The Malfoys
Although Harry was still very upset with Draco, he couldn't help but be in awe with everything about him.
First, there was his home, which was one of the most impressive buildings Harry had ever seen. It looked straight out of a movie or history book. He didn't know that people actually lived in houses like these.
And that was just the main building. On their drive in, Pansy had pointed out a greenhouse, a rose garden, a lake, and more but at that point, it had all started to make his head dizzy.
“Draco has the nicest home of all of us,” Pansy told him. “It's existed for nearly 600 years and it's actually on the National Heritage List.”
That made complete sense to Harry. He'd be surprised if the property wasn't some historical landmark.
The car stopped in front of the stairs leading towards the entrance of the manor and the driver had barely opened the door when a camera was stuck in Harry’s face. The flash went off and his vision swam with colour.
Thankfully, the driver managed to get the photographers to make room for him and Pansy to actually get out of the car and onto a red carpet that had been rolled down the stairs and walkway from the manor’s entrance. The photographers were concentrated at the section of the carpet before the gate that opened up to the front garden and their cameras were pointed at them, incessantly shuttering and flashing. Harry could nearly feel a migraine forming at the side of his head from all the flashes. Pansy, on the other hand, was thoroughly enjoying the attention, posing and blowing kisses to the cameras as they walked past.
Harry couldn't see how anyone enjoyed this.
When they'd finally met up with Draco and Blaise, Harry couldn't help but think about how stupidly good Draco looked in his stupid white custom-made suit with his stupid slicked-back hair and his stupid smile.
Though Harry couldn't deny that he was quite pleased at Draco’s compliment.
They followed the red carpet through the foyer of the house — Harry had to resist the urge to swivel his head around like a tourist; the manor’s interior was just as incredible as its outside — and it led them to the ballroom — again, who had a ballroom in their house? — which was where the gala was actually taking place within the manor.
The first thing Harry noticed upon entering the room was the clothes. He remembered a few days ago Draco had told him that he had to wear a custom-made suit to fit in and Harry thought he was being dramatic but he understood now. Everyone was wearing dresses and suits that radiated quality and wealth, sporting shapes and designs that were completely unfamiliar to Harry. Even Draco’s suit had an elegant simplicity to it, consisting only of a slim white waistcoat worn on top of a white fitted evening shirt with loose sleeves and black dress trousers. Pansy had also opted for a simpler look, with a plain black dress with see-through sleeves that clung to her body and stopped some centimetres short of her knees. Yet, they fit in effortlessly with the far more extravagant looks of the other guests. Harry figured it was because they carried themselves with as much confidence as anyone else in the room — something he still needed to work on.
The ballroom itself was one of the most beautiful things Harry had ever seen. The walls were tall and a rich almost rusty red overlaid with a golden pattern of some sort of royal crest. The windows were nearly the length of the walls with their frames a cream marble decorated with ornate carvings that matched those of the columns that held up the first-floor balcony and the arch above the stage. On the stage, a string orchestra was playing a delicately enchanting tune. Harry was truly in awe.
Draco led them to a cocktail table at the front of the room with a clear view of the stage. The table beside theirs hosted a group of laughing men.
“You can take your jacket off, Harry,” Draco said.
“What?”
“You can take it off,” he repeated. “You look uncomfortable.”
Harry suddenly remembered that he was actually very cross with Draco. He donned the most hostile frown he could and spat, “We're not friends so I can't see why you'd care.”
Draco pursed his lips and sighed. “Harry—”
“There she is!” Pansy squealed suddenly. “Fleur’s here!”
Draco paused to look over at where Pansy was pointing at, so Harry turned to have a look as well.
At first, he didn't know who he was supposed to be looking at but then a girl waved at them from across the room and began to make her way over to their table.
“Doesn't she look gorgeous?” Pansy said, her tone soft. “She's so beautiful.”
Harry looked back at Pansy and she was leaning on the table, her eyes dreamy and mouth pulled into a small absent smile.
Draco quite violently rolled his eyes.
When Fleur reached their table, she smiled at the lot of them and greeted them with a “ bonsoir!”.
“Fleur, hi!” Pansy said quickly then giggled slightly, continuing with, “How are you?”
“Pansy, we haven't seen each other for a long time,” Fleur said, her smile growing as she spoke to Pansy.
