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flaminia_x Prompt: Prompt #21, The Twelve Dancing Princesses
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: When, in their 8th and final year at Hogwarts, Draco starts to have ... mishaps, usually involving his shoes, his parents decide to offer a prize to the person who can unravel the mystery.
Rating: PG-13 (or very, very light R, for presumed future smut)
Disclaimer: I own nothing that belongs to JKR, but I do like to play in her garden sometimes. Also, the fairy tale isn't mine either.
Warning(s): Camp. Humour.
Word Count:11070
Author's Notes: My prompt was: A malfunctioning Marauder's Map, a ghost, and the line "Honestly, you'd think dragon's hide would be a bit more durable." I was also to include clever, smarmy, devious Draco and the other Slytherins. Well, it's pretty close - I hope you'll appreciate the liberties I took with some of your specifications! This was tons of fun to write - thanks for such an awesome prompt!
***
Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stepped gracefully onto the platform at 9 3/4, their silver-blonde hair gleaming in the soft morning light. Not, to be sure, where they had thought they would be, certainly not. But it was their son's eighth - and final - year at Hogwarts, and after the drama of the previous years, they would be damned if they would hide. Not anymore, and not especially after the ... pains ... they had gone through to ensure their return to wizarding society. After all, it wasn't just everyone that had taken responsibility for the entirety of a Hogwarts House.
Following behind them, the surviving Slytherins maneuvered themselves - and their copious amounts of baggage - onto the platform. After all, just because one may or may not have been a Death Eater does not mean that one should take less pride in their appearance. Draco tossed his cloak cavalierly over his shoulder, surveying the platform. As if on cue, a small breeze fluttered his bangs gently over his forehead. He sighed happily. It was going to be a most excellent year.
"Oi, Malfoy, getting on the train or posing for a catalog?" Crabbe said humorously, sniggering a bit at Draco's exaggerated stance. Draco whipped his head around, narrowing his eyes at his friend in pretend anger, before shrugging nonchalantly.
"You blokes grab us a compartment whilst I say my goodbyes, alright?" Draco instructed. "And make it a good one, Crabbe. You know how I hate sitting by the loo." Turning around, Draco faced his parents. "You know you didn't have to come to see us off. We're all adults now, you know that."
Lucius sniffed, palming the top of his cane. "Now, now, Draco, you know quite well that we have been instructed to look after your fellow Slytherins, now that most of them are orphans or wards of the Ministry. It is my duty to make sure that all of you - all includes you, Draco - are exactly where you are supposed to be, at all times. That means on the train, in your classes, and in your dormitory at night. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," Draco mumbled.
"You and your friends need to be the top students in your class if you have any hopes of gainful employment, let alone finding a suitable marriage partner. Wit and charm will not always be enough, as handsome as you are. You do take after me, you know," Lucius said thoughtfully, right before Narcissa cuffed him on the back of the head. "Well, he certainly inherited your temper," he snarked sotto voce, as he and his wife turned to leave. "Don't forget to write," Narcissa called back over her shoulder as she led Lucius away by the elbow.
Draco shook his head in weary resignation. If he had to hear one more time about how important this year was, he would vomit all over his expensive dragon's-hide boots. But, he sighed, that would do nothing for him except leave him with sticky shoes, and he was quite fond of them. They had been a birthday gift from his parents this past year, one they could ill afford these days, which made them all the more special. And besides, he had a Plan, did he not? A cunning, devious, clever, Slytherin Plan. His parents didn't have to worry about him - they'd see. Grabbing his trunks, he marched onto the train.
The next morning was the first day of classes.
Draco stumbled blearily out of bed, a bit behind schedule. He and his dorm-mates had been up just a wee bit longer than usual, celebrating with a bit of Old Ogden's and some Butterbeers they had confiscated from the younger students. All in the name of propriety, of course. And then they had ... well, let's just say the first part of his Plan had been a rousing success, if he did say so himself. But, there was no time to preen in the mirror this morning, more's the pity. Throwing on his school robes, he quickly freshened up in the lav and then headed to the Great Hall for some much-needed tea.
Sitting at the rather depleted Slytherin table, Draco took a minute - after his first cuppa, of course - to see who else he recognized. There was one of the Patil twins - which one, he could never remember - and two or three vaguely familiar Hufflepuffs, not that he ever paid much attention to them. Quite unhelpful, that lot. But at the Gryffindor table - could it really be? Harry Potter, eating alone? Draco's eyes narrowed. How ... unusual, to see him without the rest of the Golden Trio, or without the little Weasel bint hovering around. He would have sworn that Granger at least wouldn't pass up school, but it would seem that she and the other Weasel were settling down quite nicely now that they had finally got around to the snogging part, he thought wickedly. Speaking of snogging, Draco surreptitiously felt his lips with his fingers, pretending to dab at them with a napkin. With a sigh of relief, he realized they weren't as swollen as he thought. It simply wouldn't do to be ... advertising ... this early in the term, now, would it?
As luck would have it, the first class of the day was double Potions. Professor Slughorn had graciously agreed to continue on as both Potions master and Defence against the Dark Arts teacher until Headmaster McGonagall could fill one or the other position. Draco and Crabbe were partnered, as were the other Slytherins, while Potter and Padma - yes, that was it, Padma - sat next to each other across the aisle from them. Draco began eagerly - Potions always had been one of his favorite subjects, although marginally more so with Professor Snape there - but was interrupted by what sounded like a snigger. He turned and glanced in annoyance at the makers of that horrid sound, and to no surprise found it to be Potter. Some things never changed, he thought to himself. But within a few minutes, he realized that Padma had also snuck him a few amused glances, trying hard to hide her laughter. What on earth could those two find so amusing at this hour? By the end of class, try as he might to ignore them, he had noticed that almost every non-Slytherin in the room had had to stifle their giggles, and that Goyle's face was blushing a bright red. Draco's eyes narrowed. It was completely against order in the universe for Gregory Goyle to figure something out before Draco Malfoy. Hurriedly, he looked around him, determined to realize the cause of such hilarity. He checked out each and every Slytherin - no signs taped to backs, no odd spells casting love charms or painting on mustaches, nothing. Until he looked down, and realized that his shoes - his precious, beautiful, expensive, expensive, expensive dragon's-hide shoes - were covered in dirt. Hastily he tried to wipe it off on the hem of his robes, but to no avail. How had he not seen it this morning? He wasn't that hung-over - had he been? Looking around him, he saw that the other Slytherins were also trying to scrub the dirt off of their shoes, but not a one of them was having a bit of luck. Hastily, he bent over and muttered a quiet Scourgify, but instead of the dirt vanishing into thin air, he swore he saw it grow! This - this was not normal! Rushing out of the laboratory after class, he and the others practically fled back to their Common Room.
