Chapter Text
The summer following the 20 year anniversary of the war was astonishingly warm, and was set for many of us in the American city of New York; Long Island to be specific. A small wizarding community set up shop there as a respite from all that had happened. It began with the old families, the Malfoys, Parkinsons, Greengrasses— those with either enough sense to stay neutral or enough money to get out of harsher punishment. This area they relocated to was often referred to as West Egg.
I myself just came for the summer to check in with an old friend of the nouveau rich, across the way in East Egg. The friend was Harry Potter, if you can believe it. Harry was probably the most surprising member of wizarding society to move across the pond, at least for those less observant. He wasn’t expecting me to be there, but that’s quite alright—fewer and fewer expect me these days.
More surprising than his move to East Egg was the reputation Harry had gained there in the last few years. Rumblings that he had fallen in with unsavoury sorts, some nasty business involving the imports, or maybe rather the exports of something that should not be moved at all. Nevertheless, I found a very different person from the ragged and depressed slayer of Dark Lords I’d heard of, that’s for sure.
What he’d really become known for were his parties. Large, grand affairs featuring exotic animals, a thousand strangers, and glittering lights bounty. That is where I was tonight in fact.
Although not technically a birthday party, it was close enough to the end of July that people called it the Birthday Bash of the year anyway. When I arrived, my breath was absolutely taken away. As I entered, the first thing I noticed was the literal swarm of pixies floating everywhere, providing a source of light across the room. They floated outwards and upwards, spreading across the charmed ceiling, tonight’s image being a stunning night sky of winking constellations. The live band could hardly be heard over the sounds of people laughing and conversing.
I made my way out of the doorway and down the grand staircase to enter the room properly. A polite champagne tray found me, no waiter in sight, and waited for me to select a glass. Overwhelmed by the spectacle, I took two. As I looked up from my sip, I made eye contact with the man of the hour, Harry Potter himself. Making my way across the room to him, I took care to avoid the gaggle of B-list movie stars pretending to Expelliarmus each other, Harry’s signature move.
“Why, what a splendid evening, Mr Potter. I am ever so grateful for the invitation,” I bowed slightly as I finished my greetings.
“Oh, come now, there’s no need for that ‘Mister’ nonsense. We’re friends, you and I, aren’t we, old sport?” Harry replied, with that nickname he’d been known to throw around these days.
We continued to chat and catch up as the activities of the night wore on. I thanked him for the invitation— “It really was no problem, old sport, no problem at all,”— he asked after family in England, who I assured were “quite alright, getting on best they can,” and we eventually settled into a content silence observing the room around us.
I turned back toward him, to ask for a tour of the gardens I could just barely see out the patio doors when a very familiar pair of white-blond heads caught my eye near the entrance. It was, of course, the new Mr and Mrs Malfoy—Draco and Astoria, that is.
Delighted to see my cousin for the first time in quite a while, I gave my excuses to Harry, who I assumed had not yet noticed this entrance as he was ensconced in conversation with another guest. I slowly made my way over to the couple to say hello, stopping a few times to both give them a chance to remove their coats and give me a chance to see more of the splendour of the room.
I left the contortionist on her platform—who I could have sworn taught at Hogwart’s for a least a year—but before I could quite reach the stairs leading up to where the Malfoys were still standing, they were intercepted by Harry Potter himself. A man I most certainly had not assumed would be in acquaintance with the Malfoys, for a myriad of reasons.
Once I arrived to the party of three, I embraced Draco, murmuring my “hellos” and “how do you do’s,” and looking curiously between Draco and Harry. Harry looked as though Christmas had come early, though he hid it well from those who did not know him. And Draco, too, was shocked to say the least.
“You…you know Mr Malfoy here?” Harry asked, turning to me.
I nodded, responding in the affirmative. “Yes, Draco and I are cousins and have managed to keep in touch across the years, though it has been difficult with intercontinental owls. I am glad to be closer for the summer,” I smiled.
“Yes, yes, of course, old sport, I do recall this now,” Harry managed to compose himself to reply.
“Perhaps we should all move out of the doorway now,” I suggested, noticing some rather rambunctious famous quidditch stars trying to enter behind us.
As we all made our way down the staircase in unusually tense silence, I turned towards Astoria to ask her to dance. “Mrs Malfoy,” I began, “it has been so long since our last seeing each other, I would be honoured if you would join me for a dance so we may catch up.”
Noticing the uncomfortable eye contact between her and Draco, I hurriedly added, “And not to worry, I will have you back to your husband in no time. And I know dear Harry here is, above all else, an honourable gentleman.” With what I hoped was a charming smile, I led Astoria to the dance floor in the centre of the room.
As we danced, she quietly answered questions about her current East Egg life; their not being able to conceive, how she was settling in as Lady of the house now that both Lucius and Narcissa had passed, etc. Although an interesting conversation that certainly deserved my full attention, my mind was elsewhere. Specifically on the two men at the edge of the dance floor absolutely engrossed in conversation with each other, both Harry and Draco trying their display a cool expression over their true emotions, besotted for Harry and a desperate sort of skittishness for Draco.
When Astoria and I rejoined the two of them, I discovered how they ended up coming to the party tonight. Apparently, this was their first time ever visiting Grimmauld Nest, the East Egg mansion affectionately named after that beast of a house in London.
Draco had assumed, given the gossip and the timing, that it was in fact a birthday party and as they had not yet had a chance, as a new couple, to reintroduce themselves to the Saviour of the Wizarding World, tonight seemed as good a time as any.
“And besides,” Draco added, “it’s no fun to watch all of the beautiful lights and music from across the water when I could just come over.” Harry’s neck nearly snapped off as he looked up at that statement.
Astoria and I shared a quizzical look before I dared to ask, “Draco, do you mean that your house is directly across from Harry’s?”
With this, Draco seemed to understand he was implying something more in that statement and thus answered with a quiet “Yes,” and no further explanation.
After looking around, and a person catching his eye, Draco leaned over to whisper to Astoria who looked around the room to find whoever or whatever Draco had noticed before. With a wry smile, she excused herself from the group and instructed me to stay with the two of them as “chaperone,” a designation I am still not sure if she meant jokingly or not. Given what happened later that night, I can only assume she meant it.