Harry noticed that her accent was even heavier than Francois’ though her higher pitch made her easy to understand.
When Fleur said her name, Pansy blushed a bright red and giggled some more. “I suppose we haven't,” she said. “It's sort of hard to see each other when you live in two different countries.”
Fleur laughed at that and anyone could tell she knew about Pansy’s frankly obvious crush on her. “It is, is it? However, I am grateful I get to see you now, and you look very beautiful.”
Pansy’s neck and chest flushed with colour and she looked like she was going to burst into a million pieces. “Thank you! You look great too!”
“Thank you, mon chérie,” she said, then turned to Draco. “Rebonjour, cousin.”
Draco responded with a nod.
Finally she looked at Harry and cocked her head at him. “Who's this?”
Pansy started to answer but Draco quickly interrupted her. “This is Harry Potter. He's Pansy’s date.”
“It is nice to meet you, Harry.” She reached out a hand and Harry shook it.
“You too,” he said.
“Are you and Pansy together?” Fleur asked, looking between them.
“N-no! Harry's only a friend,” Pansy exclaimed quickly, surprising Harry.
He thought the whole point of him being Pansy’s date was to make her seem unavailable.
He and Draco must have been thinking along similar lines because Draco pinched his nose and sighed. Clearly he’d expected Pansy to mess up somehow.
Harry looked back at Pansy and Fleur. He understood how someone could become infatuated with her. She was very beautiful with her long blonde hair and intensely blue eyes. She was wearing a long, strapless, and fairly loose powder blue dress that made her seem taller than she actually was — or maybe it was the white heels that matched the sheeny white gloves sheltering the ivory skin of her arms. Either way, she had a very striking presence about her that she embraced so elegantly.
Harry felt something brush up against his arm and he found that Draco had moved up closer to him as well as gotten himself two drinks from a waiter. “Pansy's been obsessed with her since we were kids, you know,” he said, sliding over one of the glasses to Harry. “We try to tell her it's silly since Fleur isn't even interested in girls, but she refuses to listen to reason.”
Harry didn't respond to that, only glancing down at the drink. For someone who wasn’t interested in being friends with him, Draco sure was acting friendly. “What’s this?” he said.
“An apology,” Draco said and Harry rolled his eyes. “For yesterday. I know I can be… insensitive at times.”
Harry scoffed at that but let him continue.
“Well, after some thought, I realised that I was rather inconsiderate of your feelings and —”
Harry interrupted him. “Draco, you ignored me for days and when you did finally speak to me you told me that we’d never been friends. I'd say we’re past words like inconsiderate and insensitive.”
Harry must have surprised Draco because he tried to speak a few times before he finally decided on what to say. “You're completely correct, Harry. My behaviour was shameful and hurtful and I wish to apologise for it.”
Harry looked back down at his glass, tracing his finger around the rim. “But why?”
“Pardon?”
“Why would you even do something like that? It's not like we barely talked to each other. I just thought. . . I– I don't know. I don't know what I thought.” Harry met Draco’s eyes again. “I just don't understand you, Draco. I'm trying really hard to. I'm trying really hard to learn about the world you and your friends — your actual friends — live in. But I just feel like an idiot all the time.”
Harry didn't think Draco expected him to be so honest.
“Oh,” Draco said. “Have I been making you feel that way?”
“No, you. . . Well, maybe a little but—”
“I'm sorry.”
It was Harry's turn to be surprised. He didn't know how he’d expected Draco to react to his little confession but he definitely hadn't expected an apology. He didn't even blame Draco for his feeling isolated but admittedly, it was nice to have it validated by him.
Draco was waiting for his response but Harry couldn't think of anything to say so he continued. “I'm sorry that I haven't been as accommodating as you'd hoped. If it offers you any solace, I've seen you trying and I appreciate the effort. You're making excellent progress.”
“Thanks,” Harry said and finally allowed himself to smile a bit.
Draco lifted his glass and tipped it towards Harry. “To our friendship?”
Harry's brows raised. “Friendship?”
“Don't make me say it again.”
Harry laughed. “Fine. Yeah, friends,” he said and clinked his glass against Draco’s before taking a sip.
The drink was sweet and citrusy but there was no missing the bitter tang of alcohol.
“This has alcohol in it? Are we allowed to have this?” Harry asked, instinctively looking around at the adults in the room.