"Draco, what's happened to our shoes?" Theodore Nott panted. Poor Nott. Always had been a bit out of shape, hadn't he? Draco made a mental note to start working on that tomorrow.
"Yeah, Draco, what gives?" Blaise Zabini asked. "These are my only pair, and unlike you, I don't exactly have a family to owl to replace them." Adrian Pucey and Pansy Parkinson muttered their agreement.
"Oh, sit down, all of you," Draco grumbled. "I'm sure there's got to be a way to fix it. Some stupid Gryffindor prank, no doubt." After a few attempts to scrub it off manually, he finally sat up in a fit of anger and yelled, "Evanesco!" The dirt vanished from everyone's shoes - everyone's, except Draco's. "Oh, sodding bloody hell," he moaned, sinking back into the couch in temporary defeat.
"Yes. Well. Thank you, Draco," Pansy said primly. She and the other Slytherins promptly took off running, leaving Draco in the Common Room alone with his shoes. His dirty, expensive, expensive, dirty shoes.
Draco sighed. There was nothing left to do but owl home. His father wouldn't like it, but it just simply wouldn't do to have the Malfoy heir roaming the halls of Hogwarts looking like Filch, would it? And he would need his shoes for later. Perhaps between now and then he could figure out what had gone wrong ...
Later that afternoon, a package arrived for Draco, containing a brand new pair of the dragon's-hide shoes. Ignoring the other Slytherins' cries of longing and bitter jibes, he held aloft the beautiful, expensive, clean shoes, admiring the way he could almost see his reflection in them. Hurriedly, he put them on, sending his dirt-covered older pair scurrying under his bed in fear with a flick of his wand. That was much better! It wasn't until Pucey nudged him with a very sharp-pointed wand that Draco noticed the note inside the package. It was in his mother's graceful hand.
"Darling Draco, here are the shoes you requested we send you. Against our better judgment, we have decided not to ask your Headmaster to punish those distasteful Gryffindors for their pranks, but we are sure you shall inform us should it happen again. Your father sends his regards. With love, Mother."
It had worked. He knew his parents weren't able to indulge him as they had when he was a child - such were the fortunes of war, after all - but if he had made it seem as though his shoes had been the unfortunate recipient of Potter's ire, then he knew his parents would find the means to replace them straightaway. Smiling, he went to join the rest of his house for dinner.
The following morning saw Draco and his fellow Slytherins in fine spirits at their table for breakfast before Charms class. The previous night had been another successful one, and Draco was inordinately pleased that his Plan was working so effortlessly. And, joy of all joys, not a single blessed scale was out of line on his beautiful, expensive, clean, dirt-free, expensive shoes. He had checked - twice - before so much as leaving his room. There was a huge pot of steaming English Breakfast tea on the table, scones with cream and jam, and Draco's favorite sausages for breakfast. The sun was shining, and there was Quidditch this afternoon. It was going to be a beautiful day.
Charms class quickly put an end to his misguided belief.
Draco and the Slytherins sauntered into class, taking their seats under McGonagall's quiet stare. Potter was already there - goody-goody that he was - and the rest of the eighth-years soon found their places. McGonagall soon had them split up into small groups to focus on some advanced Charms. At least she had the presence of mind not to try to put him with Potter, Draco thought to himself snidely as he saw Goyle "accidentally" step on Potter's trainers. Instead, Draco was with Pa - Padma, yes? and some of the meaningless Hufflepuffs whose names he had never bothered to learn. He supposed that would have to do. Draco was actually enjoying himself in class, mastering the Charms with practiced ease and laughing a bit at his friends who were struggling across the room, until there was a sudden, mysterious breeze. No, more like a - a draught. Had someone opened a window? He turned to look, but the first thing he saw was a furious Pansy Parkinson dropping to the floor, hurriedly trying to cover her bare legs with what remained of her robe. Hastily, Draco looked down, only to see his own pale (but shapely, he thought) calves sticking out of robes that were suddenly obscenely short. He sat down in shock, crossing his legs and tugging his robes down across his knees. Crabbe and Goyle, sadly, hadn't seemed to notice, the bottoms of their pants peeking out inches from their bottoms, mismatched socks suddenly shown the light of day. McGonagall huffed and puffed, exclaiming, "Explain yourselves, the lot of you!"
Pansy merely squeaked, shooting Draco a fearful yet haughty glance, while Blaise stood proudly, unashamed of his current state of undress. Draco, however, could only mutter something quiet about inter-House rivalries and pranks gone awry. McGonagall looked around the room, trying to see if anyone seemed guilty of such a prank, but finally merely waved her wand, altering the Slytherins' robes to a more appropriate length. "Now, if you all are quite finished with interrupting class, let's see you all try the Flame-Freezing charm, one by one. Mr. Malfoy, you first."
Sighing, Draco stood to perform the charm, thinking gratefully that at least this time, it hadn't been the shoes.
On their third morning back at Hogwarts, Draco rose, a bit less cheerfully than before. In fact, he was rather tentative this morning, wondering what might go wrong today. His great Plan was working like - well, like a charm, but yet something had seemed to backfire on them every day. At least McGonagall had been able to fix their robes, although how all of them had suddenly lost their underclothes as well was a bit mysterious to him. Sighing, he began to get ready for the day, carefully inspecting his robes, toiletries, and person for damage or injury. Everything seemed fine, until he bent down to put on his beautiful, expensive, clean shoes. His beautiful, expensive, clean shoes were now beautiful, expensive, clean, and sole-less.
"Merlin's left bollock on a water cracker!" Draco exclaimed, furious and utterly stumped. How on earth was this happening? He had taken such pains with his Plan, and this certainly was not part of it! But the Plan, the Plan must prevail. Draco simply needed to come up with a solution. He could do that, right? But in the meantime, what was he to do with no shoes? Angrily he stomped off to the Common Room in his stockinged feet. This was an emergency, and emergencies demanded a Floo call.
Ten minutes later, Draco was cradling a new pair of beautiful, clean, expensive, soled dragon's- hide shoes to his chest, thankful that his father had not been home and that once again he had been able to charm his mother into coddling her only son just once more. Now, to get through the rest of the day without his broom flying away, or his hair falling out - no, best not to think of such a tragedy.
Three hours later, Draco was fuming.
