An Invitation
The feeling of guilt had been chased by anxiety as soon as Harry had opened the letter from the Ministry. By the end of the week Harry would be standing in a ballroom full of pureblood, Lords and Ladies, as well as high members of the Ministry, for a whole evening of talking politics and making cordial conversation around a drink between two dances. Not that bad when wording it like this, it sounded a bit more anxiety inducing with it being his first official appearance since the trials after the war. And it was important to remember that Harry had only a few weeks of experience with the whole “lord situation” when those people had been raised and trained to be one, some were even born for this purpose only.
Harry wasn’t scared of the paparazzi and the picture, he knew that at least half of what he would do or say would make it on the first page of all the newspapers by the following morning, with more or less modifications depending on the topic of the paper, some would make supposition on his love-life and create drama among the groupies who only wanted to have him because he was The Chosen One, the Saviour Of The Wizarding World, some other would argue about his absence and his new position, not even trying to hide their disappointment at the announce that; No, Harry Potter won’t be an Auror, like it had always been expected of him. As to the Daily Prophet, Harry had no idea what to expect from them, after the battle some newspapers had called him a murder, claiming that Harry was just as bad as any other Death Eaters for killing people during this war. Rita hadn’t lost a second before writing an article defending him, she had not weighed her words when she had written that it was high time we left him alone and let him make his own choices for once in his life.But her nice gesture had lost some of its sincerity when three days later she tried to bribe some Healers in order to get information and possibly an interview with him. But Harry knew how to deal with all of this, he had learned with the years when he needed to make a statement and when it wasn’t needed.
However what Harry was stressed about was the receptionin itself. He could hardly dance with an experienced partner, the only times he had managed to make it through the whole song without messing up or stepping on Malfoy’s feet were when the taller one would take the lead. He had memorised pretty much everything that had any importance about the Twenty-Eight, but he was still in the middle of his education regarding the system and the laws of the Wizard Society, he was far away from being able to handle a political conversation with any of the other guests.
Harry had been alternating between letting the anxiety take control of his brain, making his thoughts swirl around, creating horrible scenarios each worse than the one before, and being perfectly calm and collected, the only thought in his brain being that Draco would be here, which to be honest shouldn't be this reassuring to him, Godric, it was Malfoy! If he wasn’t the one making fun of him, bullying him while still being able to strangely maintain a clear image among his peers,then he would surely be laughing with the one who would. And Harry wust have a real problem because he strangely hoped that his blond tutor would be the one humiliating him, surely it was simply the familiarity of the experience that was making it easier to wrap his head around, or at least he had convinced himself.
…Until now.
Because at the moment Harry was standing in the middle of Malfoy’s office, his host walking circles around him, a meanish grin painted on his face, and Harry was starting to feel himself fold under the piercing judgemental gaze of the blond man.
“What is it?” He had barely finished knocking on the door, when he had been pulled by the forearm to the office, he hadn’t even had time to properly greet the mother of his assaulter. “Draco you can’t just pull me in without saying a word and then proceed to lurk around me without any explanation!”
Draco took his time to step away, served himself three fingers of Blishen’s Firewhisky, silently proposing one to Harry, before sitting in his leather armchair and crossing his right ankle on his left knee, before answering. He always sits that way nowaday and Harry still asks himself how a simple sitting position can make such an impression of importance and superiority while radiating relaxation and confidence.
“I received an invitation to the Ministry ball, I assume you did too. It is a formal public event, which means that we can’t have you coming dressed like a…I don’t even have the words to describe the abomination you call clothes Potter.”
“Why do you care so much about how I look? And I will have you know that I do not dress badly, you are overdressed for everything you do!”
“There is no such thing as overdressing, Potter. And I care because even if we didn’t accept your proposition about taking the name Black, everyone knows that my mother was one, and therefore, me too and because you are the lord Black you, unfortunately represent us, to a certain extent, sadly.”
