Work Text:
May I have this dance?
December 25th, 1994
Hogwarts Castle, Great Hall
“Alright students, I do believe that is enough for tonight.” Professor Flitwick beamed with pride standing atop his barstool, the choir and band students before him looked every bit as tired as the late hour demanded. He clapped his hands softly, and the orchestra slumped and relaxed. “Very fine work tonight, all of you. Get some rest, or enjoy what’s left of the feast. Classes are cancelled for tomorrow for the lot of you!” That comment breathed a new wave of life into the exhausted musicians, and they began to mingle amongst themselves, clapping each other on the back and exchanging congratulatory small talk between each other as Professor Flitwick dismounted his impromptu station.
The dancers of the night had slowed to the bare handful of students in relationships now, and the crush of bodies from the start of the night had dwindled. Even fewer remained at the edges of the room, either too shy to approach their intended partner, or too averse of the many eyes in the room an hour before. Professor Flitwick appreciatively viewed the couples that practiced tender restraint on the dance floor, and turned to leave. Or rather, he caught the waiting attention of one Rubeus Hagrid, the gentle (half)giant of the Castle grounds. Hagrid, twice the size of a grown man by any measure and as nervous as a newborn deer, shuffled about uncomfortably.
Hagrid, most often seen in a ragged and patchwork hide coat and weather or dirt worn workmen’s attire for his role as groundskeeper, was…as well kept as one could reasonably expect for tonight. He had swapped his coat for an enormous set of black dress robes and a fine slouch hat complete with polished golden buckle and what must assuredly have been hippogriff feathers tucked neatly into the band. His beard and hair, normally wild and matted, now combed and oiled and sweet-smelling. Heavens above, he had never looked so formally prepared. Flitwick flashed a toothy grin and gave the giant friend a thumbs up, sparking Hagrid to motion.
Behind him, a luggage trunk that Hagrid gingerly opened. The silvery horn and wooden box of a record player emerged from the trunk, and Hagrid placed it, almost reverently, upon a slowly clearing dining table. Hagrid returned the smile to Flitwick, looking every bit the apprehensive boy that Flitwick befriended decades ago when they’d been peers in these very halls. Thus, began the true festivities of then night as far as either the pair of the were concerned.
Flitwick helped himself to the remaining punch as the plan went into motion. With a satisfied grin, he settled into a chair to chaperone those who remained…
“Malfoy.”
“Potter.”
“You…look good.”
“Of course I do. I have a reputation to maintain.”
The two stood in a tense silence, each waiting for the other to continue the years-long sparring match. Each vying silently for an opening. Harry Potter, dressed in robes of black and bottle green that accented his eyes well, stood by stiffly staring down Draco. He was reminded of the hungry and predatory gaze of the Hungarian Horntail, though Draco’s eyes were far more… was she wearing makeup?
She was! “What’s the matter, Potter? Sphinx got your tongue? Close your mouth, you’ll attract a fairy.” She seized the initiative, and Harry cursed silently. Draco smugly tapped his jaw, prompting it closed. She wore, not dress robes, but a silken and silvery dress and fur collar she had draped about her shoulders and arms. The warm lighting of the Great Hall caught her dress in a dazzling display that made Harry question where it had been enchanted with a glamour charm, or if it was simply of that quality. Either could be true for her.
“I…” Harry stammered, his throat suddenly dry now that he had approached. Draco seemed increasingly annoyed in the pause.
“I wanted to ask if you’d like a dance.”
Harry was rubbish at subterfuge. Blunt honesty had not failed him yet however, and it did have the advantage of shutting Malfoy up while her brain caught up to the question.
Harry waited.
Draco peered around the room, looking around for hidden observers or pranksters.
“I…You? Someone put you up to this, didn’t they?”
“Nope. The twins did offer a bet to me, however. I declined. I should have taken it, it was an easy galleon.”
“Shut up, Potter.”
Harry smiled. She had turned an amusing shade of pink. If nothing else, she had been embarrased, and that was a small victory.
“I…ahem.”
“Yes?”
“If you step on my feet, I’ll hex you into next year.”
“Is that a yes?
“If you damage my dress, I’ll take the price out of your vault, and then hex you into next year.”
“Is that a yes?”
“A-and if you embarrass me, I’ll take your money, hex you into next year, and then have you in detention for the rest of your life here.”
“A no, then.” Harry turned to leave.
“Potter!” Draco hissed and grabbed at the sleeve of his robes. Pink had turned to red on pale skin.