His robes were still intact, and his beautiful, clean, expensive, soled dragon's-hide shoes were as well, but still, Draco fumed. His father was meddling in things that ought not be meddled in - namely, Draco's Plan. Apparently, upon Lucius' arrival home, Narcissa had informed him of Draco's need for yet another pair of shoes, and Lucius had not appreciated it one bit. In fact, he had done a bit of spying - after all, it was second nature - and had heard about the troubles that Draco and his fellow Slytherins had experienced - all within the first few days of term. And Lucius, being the head of the proud Malfoy line, was not about to let anyone cause problems for his son. No, he wanted the pranks, as he assumed they were, to stop, and to stop immediately. But Lucius had learned a bit, during this last war, about winning flies with honey instead of vinegar. So instead of demanding a full inquiry at Hogwarts to determine who was making life difficult for Draco and company, he instead offered a prize. A prize!
To the person who could solve the mystery of the attacks on the Slytherins would go something of value, although Lucius hadn't deigned to let Draco know what it was. Hmmph. The last thing he needed was some outsider spying on him - that could spoil the entire Plan, not just for Draco but for the rest of the House as well. At least his father had specified some foolish time limit - each person was only given a week from start to finish to solve the mystery. Why, he had no idea, but he supposed that would at least cut down on the number of possible observers at any one given moment. One at a time was pretty good odds. He was Draco Malfoy, after all, and he had come up with the Plan on his own - surely he was smart enough to fool anyone silly enough to take his father up on the offer. Slightly mollified, Draco sat down, caressing his shoes, and began to strategize.
Weeks had gone by, and not a single soul had had a bit of luck. A few of the younger Gryffindors had tried, to no avail. One older Ravenclaw - sixth year, he thought - had managed to stalk Draco incessantly for three days before winding up in the hospital wing with a mysteriously twisted ankle. Two fifth-year Hufflepuffs had banded together, thinking they could share the prize, but they too had failed. Interestingly enough, not a single Slytherin had offered to try.
Fortunately, Draco had had enough spare robes that still fit well enough to cover some the interesting things that had happened, but he was now on his seventh pair of beautiful, expensive, clean, soled, shoe-like shoes. All in all, he thought smugly, things were going according to plan. And according to Plan.
Until October.
Of all the people he would have been willing to bet his much-depleted Gringott's account would never try to win this mysterious prize, it would have been Harry Potter. And yet he caught glimpses one bright Monday morning, glimpses of Potter glancing his way in an unusually ... observant fashion, Potter bent over the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, muttering over a bit of old parchment, Potter catching his eye and then looking hastily away, verging on a blush. Well. Well and well, wasn't this interesting? Draco chuckled to himself. Did Potter really think he stood a chance, when all of their other classmates had tried and failed? Still, he did wonder whether somehow his father had managed to let everyone know what this prize was. Maybe it was something Potter really wanted. Like clothes that fit him, or a new haircut, Draco smirked. It would be very interesting to see just how well Potter did without Weasel and Granger to help him.
Harry sighed to himself that night in the Gryffindor Common Room. He had been intrigued from the very beginning of the year by the misfortunes that had seemingly constantly bombarded Malfoy and the other Slytherins. He knew from experience that he was the most likely to get blamed - well, by Malfoy, anyway - but he had had absolutely nothing to do with it, except to laugh. The day that Draco's trousers had disappeared had provided him and his friends with hours, if not days, of entertainment.
He had wanted nothing to do with this so-called prize, either, had wanted nothing to do with Lucius Malfoy, but yet this year had been so ... peaceful. Boring. There was no more Voldemort, no dangers lurking around every corner, precious little fun without Ron and Hermione and Ginny here, and the rest of his class had scarpered off to start Real Life. He was the only one of his class, except Neville of course, who had come back, and Neville spent more time with Professor Sprout than with anyone else. He needed a challenge, a puzzle to unravel, and as distasteful as working for Lucius Malfoy was to him, at least it was something he could set his mind to - besides his Potions essays, that is. So he had sent Lucius an owl expressing his interest, and had received the standard wizarding competition contract back the next day, complete with fine print and a solid gold pen with which to sign. And sign he did, chuckling to himself all the while.
He had two very, very helpful items in his corner, two items that the Malfoys did not know he had.
The first of the seven nights that Harry had to solve the mystery approached. Harry wasn't too overly concerned. He had plenty of time - now was the time for planning, not rash action, and after this past year, he had gotten pretty bloody good at strategy. So he sat in the Gryffindor Common Room, a bottle of Butterbeer in one hand and the Marauder's Map in the other, and he waited.
He knew from watching Draco all this time that he was always where he was supposed to be - at least, during the day. They shared a number of classes, and it was highly unusual for Draco to miss a meal voluntarily. He liked his pudding, that one did, and tea too. The only time that Draco was out of Harry's sight was in Advanced Runes, which Harry wouldn't touch if his life depended on it, and after dinner, when the students retired to the library or their own Houses for the evening. And especially after the first two or three incidents this term, it had become clear that whatever was happening was not just a simple student prank. So, Harry surmised, whatever was going on with Draco had to be happening at night, even if all the side effects seemed to take place during the day. Therefore, this first night on the hunt, so to speak, Harry planned to sit right on that couch and track Draco's movements. He might even be able to figure this whole thing out right from here, Harry thought with a wicked smile. Wouldn't that be something? He almost hoped that wouldn't be the case. Too easy, that. But, first things first - pay attention to the Map and see where he goes.
For a while, it seemed as though Draco and the other Slytherins had merely retired for the evening. Harry sat sleepily on the couch, propping his head on his hand and blinking rapidly to try to focus his eyes on the tiny, immobile names in the Slytherin dormitory. But suddenly, the names blinked out, and didn't reappear. Harry hadn't seen them move - he must have glazed over for a second - so they had to be around here somewhere. Where did they go? They weren't walking around the halls, nor sneaking out one of the secret corridors to Hogsmeade - they were just gone. Shaking himself awake, Harry scanned and scanned the Map, hoping to catch some glimpse of where they had gone, but to no avail. They had vanished.
Cursing, Harry jumped to his feet. Well, wasn't this an interesting turn of events? At least he had been proven right - Draco and his bunch were indeed up to something after hours. But how, where, and what? Sitting back down, he swigged the warm remains of his last Butterbeer and sighed. Tomorrow, he'd be ready.
Potter seemed twitchier than usual, Draco noticed the next morning at breakfast. He sipped his tea, watching Potter's leg jump up and down nervously. Perhaps he was in over his head without his little friends, Draco thought with a satisfied smile.
All day, Draco watched Potter fidget in class, tapping his fingers on his desk or anxiously looking at his Muggle watch. At one point in Defence class, he even caught Potter chewing the end of his quill, only to come to with a jerk and spit damp feathers onto the floor. It was all Draco could do not to burst out laughing, but it just wouldn't do to let Potter know he was watching. Oh no, he knew very well how this game worked.