“It wouldn't be a party without it,” Draco said.
“Right but. . . Won't we get in trouble?”
Draco laughed at that and the look he gave him made Harry's cheeks hotten.
“Try not to worry so much, Harry,” he said. “Besides, we are legally allowed to drink, we just can't buy it for ourselves.”
Harry felt a little reassured but he still made sure to take smaller sips so he didn't get drunk later.
Draco, on the other hand, didn't seem worried about that at all. He was already half done with his drink and that felt like much too fast for Harry.
Luckily enough, a woman approached the lot of them. Draco seemed to recognise her as he quickly put his glass down and refrained from holding it for the first time since he'd gotten it.
“Draco, dear, I've been looking for you,” the woman said, simultaneously picking off an invisible something from his shirt. She glanced around the table and her gaze landed on the glasses on the table before frowning back at Draco. “Have you been drinking? What have I said about alcohol?”
“That it's poison. Yes, I know, Mother,” Draco said and his lips pressed together in a familiar annoyed expression.
It made sense, Harry thought. Other than them sharing similar looks — although Draco’s mother’s cheekbones were softer and fuller and she had blue eyes, not grey — they both emitted a distinguished air, one that felt almost inherited, impossible to achieve without direct relation to someone else who possessed it.
Harry waited for Draco to introduce him and when he did, finally, he thought about how his mother had none of the aloofness of her son. If anything, she reminded him of a more reserved Pansy. Draco must've gotten his stoicness from his father.
“I'm pleased that Draco’s making new friends,” Mrs Malfoy said, pinching Draco’s cheek which he pulled away from. “It's not easy for him. He's had the same handful of friends since he was 10, so it's exciting to see a new face around him.”
“Mother!”
“Oh, please, Draco. It's my job to embarrass you,” Mrs Malfoy laughed.
Draco then muttered something Harry didn't catch with the string music playing in the background.
It was odd seeing Draco behave this way. The Draco he knew was unapproachable and hard to faze, incapable of displaying the boyish attitude Harry was witnessing. It was surreal. It was sweet. It made Harry smile.
He glanced over at Pansy and Fleur but they didn't seem any more finished with their conversation, so he resorted to tapping on his glass and listening to the bits he could catch from Draco and his mother's conversation.
“Your father — his friends — horrible — to death — honestly.”
“That's how campaigning works, Mother. You can't expect — loosens their pockets — all for.”
“I don't appreciate it.”
“Have a talk with him then.”
“ — impossible to convince — far too stubborn — I hate that about him.”
“He'll be fine, Mother.”
Mrs Malfoy sighed. “Has he done the commencement speech yet?”
“I imagine he's about to,” Draco said as he looked over at the table beside them. “There he goes.”
Harry followed Draco’s gaze and he spotted a tall man with long white-blond hair making his way onto the stage. The music slowed to a stop and the noise of the room followed suit as the man started speaking.
Draco was definitely his father's son. Harry had thought Draco looked like his mother before but Draco was the spitting image of his father. From their looks, to their stances, to their auras, it was almost uncanny how similar they seemed.
“You look a lot like your dad,” Harry said once Mr Malfoy was done with the speech and the clapping had died down.
“So I'm often told,” Draco said.
Harry wished people would tell him he looked like his father.
He watched Draco’s father leave the stage and Harry expected him to return to his table but instead Mr Malfoy just acknowledged the guests he had once been talking to with a smile and nod and continued walking over to their table.
Mr Malfoy put an arm on his wife's back and kissed her cheek, to which she pulled his face closer to share a proper kiss. They pulled away and smiled at each other before Mr Malfoy turned his attention to the rest of them.
He didn't seem particularly interested in Pansy and Fleur and offered them an obligatory greeting but when his eyes landed on Harry, his entire face opened with intrigue.
“You must be Potter’s son,” he said, firmly shaking Harry’s hand.
“Harry,” Harry said. “You knew my father?”
“Of course. Can't say I liked him very much though,” Mr Malfoy laughed. “We were in the same year at Brighton.”
Harry’s eyes widened and he met Draco’s gaze but Draco wasn't nearly as surprised as he was. Was he the only one who didn't know this?
“My dad went to Brighton?”
“Naturally. Where else would he have gone?”