“Just shut up and—
“~Take my hand.~”
The pair looked to the sudden realization of the sound of music, a record player playing the tender crooning words of a singer Harry recognized. Hagrid held the embrace of Madame Olympe Maxime, dressed in shining silks similar to Draco’s own. He beamed in boyish glee, and Madame Maxime herself wore an easy smile. The two towering figures strode to the center of the Great Hall and held tenderly as the music began to echo once more. Harry turned to look at Draco.
Her eyes downcast, a slight tremble to her shoulders. A blush that now firmly dominated her neck and cheeks. She seemed terrified.
Harry took her hand with his, and placed another to her shoulder. Gently, slowly, he led her to the dance floor. She remained wordless as her arm slipped around him. Still her eyes did not meet his.
“Don’t make me regret this, Potter. Otherwise-“
“Lucius will hear about this, yes, I know.” Her hands clenched in indignation.
“Don’t presume to finish my sentences, scarhead.”
“It’s hardly a presumption these days, Lucius must be sick to death about hearing about me.”
She smacked his spine painfully with a balled fist, before she let the hand return to the spot.
“I said don’t make me regret this, damn you.”
Harry said no more as they began to dance. Trancelike, the music seemed to take the whole room as the world faded and obscured until it seemed to be just the two of them surrounded by blurs and soft sound. The scent of perfume on the air seemed stronger now, though Harry still could not place it, familiar as it seemed.
“Couldn’t they have played something more…traditional?” Malfoy asked, little more than a whisper. “This new genre isn’t right for a formal dance.”
“I think we are at the stage of the night where the dance isn’t meant to be formal.” Harry replied, wondering if that was why the world around the two of them had softened at the edges. He thought he might have forgotten his glasses, but the platinum blonde hair and pale shoulder beneath his chin were as clear as could be.
“Still a poor choice, though the singer is talented. I don’t hear much about wizards from across the Atlantic.”
Harry chuckled. She really did have not the faintest idea of who serenaded them right now. If Uncle Vernon didn’t keep a library of records himself for Aunt Petunia, Harry himself might not have known. “It’s not a wizard singing, that’s why you haven’t heard of him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m telling you, Muggle.”
“You’re a lousy liar.”
“Good thing I’m being honest then.”
Draco sighed, knocking her head against his shoulder.
“You’re impossible.”
“I get that a lot.”
More silence as they swayed to the steady music. Neither were entirely aware when the song changed, trapped as they were in the moment. But the pattern of movements had become routine to them, and Harry took the luxury of closing his eyes. Blurred as the world beyond them seemed, his other senses seemed…sharper?
“It’s a variation on the Obscurus charm, Potter. Professor Flitwick invented it for his test materials.”
Of course she knew. How could she not?
“Glad to see I’m not going blind and deaf, then.”
“That can still be arranged.”
“Do you ever just stop? Can’t we enjoy this for one night?”
In any other night, in any other situation, he might have imagined the slight shift in her embrace. But it could not be mistaken for anything else tonight.
“We don’t have to be at each other’s throats all the time. We don’t have to be friends, Malfoy, but we also don’t have to be enemies.” Her hands tightened again, her heads pressing into his shoulder. “It’s the spirit of the season. We can bury the hatchet tonight. Start next year fresh. What do you say?”
Draco spoke no more that night, but she remained in his arms until the music ended.
They parted that night in silence, each unwilling to break the spell. It wasn’t until Professor Flitwick ended the spell at midnight and the ancient clock in the Great Hall struck the hour did they finally look away from each other. The Great Hall was empty now, save for a thoroughly satisfied and rosy cheeked Flitwick, and the silently dancing pair of Hagrid and Maxime, and of course, the two of them, perhaps the most unlikely dancers of the night.
“That was-“
“You were-“
“I think the two of you should probably get to bed.” Mused Flitwick, a mischievous grin as he took the two of them by the hands. “Go on now, off you go.”
Draco glared at the tipsy Professor, but thought better of retorting to him directly. “I had a lovely time, Malfoy.” Finally, her silver eyes met his since before they shared a dance.
“I…that wasn’t a complete catastrophe, I suppose. You didn’t make an ass out of yourself for once.
Harry smiled, and offered his hand. “Offer is still on the table, Draco.”
She looked at his hand. Maybe there was a future in that. She was once instructed to become his friend. It was a tempting thought.
“I’ll think about it, Pitt…ahem. Harry. Goodnight.” She turned on her heel and walked away, poise and grace holding the reputation where the conflict was visible in her eyes that she wouldn’t let him see that deeply again.
Harry’s hand fell to his side as she strode out of the Great Hall. “Goodnight, Draco. Merry Christmas.”