After dinner that night, Draco and the rest of the Slytherins made their way back to their Common Room, ostensibly to work on revisions and do some studying. The eighth-year students claimed the couches by the fire, as usual - they had made certain to inform all the younger students before the first day was over that the comfortable seats were reserved for them, and so their appearance tonight sent three second-year girls scurrying away quicker than you could say Quidditch. And for a while, they actually did settle in, bartering notes amongst the seven of them. But after a few hours, once the last student had retired for the evening, they gave each other a wordless glance and scurried away to their rooms. Minutes later, they reappeared in the Common Room, silently assembling in front of Draco.
"Alright, you lot, is everyone here?" Draco asked quietly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pansy rolling her eyes. "Oh, sod off, Parkinson, you know I have to ask. Can't risk leaving anyone behind, you know," he said in a harsh whisper.
"It's just that you ask every time, Draco, and there's only six of us ..." she complained with a smirk.
Draco sighed. Sometimes he wondered why he did this ... but there was no turning back now. It was time. "Everyone remembers the destination, yes?" he whispered. The group nodded, and one by one, they stepped into the Floo, muttering a careful phrase and vanishing in a whirl of green. Draco went last, surveying the room once more before he too disappeared.
When he was sure they had all gone, and that he was left alone in the Common Room, Harry's head peeked out from behind a fold of his Invisibility Cloak, grinning from ear to ear. He had caught them red-handed - well, at least Floo-powder-handed. Grabbing his own pinch of powder, he stepped into the Slytherins' Floo and called clearly, "Homo Erectus!"
A swirl of green smoke later, Harry found himself most unpleasantly deposited on a dirt floor in a strange room. Getting to his feet, he checked carefully to make sure he was entirely covered by the Cloak, and once assured of his invisibility, he grasped his wand and whispered a faint Lumos, straining to see if his location showed up on the Marauder's Map. But it was to no avail - he didn't appear to be anywhere within Hogwarts boundaries. Muttering a ream of curses under his breath, he looked around the room. Not a single Slytherin in sight. "Bloody hell," Harry swore softly as he saw one door across the room standing partially ajar. Apparently he was going to have to track them across - wherever they were. With a whispered Nox, he crept toward the door, wand at the ready.
Harry had encountered many things in his brief eighteen years. Death Eaters, Voldemort, Uncle Vernon's dirty pants, Dudley doing ... strange things ... in a mirror once. But what he saw when he peeked through the door almost made him lose what little self-control he had. There, sitting in a semi- circle on the dirt floor, sat the seven Slytherins, as though they were schoolchildren, and each one of them focused their rapt attention on a rather strange-looking witch. The moon shone brightly through the glass roof - they were in a greenhouse of some sort, it appeared, but why? Harry sat down just outside the door, making sure his shoes were tucked under the hem of his Cloak, and settled in for a bit of a listen.
"Now, students, repeat after me. Lilium bulbiferum!" the witch commanded, holding up a beautiful orange flower. Dutifully, the Slytherins responded, Goyle stumbling a bit over the unfamiliar words.
"Honestly, Goyle, we've been doing lilies all month. You'd think you'd have gotten the basics by now," Pucey muttered, only to get a sharp elbow in his ribs from Blaise Zabini, who was mouthing the name repeatedly to himself.
What on earth did Adrian mean, they'd been doing lilies all month? What was this, some sort of remedial Herbology class? As far as he could remember, Harry didn't think any of the Slytherins had chosen to do advanced Herbology at Hogwarts, but then again, he wasn't either. He supposed he could ask Neville when he got back to Hogwarts, but that still wouldn't answer the question of what on earth they all were doing here, wherever here was. Only thing to do was watch, Harry supposed, and so he settled in to spy.
The next two hours went by fairly uneventfully, and Harry was having a hard time keeping awake, but it seemed to him that the Slytherins were as glued to this professor as Dudley had been to that mirror.
Harry shuddered. Best not think of that. She had gone over some flower names with them during the first hour, but the second hour was some strange sort of practicum, where the Slytherins all took turns arranging flowers in fancy vases. Harry had had trouble stifling his laughter when Crabbe, of all people, had managed to come up with a rather attractive arrangement, earning him a gush of praise from Malfoy but only a nasty look from Theodore Nott (try as he might, the poor bloke hadn't managed to make a single one of his flowers stay upright in the vase, much to his dismay). Soon, though, it seemed as though their lesson was concluding, and with a few last comments from the professor, the Slytherins thanked her and headed toward the door. Harry stood up in a hurry, standing a good distance back, but the group headed straight toward the Floo, Crabbe holding his lovely arrangement protectively under one arm.
"It's really quite nice, mate," Goyle said. "I just love your colour palette."
"Thanks, Greg!" Crabbe replied. "I was hoping to offset the yellow of these daisies with the purple violets. So kind of you to notice!"
Harry could only watch in astonishment as the Slytherins began calling out the name of their Common Room, disappearing into the swirling Floo. What on earth had just happened? Well, at least that would explain why that one day everyone was so dirty ... probably too excited about stinkweed to notice their own feet, Harry thought in a fit of giggles. But nothing he had seen would explain the mysterious pants-disappearing incident, and rumour had it that Draco had had a lot of problems with his shoes this term. Harry supposed he'd just have to keep following them this week, but if this wasn't the end of the mystery, then he'd need a bit of proof to show everyone that he had found out at least part of what they were up to. Hastily peeking through the open door, he saw that the witch had disappeared into a tools closet. Moving cautiously, Harry snuck in to the closest table and swiped one of the lilies they had been talking about, tucking it carefully out of sight under his Cloak. Racing out the door, he saw Adrian's face disappearing in the green glow of the fireplace, and for a split second, it seemed as though they actually glanced over at Harry. Harry looked down in panic, but everything seemed fine to him - he was still covered with the Cloak, no shoes peeking out or odd tears in the fabric. He supposed it might just have been a coincidence, but he thought to himself that he'd have to be doubly careful tomorrow night.
Back in the Slytherin Common Room, Crabbe placed his flower arrangement lovingly on one corner table, touching the tip of one finger to the petal of a single white rosebud before turning and walking almost sadly into his room with a yawn.
Harry whooshed out of the Floo into the Gryffindor Common Room, thankful yet again that some of the restrictions of earlier years had been lifted once McGonagall had become Headmistress. He tugged off his Invisibility Cloak and trudged into his room, exhausted. Laying the Cloak, Map, and lily overtop his school trunk, he lay on his bed and fell asleep, fully clothed, sparing only a split second to wonder how on earth the Slytherins could do this every night and still get up in the mornings.
"I'm telling you, Draco, I saw ... something, I just don't know what," Adrian said in a huff as the Slytherins headed to the Great Hall the next day.
