Harry was absolutely sick of these stupid gala events. He was an auror not a ballroom dancer, there was no reason for him to be here other than as a media prop for the ministry. Working as an auror was all he’d ever hoped but being the ‘Chosen One’ meant that he was paraded around like a show dog most of the time instead of working on cases. Thankfully he was able to bring Ron and Hermione to get him through the night. The Gala began as it always did, with the press shoving their nosy cameras up every inch of his body and asking questions that were way too personal. Harry was asked about a thousand times where he’d gotten his suit from and he just brushed them off because if he was being honest, he had no clue. Harry wasn’t exactly a fashion mogul. He usually just grabbed whatever fit. The event was being hosted in a gigantic ballroom with a beautiful view of the Thames, which Harry would appreciate a great deal more if there weren’t hundreds of people in the room. Hermione grabbed both his and Ron’s hands and dragged them over to a table in the far corner of the room with a few people that Harry recognized. Harry saw Neville and made his way over.
“Nev! How’ve you been?” Harry pulled the man into a hug
“I’ve been great, I have a couple of promising students as well!” Neville beamed as he always does when he mentioned his job as a herbology professor at Hogwarts. “We’ve fixed most of the castle, even made some improvements. It was damaged so badly during the war that I wasn’t sure if we were ever going to get it fixed.”
“Well it's taken them long enough hasn’t it?” Harry barked out a laugh and Neville joined along
“How about you Harry? I heard you made head auror, no one’s ever made it that young, they’re calling you a prodigy.” Neville raised his glass to Harry’s, which must’ve been handed to him at some point because he couldn’t recall picking one up. In truth, Harry hated that people were calling him a prodigy. It was no better than ‘Chosen one’ which he still hadn’t managed to shake, even after the war.
Everyone knew who Harry Potter was, whether they liked him or not everyone knew of the chosen one. Harry could feel the anger beginning to boil in his chest, so he washed it down with a hearty swig of champagne. More people were beginning to arrive, and Harry was pulled away to talk about this or that, he was handed a drink, and someone asked about his new position at the ministry.
Harry gave out polite smiles and shook hands as he was passed around the room. He caught a glimpse of platinum hair from across the room. It was a very pleasant colour and it reminded him of luna. He hadn’t seen her since she’d run off to travel the country with her boyfriend, Scamander.
An older witch tapped him on the shoulder, asking if she could shake his hand. A middle-aged wizard talked to him about trials that proceeded the war. Harry could feel the alcohol burning his throat, someone must’ve given him something strong. Harry wasn’t keeping track anymore but when someone asked him how his relationship with the small ginger girl was going Harry took a rather large gulp of his drink.
He and Ginny had gotten together just before the war. They had both been caught up in the thought that they could die at any moment. It had fueled their relationship. Harry was the golden boy, and he was destined to kill or be killed. Ginny was his best friend's sister; they had known each other for years and it just made sense.
But then the war was over. And Harry went to the trials and went back to school. He got the grades that he needed and became an auror but things started to make less sense. That’s not how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to save the wizarding world, become an auror, and marry the girl. But it didn’t make sense anymore. Their relationship had grown fractured and dull after the war.
They spent more and more time apart until they only saw each other when the Weasleys had big family dinners (which of course Harry was always invited to). The worst part about it was that Harry hardly felt any different. They had been together for almost two years and Harry had felt nothing when they split.
The thing that had Harry constantly beating himself up was that he couldn’t be sure that he’d ever really felt anything for her. Ginny was just the obvious choice to make. She tied his life together in a pretty little bow, and during the war that’s exactly what they’d both needed. But when there was no more need there was nothing left. So Harry took another long sip out of the champagne flute. He slunk back through the crowd, keeping a low profile while heading back to find Ron. God, how he needed to get out of here. Despite being mid November, the air inside the ballroom was stifling and Harry wasn’t watching where he was going when he bumped into a tall, lean stranger.
“Sorry, sorry.” Harry apologized as he continued to push past. Harry felt a sharp gaze on his back. His head snapped back in the direction of the stranger. Platinum blonde hair. Harry’s train of thought was interrupted by a witch who had probably been important but only a minute after their conversation he couldn’t remember if she’d had pitch black hair or a purple coiffe.
Harry had finally made it back to the table when the minister for magic began to speak to the crowd. There were a few long speeches and some jokes, but Harry didn’t listen to most of it. It was only when a young boy came to fetch him that he began to feel an expanding pit in his stomach.
