after the toasts, but Pansy had dug her nails into his arm this time as a reminder that he owed her, or perhaps as a message that not staying and being companionable in front of Harry could get him sent home.

“You look tired,” was what he got for it.

At least Draco could smile at that. “I am tired.”

“Did you have fun at least?” Harry sounded hopeful, like the answer mattered. Plus, he hadn’t even picked up the suggestion cards so it meant he actually wanted to know.

Draco wished he could lie convincingly but there was no way Harry wouldn’t see through it. “I think I’m more of a small group person. That might be the most people I’ve talked to in one evening since…” he voice trailed off when he couldn’t find a tactful way to mention the war.

Harry was nodding, though, as if Draco’s answer made sense. “I really tried to keep it a small gathering,” he said earnestly, as if it were important Draco know, “but Lee just has a way of snowballing things. He bamboozled me.”

Draco laughed at the idea of Harry being bamboozled. “It’s alright, Harry, I believe you.” He paused to match Harry’s smile. It was nice, how they’d come so far they could just smile at each other. As long as there wasn’t anyone else between them. That thought made Draco’s lips tilt down, and he asked a question to stop his face from falling. “Who would be at a Harry Potter small gathering?”

“Oh,” Harry wooshed out air. “Hermione and Ron, of course.” Draco nodded understanding. “Ginny, if she’s in the mood.”

“Didn’t you two go through a spectacularly public break up?”

Harry shrugged. “She’s still one of my best friends.” He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, and it warmed Draco’s heart that Harry was the sort of fellow who would hold tight to people he loved even after things got bad.

“Who else then? And not a Weasley.”

Harry smirked, as if Draco’s question was funny. “Neville, usually. Maybe Luna.”

“Fantastic choices,” Draco said magnanimously, some of his humor coming back to him here in Harry’s company.

Harry rolled his eyes, but it was affectionate. “Who would you have at your party, then?” it was almost endearing how Harry could ask devastating questions without realizing their impact.

“Pansy’s my best friend,” Draco said, as if it wasn’t obvious. As if two people alone could be a party.

“Does she go out dancing with you?” Harry asked, trying to give him an out. Ah, Harry, not having any idea that Draco didn’t have time for dancing. Maybe Harry just thought he should, because he was drawn to watch Draco whenever he hit the dance floor.

“She’ll dance at the solstice.” Then, cheekily, “Because I force her.”

That sparked a new tangent for Harry to go down. “What’s it with the solstice? Luna was proper chuffed you picked her charity, by the way.”

That was… well, Luna hadn’t been at the party last night but he’d rather have liked to talk with her if given the chance. They weren’t friends. They were only very distantly family. But the Lovegoods kept to the old ways in the ways that mattered and they would understand.

“Magic begets magic,” Draco recited, an ancient phrase that no one had passed down to Harry.

This huff was far less affectionate. “You can be as vague as Dumbledore when you set your mind to it.”

“I’m not being vague,” Draco all but whined. “That’s the actual magical theory. Professor Binns literally wrote the book on it, before he passed away. It’s what landed him the job at Hogwarts in the first place.”

That had Harry sitting up in his seat. “Really?” He asked. “What’s it about?”

Draco tried to find a simple explanation to centuries old magical history. “When you give magic freely into the universe, there is more magic for everyone.”

“You mean, like,” Harry moved his hand like he was casting a spell.

“No, Harry,” Draco drawled. “Not like that.” Draco thought a moment longer before trying again. “We use the solstice because it’s when the boundary between worlds is thinnest and magic is at its peak. Wix come together with all the magic they’ve stored and just… release it. Where to depends on the ceremony, but it’s common practice. You’ve been to one, surely.”

Harry chewed on a lip as he scrolled through a mental image of his social calendar. “I think I always go to the ministry solstice gala.”

“Precisely,” Draco said with conviction. “That’s the biggest one, these days, and likely why magic is so strongly centered in London. Binns actually got tossed out of the Excalibur Club when he suggested…”

“Suggested what?” Harry said with interest, unaware that Draco almost dropped confidential gossip from one of the most exclusive wix clubs in Britain. Would they put that on air? Would it mean anything to Draco if they did? Twenty six generations of Malfoys had graced the club’s roles until they refused to issue an invitation to Draco. Not that he could have paid.

Draco cleared his throat. “He had a lot of innovative ideas about magic theory. It’s a shame he went into teaching. He could have contributed much more to wizard society with practical research than by droning on at students for centuries.”

Harry must be feeling accommodating today, because once again he didn’t push. Instead he plopped his chin on his hand and gazed at Draco thoughtfully. “With talk like that, I’d think Hermione would have been the one who liked you.”

That caught Draco off guard. “It was lovely to spend time with Hermione.” He sounded so stilted that Harry actually snorted.

“Ron had fun, at least.”

“Had fun beating me seven times at chess?”

“Sure,” Harry offered but it was clearly not what he meant. “It’s nice that he let you off easy. He’s made me sit through a dozen rounds when he’s feeling salty. Like I said, he liked you.”

That made Draco bristle. In what world would Ron Weasley like him? He stopped short of accusing Harry of spinning tall tales, but Harry’s eyes twinkled like he knew what Draco was thinking.

-

“Are you a seer?” Draco asked out of nowhere when Dominique was laying out a new suit for that night’s elimination, modest in color but exquisitely cut.

Dominique’s lips quirked up. “What makes you ask?”

“Harry said you jump between contestants right before someone gets kicked off.”

Dominique’s smile widened into a grin. “Can’t decipher the tea leaves if you don’t know how to read,” he said cryptically.

It sounded as vague as Trelawney. “You’re not swapping contestants today, are you?”

Dominique stopped fussing with the suit so he could focus on Draco. He looked hard like maybe he could read something off Draco’s face. “You’d be good for him. I’m not going to swap out and waste my talents on someone who won’t be good for him.”

Something about his tone reminded Draco how Harry said he was still good friends with Ginny. “Did you two ever…” Pansy arrived to take Draco out on stage, leaving the question very much unsaid.

-

With the birthday, and the party, and whatever deep heart-to-heart Harry shared with her that led to all their friends and family being invited to the castle, it really was no surprise that Harry chose Rene first.

With their night together, and the hidden kisses, Draco was not shocked that Marcus was picked second.

Draco hoped, he always hoped, that what he was feeling for Harry was something shared, and the moment he was picked third he thought maybe that was true.

Which left Sol and Susan standing together, actually holding each other’s hands as they waited nervously for the final selection.

The pauses between choices had grown longer over the weeks. The frown on Harry’s face led Draco to believe that once again it was because Harry didn’t want to make the choice at all. He looked at both contestants deep into their eyes, still weighing his decision until the final moment.

“Sol.”

Draco wondered if it made him a bad person that he was viciously glad Susan was sent home.