"That's impossible, Pucey," Draco sniffed. "You know as well as I do that the locations for the Plan are unplottable. No one could know where we were. Not even Potter," he grinned wickedly, seeing the tired boy slouching over his porridge at the Gryffindor table. Poor git had probably stomped around the castle all night looking for them. With a chuckle, Draco cuffed Pucey lightly on the shoulder. "Don't worry. You just saw Professor Pistil's shadow or something. Now get yourself some tea. You look a bit peaky." Nodding, Adrian sat down, pulling the tray of bacon over to him as though it were all for him.
The day went by without major mishap. No shoe incidents and only one brief moment when Harry nodded off in Magical History. He barely paid attention the rest of the day, an odd mixture of exhaustion and excitement overcoming him at the oddest moments. Once or twice, he caught Adrian looking his way, but he tried his best to school his features to seem completely normal. He didn't want to give away his game. Oh no, he was going to win the prize, and wouldn't Draco just die when he found out?
That evening found Harry once again sneaking toward the Slytherin Common Room, tucked away under his Invisibility Cloak. So intent was he on creeping toward the dungeons that he almost cried out when he saw Goyle walk past him, quite in a hurry. Harry flattened himself against the wall, barely stifling a gasp of surprise. Where was Goyle creeping off to at this time of night? And shouldn't he be with the others? Hastily Harry pulled out the Map and his wand, and quickly saw that the others were still in the Common Room, although Draco seemed to be pacing back and forth. Harry edged his way forward, pressed up against the wall just in case any other Slytherin hurtled by, and was thankful he had done so when Pansy suddenly appeared, stalking off in the same direction as Goyle had. A minute later, and Crabbe walked by, followed precisely another minute later by Blaise. Harry stopped, stumped. Where were they going that didn't require a Floo? He didn't dare try the Map again; even with his Cloak, he didn't want to risk the light from his wand. He had been lucky that last time; he hadn't really expected any of the others to suddenly start roaming the halls. A bit cheeky, weren't they, Harry thought snidely to himself as he took off down the hall, being careful to keep Zabini just far enough ahead not to lose sight of him.
Had Harry been plotting a great escape from Hogwarts, he would have thought the Room of Requirement would have been the obvious place to start. So it came as a bit of a surprise to him when he suddenly found himself stopped a few metres away from Zabini, exactly where the door to the repaired Room should open. He huffed to himself, a bit disappointed that they hadn't come up with something more creative. A few more moments went by, and soon all seven Slytherins were standing in front of the blank wall. Draco triggered the door, and they crept in unseen just as Filch came around the corner. Fortunately the door vanished before he could get far enough along the hallway to notice. "Merlin's beard, Malfoy, cut it a bit closer next time, why don't you?" Adrian muttered.
"Losing your nerve, eh, Pucey?" Draco snarked. "Filch was just a bit early, that's all. Don't worry! My Plan is foolproof!"
Making his way through the cluttered room to the yet-again-repaired Vanishing Cabinet, Draco threw open the door. "Lady and gentleSlytherins, your cabinet awaits."
In the hustle to get into the cabinet, Harry managed to shove himself into the back corner unseen, although he had to bite his knuckle when Goyle stepped back directly onto his big toe. "Oops, sorry, Nott," he said contritely to the smaller boy standing next to him.
"For what, Greg?" Theodore asked blankly, but Goyle didn't have a chance to answer, as Draco opened the door of the cabinet to reveal Borgin & Burkes.
"Come on, everyone, you know we don't have much time on Tuesdays," Draco said softly, ushering them all out of the cabinet and into the store. With a quick whispered spell, he unlocked the door and led everyone out into the streets, where they raced around the corner. Harry followed with a muttered oath, chasing them into Diagon Alley. He had to hurry; the Map would be of no use to him here in London! To his surprise, he found the Slytherins pushing each other into Madame Malkin's robe shop, and in everyone's enthusiasm, he was able to duck under Draco's arm and dodge behind a rack of robes as they were all getting settled.
"Thank you again for your help, Madame Malkin," Draco said graciously as she entered the main room carrying a bundle of fabric.
"Tut, my boy. I've known you since you were in nappies. Nappies that I designed, mind you," she sniffed imperiously but with a twinkle in her eye. "Sit down, all of you, I'm not being paid to get a crick in my neck." Dutifully, the Slytherins took their seats around a large worktable. Harry settled on the floor with a sigh. Looked like it was going to be another one of those incredibly weird nights.
"Now, everyone, I want you to pay close attention. This, my dears, is toile!" Madame Malkin said as she flourished a large piece of fabric in front of them, nodding encouragingly as they all sighed reverently.
Two hours later, Harry found himself sneaking out of the robe shop the same way he had come in, right behind the rest of the Slytherins. He had pocketed a thimble that had rolled onto the floor about thirty minutes ago; gave Blaise quite a start when he couldn't find it, but fortunately he had another one in his sewing kit. He had certainly been interesting to watch tonight, Harry thought. If Crabbe excelled in the art of floral arrangements, then clothes design was Zabini's forte. He had whipped up a sassy little number using some of that toile stuff that Madame Malkin had been weeping over, and Pansy had graciously modeled it for the lot, despite it not quite covering her ... well, it hadn't been Harry's thing, that's for sure, but there had been a strange gleam in Theodore's eye for a while afterward. It was a testament to how accustomed he was getting, Harry thought, that he wasn't sure whether Theodore was excited by Pansy or by the fabric ...
"Why didn't you close the door, Draco?" Pansy said in an odd voice as they returned to Borgin & Burkes.
Draco just stared at the door, which was slightly cracked open. He thought for sure he had closed it, although he left it unlocked until their return. He was always so careful ... Shaking his head, he muttered something about lack of sleep and hurried everyone into the store, where he closed and locked the door. Twice.
A short while later, Harry was back in his dormitory, even more exhausted than the previous night. He had been careless, and it had almost put Draco on his scent. Can't let that happen again. He put the thimble next to the slightly wilted lily and fell fast asleep, this time not even bothering to take off his shoes.
The third day of Harry's challenge started off about as miserably as it could possibly do, and got steadily worse from there. Harry overslept for breakfast and then wasted an additional fifteen minutes searching for his shoes, which he finally realized he was still wearing from the previous night. Cursing under his breath (he seemed to be doing a lot of that this week, for some reason), he scrambled into his robes and grabbed his wand, racing out of the door before realizing he forgot his books. Doubling back undoubtedly meant he'd miss breakfast completely, but what other choice did he have when he had to be at Potions immediately afterward?