It was rather presumptuous of him to think that the ministry wouldn’t want to parade him around this gala as well, it was practically a given by this point. Thankfully he only had to say a few words on stage - how it was a great honour to receive this position - and give an award worthy smile to satisfy the crowd. All they really wanted was a pretty face to save the day.
As he stepped off the stage, he caught another glimpse of the platinum haired man. He was standing by himself near the back of the room, staring straight at Harry, who felt his spine tingle just a little. He received about a thousand pats on the back and congratulations from others for about an hour afterwards. Around ten thirty Harry saw Ginny walking in with Dean. They had gotten back together after she and Harry had split, but Harry thought they could both do better. Whenever they were together, they fought, and whenever they were apart they complained about one another, but at least their relationship was alive. More so than hers and Harry’s had been, and he supposed that’s why Ginny still held onto Dean, because after sitting in the cold for so long how could you not want something warm, or even scalding hot.
For a long time after their relationship had ended, Harry could only have one-night stands. He refused to even try to get close to anyone because he thought that he was broken. Then he found someone. Someone who seemed like an oasis in the desert, and Harry tried opening up. Then everything went down in flames and now Harry was convinced that he was broken. He decided to take a break from relationships for a while, and ten months later here he is, drinking himself silly, trying to forget that he was just a pawn in the wizarding worlds chess game.
It’s all he ever was and all he ever will be. It wasn’t thirty minutes before Ginny and Dean came stomping towards the group, each splitting off to find someone to vent to. As Ginny’s ex lover, Harry really shouldn’t have an opinion on her current relationships, but as her long-time friend, he couldn’t help but be worried about her relationship with Dean. How could two people who seemed so ill suited for each-other make a good couple? It seemed idiotic.
Harry looked over at Ron and saw the rage in his eyes. Dean was one of their friends, sure, but Harry knew that Ron wouldn’t hesitate to punch him in the nose. Thankfully Hermione held him back and calmed him down the way only she knew how. Things had worked out better for them after the war. They’d gotten married about a year ago and couldn’t be happier. Naturally they had Harry over all the time but he couldn’t help feeling like the third wheel, no matter how much Hermione told him they loved him just the way he was.
Harry really couldn’t ask for any better friends. When things got tough after his breakup with Ginny and again after his last breakup he’d stayed at Ron and Hermione’s place for a while. They knew that he didn’t want to be alone, and they didn’t want him to be alone, so they put up with his getting up early, napping in any place at any time, and his messy habits for a week or so when Harry realized that he was imposing and forced himself to go back to his flat.
He’d give anything to be there right now. In his flat, looking over the Thames and seeing the stars. Hell, he’d rather be on the bloody tube than at this stupid gala. It only ever reminded him of his mistakes and failures. The night seemed to hop around, Harry would be on one side of the room talking with Ron and the next moment he’d be on the dance floor with a large group of people dancing to the most loud and obnoxious music ever.
Harry once again saw the man with the platinum hair. He wasn’t quite sure what made him remember this particular man, maybe it was that he seemed around Harry’s age? Or maybe it was how he seemed to demand the eyes of those around him. Either way Harry eventually found himself trying to seek out this mysterious wizard. It was rather odd how he hadn’t tried to approach Harry at all, because Harry was sure that he’d shaken hands with everyone else in the room at least once, maybe twice.
Harry grabbed another champagne flute as floating trays passed by, and chugged it in under a minute. He frantically looked around, trying to catch sight of that stupid platinum blonde hair again. Then he saw it. In the far left corner of the room, standing near the base of the stage. Harry wasn’t sure whether he jogged, apparated or walked over to the man but he was now looking up at a perfectly sculpted, unsmiling face.
After a minute of Harry staring at him the man spoke up “Hello” his voice was elegant, if slightly sharp.
“Hello, I was wondering if you’d like to dance with me?” Harry beamed and puffed his chest a little, offering his arm to the man
The man scoffed “Me? Dance with you?” He paused “you’ve got to be out of your mind.”
“How so? All I want is a dance, and I won’t take no for an answer.” Harry smirked as the man sighed and reluctantly took his arm. Harry led them to the centre of the dance floor, and silently took the lead. They swayed back and forth throughout the ballroom and Harry felt as if he were in a dream, though that was probably the alcohol. This man was exceptionally good at dancing, he must come to these sorts of events often. “I don’t think I caught your name?”
The man gave him an incredulous look. “Potter,” he drawled, “I know there’s no way you’ve forgotten me.” He was right. Harry would know that voice anywhere.