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Harry delayed his exit for awhile, helping the now drunken Professor Flitwick with the cleaning of the Great Hall, preparing it for the morning feast while Flitwick struggled to maintain a coherent levitation spell in his current state. Eventually though, he was shooed away, and began his walk back to the Gryffindor dormitories. Something pulled him to walk the courtyard of the castle, his head swimming with the events of the night and the future events of the Triwizard Tournament. He watched the snowflakes fall idly, dwelling on everything and nothing at once, when muffled sobbing broke his reverie. He looked over the battlements, and found Hagrid in an absolute state, seated, or rather sprawled out on the steps of the courtyard, collecting the falling snow across his broad frame as he choked back tears.
“Hagrid!” He rushed down the stairs to join the giant inconsolable man. Hagrid hand’s so much as shed a tear when his animals bruised or tore his skin, but he had wailed aloud when Buckbeak was sentenced to death just the year before. Harry’s mind raced with his feet until he found himself beside him again, a hand on the enormous shoulder. “Hagrid! Hagrid what happened?”
Hagrid choked back and composed himself with difficulty, daubing at his eyes with a embroidered handkerchief. Perfumed, white cloth with the letters “O.M.” In fancy, coiling script. The mystery began to unravel before Hagrid could even speak.
“Harry, oh heavens, I’m sorry lad. Dinnae mean for anyone to find me like this. Heh.” He took great heaving breaths before he could speak properly as Harry took a seat beside his reclining friend. Puffy, dark eyes stared up at an overcast sky, staring at nothing in particular.
“Harry, my lad. It’s a beautiful thing.”
Harry remained silent, some feeling in his gut that a man like Hagrid needed was a comfortable friend to vent to. He was strong and tough and sensitive in spite of it.
“It’s a wonderful, beautiful thing, really. It’s a bitter taste now, but it will be a memory I’ll cherish someday.” His head knocked against the stone steps, steaming breath erupting steadily as his eyes began to dry in the cold.
“Oly and I won’t ever really be together, not like I want. I know that. I accept it.” He clutches Maxime’s handkerchief over his heart with his stubby fingers.
“She’s a high class woman. I’m…” he gestures feebly to himself. “I’m not that. I can’t ask her to forsake that for me. She worked hard to get where she is. Merlin’s beard, she has a ruddy manor just for herself. Can you believe it? Chateau de Maxime.” He forced a smile.
“It’s a lovely thing. I’ll treasure this night, and what could have been for the rest of my days.” His breathing returned to a steady, even pace. The silence stretched for several moments as he tried to finish his thoughts.
“Even if I can’t share them with her.”
Harry didn’t have words for this. His instinct gave him no nudge for comforting words or action. Instead, he simply sat by his friend in silence as the quiet grief of a different life, a life that-might-have-been, settled into Hagrid.
“Some people are jus’…too different, I reckon. Trying to make a life together would jus’ do harm to ‘em both.”
The words stung Harry in a way he had not expected. He would have preferred a simple bruise or cut. Whatever this pang of dread was, this hurt, he did not have a name for it. It was new. Foreign. Unknown to him until now. He laid down on the snowy steps beside the first wizard he ever befriended. “Maybe you’ve got a point, Hagrid. Maybe some people are too different to try that together.”
“Heh” He rumbled. “Stings, dunnit? Right in the heart.” Hagrid thumped his chest with a meaty fist.
“Yeah. It does.”
“Aye.”
“But you are definitely right on one thing.”
“Aye?”
“It will be a lovely memory.”
“…”
“…”
“Heh. Look at us. Waxing poetic. Dun’ feel right to me.”
“…Me neither.”
The two of them laid in the snow in a comfortable understanding as the night drew on.
Or would have, were it not for the soft snoring in the open hallway behind them.
Professor Flitwick was also sat down in a hallway alcove, an open bottle of wine, it’s scarlet contents staining his dress robes, entirely passed out and besotted.
“Heh.”
“Hmph”
Neither bothered stifling their laughter.
Elsewhere.
Draco stared at herself in the mirror of her private dormitory bathroom. The single most private sanctuary she had in the whole world. Silver stared back at her through the polished mirror, the young woman reckoning with the revelation of the night.
She couldn’t.
It wasn’t possible.
Why him, of all people?
Why did he always have to come along and ruin her plans, just by existing?
A cold chill ran up her spine as a heavy weight settled in her stomach, and once again, Draco Malfoy broke down in tears as she realized what she wanted and what she should want were at impossible odds, and that for the first time in her life, no amount of scheming, or plotting, or wealth could remedy that inescapable fact.
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Fin.