Class itself was an unmitigated disaster. Harry was distracted by Padma's ramblings about her sister's boyfriend, or her boyfriend's sister - he wasn't quite sure which - and somehow they managed to miss several extremely basic, first-year procedures that inevitably caused their cauldron to vent forth a constant stream of black, bilious fluid, a fluid that not only burned a hole through the hem of Harry's robes but through Professor Slughorn's best shoes. What was it about shoes around Hogwarts these days? Slughorn wasn't happy, of course, and both Harry and Padma found themselves in detention after classes that day.
Harry kicked the table leg in disgust after his detention was over. It had taken far longer than he had anticipated - they had been asked to clean all the bile up by hand, no magic allowed, which meant that Harry did most of the work, since Padma was still going on about ... well, whoever it was she was going on about. He had what seemed like a thousand assignments due the following day, and had had no time to do any work, and having missed breakfast and was now seriously late for dinner, he was completely famished, which of course did not help his mood. Rushing down to the Great Hall, he quickly fixed a plate with some sandwiches and vegetables before the dishes were vanished and replaced with pudding. At least there was that - but it was fruit tart, Harry's least favorite. Figured.
Having finally eaten, Harry raced off to his Common Room to at least make an attempt at one or two of his assignments. Maybe if he worked fast enough, he could get half of all of them done, and then he could finish them in the morning ...
Three hours later, Harry awoke with a start to the sound of an eerie cackle. Picking his head up off the table in front of him, he looked up blearily, his eyes slowly focusing in horror on the sight in front of him. Peeves held the Marauder's Map gleefully in his hands and was giggling, pretending to use it like a sword to joust with some of the portraits on the wall.
"Oi, Peeves, what do you think you're doing?" Harry whispered angrily, not wanting to arouse attention from the other Gryffindors.
"Poor Potty fell asleep, so I stole his toy!" Peeves sang, spinning madly overhead. Shite. Not only should he already be en route to the Slytherin Common Room, but he had no way of seeing where they were or what they were up to - not without that Map.
"Peeves! I need that Map - now!" Harry spat, furious.
"Or what, Potty?" replied Peeves, who was now wearing the Map as a pirate hat.
"Or ... or ..." Harry couldn't quite think. There was no use bargaining with Peeves - there was nothing he really wanted, and it's not like the Bloody Baron owed him any favors. Except ... a-ha! "Or I'll tell McGonagall to get rid of the Weasley swamp in the corridor," Harry said with finality. He knew how much Peeves delighted in the trouble it had caused Umbridge, and no matter how hard he tried to hide it, Fred and George had been almost like idols to the poltergeist.
"Poor Potty wouldn't do that, would he?" Peeves said, dropping a full two feet in the air in dejection.
"Yes, I most certainly will do that, unless you give me back that Map. In one piece," Harry hastened to amend. Peeves could be quite precise when he wanted to be.
"Are you pranking, Wee Potty Potter?" Peeves sang above him as he let the Map go. "Peeves knows all about your tricks..."
Harry didn't respond. His eyes were too busy scanning the Map for any sign - any - of Draco and the others, but - nothing! He'd missed them. Merlin's crusty beard. What would he do now? He didn't know if Wednesdays were the same as one of the other nights, or if it were the Slytherin spa day, or ... but if anyone would have been paying attention to them, it would have been Peeves. Sitting up, he schooled his voice into the dulcet tones of someone who needed a favor. "Um, Peeves, you're right. I am up to something - a prank. A great, great prank. Something Fred and George would have loved. Would you be willing to help me? I'll - I'll take you to see Fred and George if you do - I'll take you to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes!" Harry cajoled, heart racing.
At the name of the Weasley's infamous joke shop, Peeves stopped twirling and flew down, nose almost touching Harry's, the poltergeist quivering in excitement. "Potty Potter needs some help, does he?"
"Yes! Yes, Peeves, I have to find Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins. They're not on the Map, and I know if anyone would have noticed their routine by now, it would be you," Harry wheedled pleadingly.
"Follow me, Potty," Peeves cackled. "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes awaits!"
Minutes later, Harry was trying desperately to catch his breath, having had only the tiniest fragment of a second to grab his shoes and Cloak - and the Map, naturally, just in case - before taking off after Peeves through the corridors of Hogwarts. "Peeves, erm, why are we - here?" Harry asked confusedly, staring at the statue of the humpbacked witch.
"Potty Wee Potter wants to find the Malfoy boy, yes?" Peeves chortled. "Potty loves Draayyy-co - Potty luurrrrrrrvves Draaaaayy-co!!'
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Harry whispered, mortified that someone would hear. "Let's just go." Hurriedly, he pressed the switch that allowed the hump to swing open, and he and Peeves rushed into the corridor. They carefully peeked out the other side, Peeves being noticeably quiet for the first time since ... well, ever, Harry smirked. This passageway led to the basement of Honeydukes, that Harry knew from previous experience. But where to go next? Well, the only way out was up, Harry thought to himself, and so up and out they went. The entire village of Hogsmeade was quiet and dark, except for one building. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes II was clearly not closed for the evening. Colored lights flashed out of the windows and onto the streets nearby, and even from across the lane Harry could hear a sort of ... thumping sound, sort of like what happened when Dudley looked in that mirror. He shuddered. Maybe he should ask McGonagall for that Obliviate after all. Heading toward the building, Harry shook his head. He only hoped that Peeves hadn't played him for a fool.
Peeking in one of the side windows, Harry watched in awe. The shop wasn't really a shop, it was some sort of club, or dance studio. Neon lights flashed magically down from the ceiling, while some rather catchy techno numbers pumped out of stereo speakers off to one side of the checkerboard floor. The Slytherins all stood to one side, watching as Fred and George demonstrated some moves. Harry could barely take his eyes off of them - they leaped and whirled and ... grinded ... Merlin's right testy on a biscuit, Harry thought dumbly to himself. He had had no idea that Fred and George were so flexible! And the way they touched each other ... well, that certainly cleared up a few suspicions amongst the Gryffindors, now, didn't it? But what was even more interesting was when the next song began, and all the Slytherins eagerly crowded onto the dance floor to try their own skills. Poor Pansy kept getting left out, so Fred and George took turns with her whilst the other one walked around the room, giving pointers, nuzzling necks. "Wow," Harry whispered to himself. "Wow, oh wow, oh ... wow!"
After the first hour, the music and lights stopped, and with a wave of Fred's wand, the decor was changed into a slightly more formal one. A tray of cocktails circulated, allowing the slightly mussed and rather sweaty Slytherins to catch their collective breaths. An ethereal string quartet began playing where once the speakers had been, and after a moment or two, Fred and George led the way onto the candle-lit dance floor to begin the waltz. "Remember what we went over last week - only one of you leads, the other must follow. It's best if you decide this before you start dancing, Blaise," George said with a wink. "And ... one, two, three, one, two, three ..."