“Malfoy?” Harry furrowed his brows as he stared at Malfoy's face. He’d gotten more handsome since they’d last seen each other. Of course, Draco had been living in a house occupied by death eaters for months before the trials. Draco had gained weight, his clothes fit him in all the right places, he looked much healthier now.
“Do you have any other death eater enemies I should know about?” Draco arched his left eyebrow.
“No I- I just, I didn’t know you were still in London! Thought you would’ve moved far away by now.”
“And abandon my mother? Whilst my father serves life in Azkaban? Brilliant idea Potter, I forgot that you only ever consider yourself when thinking.” This made Harry frown slightly, but he held Malfoy’s gaze.
“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Draco smirked, the heat gone from his words.
“What are you doing now? For a career I mean?” Harry led them towards the windows, he wanted to get a better look outside.
“I’m an apprentice to a potions master, she has a small shop just outside of London.”
“That sounds like everything that you’d wanted when we were at school.” Harry guided them towards a door that led out onto the terrace.
“I can’t complain, I love the work and the pay is adequate.” Harry dropped his arm from Draco’s hip and dragged him onto the terrace with the other. “What are we doing out here potter? The party’s in there.” Draco gestured back towards the ballroom.
“I know” Harry smiled up at the stars. “ I just needed a minute. It gets so intense in there you know? With all the looks and the comments. Sometimes I just want to disappear.” Harry could feel Draco’s eyes watching him.
“Yeah.” Draco smiled “yeah I understand that.” Harry rested his arms on the rail, looking down at the people on the street below. He felt Draco inch toward him. Their arms were pressed against each other on the ledge as snow began to fall from the starless night sky. “Why did you come up to me tonight?” Draco’s voice was small and when Harry looked over, he could see a look of pain on Draco’s usually expressionless face.
“In all honesty I didn’t know it was you.” That wasn’t entirely true, the thought had crossed his mind though he had thought it impossible. “It was just that I kept seeing this flash of platinum hair across the room. And you were the only one who hasn’t come up to me tonight.” Harry added with a soft chuckle before looking at the man to his right. Draco’s cheeks had flushed from the cold, and he was staring off into the distance with a look that Harry didn’t recognize.
“We’ve spent so long at each other's throats.” Draco met his eyes and continued, “why did you testify at my trial? Why did you vouch for me? After all that’s happened why didn’t you let me go to Azkaban?” Draco’s eyes had turned desperate, and his breathing was irregular.
“Draco-“Harry didn’t know how to say it. It was an instinct really, he saw the way that Draco had hesitated on the night of Dumbledore's death, he saw the sadness behind Draco’s eyes grow deeper and hollower as the war drew closer. Harry saw it in Draco’s soul that he hadn’t wanted to be in any of those situations. Draco wasn’t a bad person, and by the trials he seemed to be the only person to think so. But it was so hard to explain, it always had been because Harry got a feeling and carried it through no matter how idiotic it may be. “I don’t believe that you were ever truly a bad person. I do believe that you were put into bad situations and influenced by the wrong people, but you’ve never been like them.” Harry touched Draco’s forearm, trying to reassure the other. Draco didn’t seem to register the touch and when he did, he wrapped his arms around Harry in a spontaneous hug.
“Thank you.” Harry realized that Draco was now sobbing, heaving in his arms. Harry just held onto the other boy tighter, rubbing a hand on his back. “My mother never would’ve-“Draco sobbed “without me she couldn’t have-“
“Draco, I only did the right thing. Please don’t thank me for it.” After a minute or so, when Draco had calmed down, he pulled back slowly and looked into Harry’s eyes
“I just- if it wasn’t for you my family would not have made it out of the war. You should know that I’m grateful, and that I hope we can put the past behind us.” Draco’s eyes slipped down towards Harry’s lips, and if he’d blinked, he would have missed it.
“Well, you’re welcome then.” The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched into a small smile and Harry caught it again, Draco’s eyes flicked to his lips. “Draco,” Harry began, and with no intention of finishing the sentence he pressed his lips into Draco’s. It lasted only a moment before Draco pulled away, startled.
“Harry!” Draco squeaked before Harry dove back in; this time Draco followed along.
“You’re making this awful night worth it.” Harry breathed onto Draco’s neck as he pulled away. They stayed that way for a moment then harry turned to look at the stars littering the night sky. “It feels as if I’ve just done something incredibly wrong, and yet I don’t think I’ve felt this happy in a very very long time.”