“I might be but the invitation wasn’t addressed to lord Black, they only invited me in my position of lord Potter.” Harry was grumbling now, kind of offended by the numerous negative adjectives, clearly unnecessary.
“Do you have it with you?” The ex-Gryffondor took the envelope out of his pocket and passed into the cold palm extended in front of him. Draco was silent for a few minutes, stopping the swirl of his half-full glass to read the letter. “This is bad,if they don't respect your title then chances are they don't see you as such.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that they don't believe that you will take on the name and the responsibility that comes with it. The Ministry will most likely try to put a guardian to take the seat of the Black family as in the Wizengamot. You will have to choose a guardian in fact, because the Potter’s also have a seat and you can’t have two, but it has to be someone that you chose, someone that you trust to make the good decision, not someone who will blindly follow the ministry.”
“Okay, I think I understand. What should I do?”
“You will need to show to everyone who you are, you should wear the Black’s family colours. That will put them off, you also need to make it clear that you are already considering a guardian that has the same political idea as you.”
Draco proceeds to continue talking and explaining in detail, how the event will go, how he should act and what he should say, whohe should avoidand to be honest with himself Harry isn’t even sure if he had listened after the first two sentences. He hated with passion social events, he didn’t like to pretend to enjoy the company of people he had never wished to even meet, he was tired of it, tired of having to play the nice, sweet, chivalrous Gryffondor for the Wizarding world.When he stopped hearing the monotonous sound of the blond boy's voice in the second plan of his thoughts, Harry lifted his head, not daring to completely meet the other eyes.
“Yeah, okay.”
“You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you?” Draco sounded a strange mixture of disappointment and concern? Confusion, most likely.
“Sorry…”
“What bothers you so much that you dare not pay attention when I'm speaking to you?”
“Nothing, it’s just that I hate everything about this type of event, I don’t like the press, I’m not a big fan of the Ministry and I particularly don’t want to have to pretend to be someone I’m not to a bunch of people I’m sure are already fixated on their idea of me.”
“Understable.” But you don’t have much of a choice, if you want to make your own decision and keep control of the situation you have to learn how to make people change their minds, you need to pretend and manipulate, as actively as you want, to be respected.” At this point Malfoy took a break, drinking the last of his glass in one go he let go of the tension in his shoulders. His eyes were lost somewhere on the wall behind Harry. “It’s unfair but that is how the world works, Wizard or Muggle, you have to build a reputation to be able to walk up the stairs of your empire and even when you reach the top you have to put in the effort, you have to work, to make sure the walls are solid.Then, and only inside this fortress you can allow yourself to be whoever you want to be.”
After that, they both fell silent, Harry knew the room, he knew what the greyish eyes of his old schoolmate were fix on. A portrait. Of his father. And as fast as the gilt had flown away when Kreacher had given Harry the letter, she came back to hit him in the face with full strength.
He took his leave rather fast, swallowing back his guilt with the last drops of his own glass, he stood and opened the door murmuring a goodbye and a see you soon to the other, he walked out.
“Harry.”
He stopped in his tracks, frozen. Draco never used his first name. Turning around he was met with a now standing, hands firmly pressed into the dark wood of the desk, enough to make his pale skin seem even more white. The mask of the Slytherin had melted, letting his sad eyes and trembling smile free to Harry’s eyes. He would have believed him to befragileif he hadn’t known him for so long.
“I’m not trying to make you into someone else. You shouldn’t have to change who you are, you did more than enough already.”
“Thanks, I guess.” Harry wanted to tell him the same thing, but he didn’t know how to word it. He knew him. He knew a simple, you too, wasn’t enough. Draco only believed what he wanted to, and he wasn’t ready to believe that. “Take care, yeah?” His voice was gravelly.
“I will see you Friday night, Potter.”
-- –
Harry was feeling awkward, Kreacher had thrown him out early, tired of seeing his Master walking around and dirtying the carpets. So Harry was standing outside of the Manor the ball will be hosted at, questioning his choice in clothing for the millionthtime in the last three days.