Two by two, the Slytherins took the floor. Crabbe and Goyle floated by the window where Harry stood, looks of extreme concentration on their faces. Blaise had whisked away Adrian Pucey, leaving Theodore Nott with Draco, who, with a long-suffering sigh, allowed him to lead. Pansy stood with her arms crossed off to one side, a scowl marring her otherwise pretty face. Fortunately after each dance, Fred and George forced them to switch partners, so everyone - everyone but Draco, that is - had a chance to sit out and rest.
Unlike the previous nights, which had only lasted about two hours, give or take a few Knuts, this night seemed to go on forever. The twins took them through the waltz, the samba, the foxtrot, a handful of tangos, and still had energy for some salsa lessons toward the end. "Remember, hip hip, chin chin," Fred said, arms flailing and feet flying.
"Go, Fred, go!" George cheered on his brother before capturing him in his arms, spinning him around and dipping him effortlessly over his left knee dramatically. Standing up, they hugged each other and turned to the Slytherins. "Alright, you lot, that's enough for one evening, yes? We'll see you in a few days - remember to practice your hip movements! Can't have any sprained groins running about Hogwarts," George snickered.
Harry watched carefully as all of the Slytherins filed out of the front door, walking gingerly back to Honeydukes. Crabbe was limping slightly - Goyle never was one to leave a foot untrodden upon - and Draco had taken off his shoes in a fit of pique, looking at the worn soles. Sighing, he followed the other Slytherins around the corner. Harry slumped to the ground underneath the window - he hadn't been dancing, but he had been standing for an awfully long time, and what on earth were the Slytherins doing? First flowers, then sewing, then dancing?
"You coming in for a cocktail, Harry?" George's voice suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Harry froze. He was wearing the Cloak, was he not?
"Yes, you're wearing your Cloak, but honestly, Harry, couldn't you put Peeves under it too?" Fred chuckled. Harry pulled the Cloak off of his head, staring at the twins sheepishly. "Come on then, come inside. Martini?" Nodding, Harry followed them in the door, Peeves flying in with a look of utter joy on his face.
"Oi, Peeves, you can look, but no touching, got it, you little bugger?" George said good-naturedly as he magicked the store back into its usual configuration. Peeves immediately took off for upstairs, where the latest prank toys were on display.
"Did anyone else see Peeves?" Harry asked anxiously, taking an overly large gulp from his overly powerful martini.
"Nah, your secret is safe with us," Fred reassured him. "We know you're after the Malfoy prize, so even though we're helping Draco out with his Plan, we won't give you away."
"Yeah, you don't have to worry about us, mate," George said with a sincere look on his face. "We might be a bit ... equal-opportunity, but you were our friend first, so you're safe. We won't tell him you caught him."
Harry sighed with relief, downing the last of his martini. "Hey, Fred, George, you mind if I take this glass as a bit of a souvenir? I figure if I have to prove to Draco that I was here, then this ought to do it, yeah?"
Fred and George glanced at each other, mischief in their eyes. "Oh, we think we can do one better for you, mate," Fred said. Pulling out their wands, they cast a spell on the martini glass, then said, "Ok, Harry, now just wet your finger and run it around the rim of the glass." Bewildered, Harry did so, and almost fell out of his chair laughing when a small but perfect vision of Draco sandwiched between Blaise and Theodore arose like a spectre. Pocketing the glass, he shook the twins' hands and called for Peeves. It was way past his bedtime.
At the end of the week, he received a very formal message from Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, asking him to come to the Manor to present his results. If he had figured it out, he would receive the prize, but if he had not, then he had agreed to a rather stringent series of detentions with Professor McGonagall for taking time away from his studies. Carefully he dressed in his best robes, polished his shoes, and collected his proof. Touching the invitation, he Portkeyed to the Manor.
He was greeted very properly in the foyer by Missy, the head house elf of the Manor, who took his dress cloak and escorted him into the dining room. Lucius and Narcissa had outdone themselves. The table was set for ten - Lucius at the head, Draco to his right side, Narcissa at the foot, and the other six Slytherins in between, leaving one spot to Lucius' left for Harry himself. He sat down, gratefully accepting a glass of wine served by yet another house elf. An absolutely astonishing six-course meal
was served, including, surprisingly enough, a number of Harry's favorite dishes - roast chicken with stuffing, new potatoes, and treacle tart. Harry enjoyed the food so much that he almost forgot where he was and why he was there. However, by the time the last of the dessert dishes were cleared away and tea and cordials were being served, the subject had been broached.
"Well, well, Mr. Potter, I must say that I'm rather anxious to see if your amazing luck has prevailed during this latest task," Lucius said, turning blandly toward Harry.
"Yes, I must admit to being quite curious myself," Narcissa echoed, staring intently at Harry. Draco merely sat back in his chair, looking directly at Potter confidently. There was just no way that he had managed to find out about the Plan.
"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, I think I've figured at least part of it out," Harry began slowly. "That is to say, I mean, I was able to find out where Mal- Draco and the others were going every night, but -"
Draco choked on a sip of brandy. He had what? "Prove it, Potter," he spat, wiping brandy from the tip of his nose.
"Yes, Mr. Potter, I must say that the contract had required proof," Lucius replied calmly, ignoring his sputtering son.
Harry reached into his pocket, fingering the tiny objects for reassurance. "Well, on Monday, I followed Draco and the others to - well, I don't really know where it was, but it appeared to be some sort of greenhouse or something."
Draco paled at the words. So Pucey had been right - he had seen something! Bollocks!
Pulling out the tiny lily, he transformed it to its original size. "I'm not sure why, but it seemed as though they were practicing floral arrangements. Vincent, yours was lovely, might I add," Harry said not altogether insincerely. "Inspired, to put the daisies with the violets like that."
"Thanks, Harry," Crabbe said politely, nodding from several seats away.
"Well well, Mr. Potter, very good," Lucius drawled. "But I don't believe that that answers everything, do you?"
"No sir," Harry said. "On Tuesday, I followed them again. This time they went to Madame Malkin's in Diagon Alley. Bit of a risk, going so far off school grounds, don't you say? Pansy, that outfit you modeled was delightful. Sorry for not closing the door behind me, though. And Blaise, here's that thimble you dropped. Do you need it back, or did you get another one from your sewing kit?" Blaise's jaw worked, but no sound was made.
"And the last, Harry?" Narcissa said, sitting forward in her chair.
"Wednesday night was actually the most fun, I thought," Harry said, enjoying himself tremendously. "My favorite was the tango - Adrian, you did look so divine with that rose in between your teeth - but however you managed to talk Fred and George into instructing you is beyond me. Still, live and learn, I suppose."
"Prove it!" Draco said again, eyes wide.