“Um. . . I don't know. I don't really know anything about my parents,” Harry admitted and that surprised Mr Malfoy.
“Really? And why is that?”
Harry didn't know how much he was supposed to tell Mr Malfoy. Had he already said too much? He'd learned that he wasn't meant to say a lot when he was being asked anything but was that only reserved for interviews? Even if it wasn't, this was Draco’s father, not a random reporter.
He looked over at Draco for help and he must have been waiting for Harry to do so because he nodded almost immediately.
“I— er, well, after — you know — I was placed with my aunt and uncle on my mother’s side, and they weren't really. . . attuned to all of this,” Harry explained as simply as he could and he stood a little straighter at Draco’s nod of approval.
“Ah, I see. I wouldn't expect Evans’ family to provide you with the life owed to you,” Mr Malfoy said.
Harry didn't know what Mr Malfoy meant by that. “Did you know my mother too?”
Something flashed over Mr Malfoy’s features — Harry almost didn't see it — like an automatic repulsion as he thought back to the past.
Then it was gone, and Mr Malfoy had his democratic smile back. “We all went to school together, your mother, father, and I,” he said. “Though your mother came from a humble background.”
Though Harry thought he already knew the answer, he asked, “Were you friends?”
Mr Malfoy chuckled and shook his head. “The circumstances didn't allow it, I'm afraid. However, I am overjoyed that our sons are.” Mr Malfoy proudly pat Draco's shoulder. “And now I know how my colleagues feel when they meet Draco. They always say Draco resembles me but you look just like James, Harry, it's frightening.”
Harry had already begun forming a response to the first part of Mr Malfoy’s answer in his head but his thoughts were brought to a complete halt as he realised what Mr Malfoy had said. “What?”
“It’s like looking at James from our school days,” Mr Malfoy said. “Though those green eyes are definitely your mother’s. Don’t you think so, my love?”
Mrs Malfoy smiled. “You look just like them, Harry,” she said softly.
Harry’s ears hottened and he struggled to form a sentence. “I— wow, um, that's. . . No one's ever— Thank you.”
“Of course,” Mr Malfoy said before glancing past Harry. “Ah, there she is.” He flashed Harry another practised smile and patted his shoulder. “You'll have to excuse me, Harry, but I certainly hope we see more of each other. Stick close to Draco here, he'll do right by you. Now I've got a budget to negotiate. Draco. My love.” He kissed his wife’s cheek once again and walked purposefully towards a woman in a horridly pink skirt suit.
“Oh, there's Lu Zhi. I have to say hi,” Mrs Malfoy said, squeezing Draco’s shoulder. “You children enjoy yourselves. Especially you, Harry, and take care of Draco for me.”
Draco groaned as his mother waved them goodbye.
“Fun parents,” Harry remarked as Draco picked his drink back up.
“Fun isn't exactly the word I'd use,” Draco said, “but I can hardly complain.”
“Oh no, feel free. Just because I have none doesn't mean I can't be sympathetic to your parental woes,” Harry said, raising his hands.
Draco tried to hide his smile by sipping his drink but only ended up laughing more when he came up for air. “I’ll have to pass on that opportunity, but I'll surely keep that in mind.”
“Please do. I'd love to know what I'm missing out on.”
Draco laughed more at that and a placid smile came to rest on his lips. Harry could tell the drink was starting to get to him as his ears had begun to flush and his relaxed expression was completely unfamiliar to Harry.
“I’m surprised,” Draco said.
“About what?”
“Two weeks ago, you could barely talk about your parents without bursting into tears. Now here you are joking like it's nothing and you've been doing it forever.”
It wasn't nothing. Harry still felt the tugging in his chest when he thought about his parents, and he was always thinking about them, so the feeling never went away. It was different with Draco though. Draco wouldn't give him that pitying look or offer meaningless sympathies. With him, it didn't matter. It didn't have to matter. Harry could ignore the pain with Draco.
“I mean, it's about time, innit? I can't spend the rest of my life feeling like shite,” Harry said.
Harry had thought Draco would approve of his answer, but the blond just stared at Harry for a moment, his eyes scanning his face once again. Harry started to get nervous.
“I suppose not,” Draco finally said. “Good on you for moving on.”
Harry just stopped himself from sighing from relief.
“Thanks.”
He smiled. He could be strong with Draco.