During those three days following his, what should’ve been, lesson, at Malfoy’s Manor he had changed his outfit three times. First he had choose an expensive formal wizard robe, black with gold lining, but it hadn’t felt like him, so the next day he had gone back to the shop this time he had opted for a full black suit with a waistcoat on which was sewn a design of branches strongly resembling the Black family tapestry. But earlier today, he had realised that he hated the feeling of it on him, the tight clothing made him feel caged in his own body.
That when he had remembered the last words of Malfoy, he had told him to not change who he was. Stopping, quickly, by the clothing shop for the third time, he had gotten a silk, slightly oversized, golden shirt. The seller made him swear that he would keep it tucked in his pants. Paired with the high waisted tailored trousers and the black vest he had to keep open at all times. All of it was made to give the illusion of longer legs and a thinner waist.
Harry had felt good with what he was wearing, Hermione and Andromeda had both complimented him, so he was confident, until he had seen his reflection in a mirror and the fear of being underdressed had flooded his mind. He didn’t have enough time to go back to the stylist, and nothing he had in his wardrobe would be considered good enough for an official event where he had to represent two of the most important families of the Wizards Society.
So stress had flooded his brain and even though he had been ready hours in advance he would have ended up late if Andromeda hadn’t reassured him, giving him advice from the events she had herself been forced to attend during her childhood and teens years.
The old elf had grumbled after him for an entire hour before finally throwing him out and cursing him for having messed up the carpets.
— —
The sky was fully dark by the time the last guests apparate in front of the building, Harry had stayed hidden in the shades, not wanting to be recognized this early. He didn’t have the intention to show himself until he had seen Draco. He didn’t mind the cold. He barely even felt it on his cheeks and fingers, the only places the cape attached to his left shoulder and draped over his back and left arm, designed to represent the Black’s Family tree, that was keeping his entire body warm, didn’t reach.
His mind was going a hundred a minute, imagining the worst case senario : Had he missed him? Did Malfoy finally decide not to come? Maybe something had happened to him? Perhaps it was his mother?
“Potter?”
“Malfoy! Thank god you’re here!”
“Why, in Morgana, are you standing out here like an useless vigil?”
“I was waiting for you…You’re late by the way.”
“Malfoys are not late.”
“But you are. The last guest passed the door at least ten minutes ago.”
“Yes. It was intended. It’s called being fashionably late, it makes it seem as if you have better things to do without being disrespectful to the host.”
“Fashioned or not, you are late.”
It was a cold glare that made Harry close his mouth, the same one Lucius used on him on the rare occasions they had met.
“Why were you waiting for me, Potter?”
“I…uhm I guess I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t put shame on you?”
The cold eyes of his interlocutor flew over his frame, calculating like he was a simple piece of paper, a document in need of approval, and Harry wanted to say something but he had put himself in this situation.
“It’s alright. You’re still you but you’re proper. Now, if you would keep your back straight and stop trying to hide behind your shoulders, the message would be clearer.”
If the start of the answer had been said in a dusty voice, the following part had been harsh and pronounced with full superiority. Harry forced himself to hold back the roll of his eyes and strained his joints to stand at full height. And even then Harry still felt small facing Draco, he wasn’t this much taller but the way he carried himself and the control he seemed to have on every muscle of his face and body, was making his presence almost overbearing.
“Good enough. Now excuse me but I have an event to attend.”
“I know Malfoy, we’re going to the same place.”
“We are not walking through that door together, Potter. I’m going first and you wait two more minutes before following.”
“But then I won’t be fashionably late.”
“No one expects you to be on time, you’re the Savior, a single smile and everything will be forgiven.”
And Harry might have been dreaming that he was ready with all of his Gryffindor bravoures to betthat it wasn’t the end of Draco sentence. He could swear that before disappearing past the doors he heard him mumbling something in the order of “So easy for Saint Pottah.”
-- --