"Well, if you're sure ..." Harry said with a snicker. Nibbling innocently on the end of one finger, he ran it around the rim of the martini glass and watched as Blaise and Theodore danced their way around Draco as though he were a maypole. Lucius raised one eyebrow at the spectacle. Narcissa sat back in what appeared to be satisfaction, and Draco gulped the rest of his brandy in one swallow. "Sort of explains all the shoes you've gone through this term, eh?"
"Was that proof enough for you, sir?" Harry asked Lucius, but it was Narcissa who answered. Rising up from her seat, she walked gracefully over to Harry, where she startled him immensely by hugging him and kissing the top of his head.
"My dear Harry, you've done it," she said in a motherly tone, smoothing his bangs back from his forehead.
"Erm - thank you?" Harry said questioningly, stiffening under her most unusual ministrations.
"Cissa, darling, I think you're scaring the boy," Lucius mock-whispered. Flushing just a bit, Narcissa stood up and took her seat again, although she looked at Harry fondly from the foot of the table.
"So -" Harry said awkwardly, "does that mean that I've won - the prize?"
"I have to say," Lucius said, ignoring Harry's question, "that this was not at all what I had expected to find out. Draco, would you please explain yourself?"
"It was all part of the Plan," Draco mumbled. Harry interjected, "I really hope you're going to tell us why that word is always capitalized, Malfoy."
"The Plan! The Plan -" Draco blurted. "Father, you kept going on and on about how I had to be a great student, how if I hoped to restore the family's good name - well, alright, just the family's name, then - I'd have to have both a successful career and a successful marriage, but the war took a lot of the more ... salient ... prospects off the market. So I figured that if I and the other Slytherins were to prosper, we may have to think of ... alternative ... options. There are an awful lot of rich older men out there, and if we knew a bit about how to attract one of them, we might find ourselves -"
"A sugar daddy," Harry guffawed. "And where, exactly, does this leave you, Pansy?" "I'm a hag," Pansy said simply.
"Let me get this straight," Harry spoke, trying to contain his laughter. "You set this whole ... Plan ... up, to teach yourself and the other Slytherins how to be gay, through the fine arts of flower arranging, high fashion, and dance?"
Draco blushed. It had been a fine Plan! "What do you think about that, Harry?" Narcissa prodded gently.
Harry smiled broadly. "I think it's bloody brilliant," he responded, looking with shining eyes at Draco.
"But - I'm still confused. I get now why your shoes were always wearing out, after all that time dancing. But what happened the day your shoes were filthy and wouldn't come clean, and the day when all of you had to hide because your clothes and robes had, um, been altered?"
Actually, Draco had never been sure either. It had never happened again, so he had chalked it up to some fluke of the Floo or magical reaction to sewing charms. He merely shook his head, unable to respond to Harry's question.
"Ah. I think that I'd best answer that, my dear," Narcissa said. "You see, I knew of Draco's Plan. Oh, don't look so surprised son - your cleverness comes from my side of the family, you know. We Slytherins have always done our best not just to survive, but to prosper, and we're certainly not picky about who we end up with in marriage. No offense, Lucius dear. So, I was bound and determined to help Draco find the best mate possible. Someone wealthy, and respected, and intelligent, and good- looking. But in order to convince you, Harry, to try to solve the mystery - well, it needed to be a bit more of a mystery, so that it would catch your attention. So I charmed Draco's shoes the first night to attract the dirt from the greenhouse, and the following night I followed you all and charmed his clothes. Sorry to the rest of you, it really was supposed to be only Draco that was affected, but I suppose I still have a bit of power left in this old wand, and besides, it certainly captured Harry's ... imagination," Narcissa smiled wickedly. "The third night - well, that was all Draco's fault, I'm afraid. I had nothing to do with it. Honestly, you'd think dragon's hide would be a bit more durable. It certainly was never part of my Plan to have to buy you seven new pairs of shoes this term, Draco dear. But aside from that, you did a most excellent job, and I am quite proud of you."
"So - you set me up," Harry said slowly. "You did all those things to catch my attention, so I would be interested enough to try to solve the mystery?"
"Right in one, love," Narcissa said. "You're now Draco's betrothed, and our heir." Harry whooped and leapt to his feet, pumping his fist in the air. He had done it!
"Wait - you are my what??" Draco said. "And - you knew about this, didn't you, Potter?"
"First of all, since we're now engaged, I think you can call me Harry," Harry said teasingly. "And secondly, of course I knew what the prize was. It was made perfectly clear in the contract that I signed with your parents. You think after all this time with Voldemort that I wouldn't know what the stakes were? I wasn't going to waste my time on something that wasn't worth the effort, Draco."
"It's in your best interests, son," Narcissa said. "He's always going to be in a position of power, just because of who he is. He's inherited his parents' fortunes, and my cousin's as well, so he is more than able to support you in the lifestyle to which you've become accustomed. And - Draco, darling, look at him - you could certainly do far worse. Far, far worse," she mumbled, her eyes glazing over.
Draco looked over at Harry, whose excitement was infectious, and thought for a split second. Actually, his mother was quite right. Harry was rich, and well-thought-of in the wizarding world, of course, and he wasn't some old, saggy, baggy wizard who'd force him to rub his feet and file his bunions at night. And - come to notice it for the first time, Harry really wasn't all that bad-looking. No, no, not at all. Needed a bit of a haircut, perhaps, and maybe a bit more meat on his bones, but if he had run across him in a club, he wouldn't mind dancing a bit ... Sighing, he stood up and extended his hand to Harry. "Welcome to the family, Po - Harry," he mumbled.
"Erm, can we be excused?" Harry asked breathlessly. Before waiting for an answer, he grabbed Draco's hand and Apparated them into the foyer, where he turned and pressed the blond face-first into the wall, nuzzling his neck in a surprisingly good imitation of Fred and George.
"Mmm, Draco, this is nice, don't you think?" Harry said, rubbing his hands up and down Draco's arms, grinding against him in the same way that Blaise and Theodore had done the other night at the club.
Actually, Draco had to admit, it was rather nice. Harry felt much better pressed up against his backside than Nott did, that was for sure. For one thing, they were of a similar height, so there were no noses squished awkwardly into his back, and for another thing, Harry had moves! There wasn't any music in the foyer, of course, but yet Harry and Draco were dancing seamlessly to the same beat, only this time - this time a little spark of warmth settled in Draco's stomach. "I could get used to this," Draco muttered breathlessly.
"Oh, yes, yes, you will get used to it, I promise, Draco," Harry whispered into his ear. "I'll take care of you, you know."
Whipping around, Draco pressed a tiny, tiny kiss to Harry's surprised lips, and said with a cheeky grin, "Just as long as you promise me a new pair of shoes."
FIN
