Draco Malfoy looked at the slip of paper one more time. “Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Wizengamot Administration Services. Head of Archives. Office 217. Percy Weasley.”
He could hardly believe that he was actually going to be working for a Weasley, and the worst part was that he didn’t know if he should be disgusted or elated. It was certainly disgusting for a Malfoy to sink so low as to become subordinate to a Weasley. At the same time he couldn’t help being elated since in the new order of things the fact he was permitted to work for a Weasley might mean that he was finally going up in the world. Draco wasn’t taking well to social ostracism, and his Malfoy sensibilities stung from having to practically beg for employment.
A female voice intoned, “Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services,” distracting Draco from his thoughts. Exiting the lift, he briskly walked through the Ministry hallway until he noticed a men’s toilet.
He hastily entered the empty room to calm his nerves and check his appearance, taking some time to splash water on his face and scrutinise himself in the mirror. His light blond hair could be considered slightly too long, but Draco thought it quite became him. He played with it until it sat to his satisfaction. First impressions are everything, he reminded himself. He had to impress this Weasley before he had a chance to recognise him. Draco tried his best to smooth down his respectable dark robes and devoutly hoped Weasley wouldn’t notice the frayed edges.
Taking a deep breath, Draco looked at himself in the mirror once more. He reminded himself that he was smart, he was charming, he was reasonably good-looking, and he was indisputably capable, and definitely overqualified for the position. He would impress Weasley with his abilities and woo him with his charm. He would make him see that this Malfoy was worth so much more than this subservient life of begging and scrounging. If a Weasley would champion him, the possibilities were endless! Draco wanted a better future so much that he could almost taste it. Percy Weasley might not have been the most influential and well-known of all his family, but he was a Weasley – which was enough on its own – and he did hold in his own right quite an important, albeit not obviously so, position in the Ministry.
He was filled with hope and a new certainty; barely twenty minutes ago he was handed the slip of paper with his new position and already he had a plan! A plan that was going to work, because he was going to make it work. He was not going to let his impatience botch things up like it so often had in the past; he was going to proceed slowly and carefully. He had a whole year. In a year he was sure he could make even a Weasley like him, or at least grudgingly respect him.
Draco quickly walked the rest of the way to office 217. He couldn’t afford being late. Every little thing counted when trying to impress someone, and from what little he knew of this particular Weasley, punctuality was very important.
Straightening himself up and summoning his most pleasant countenance, Draco prepared to do his best, and knocked on the door of office 217.
Upon hearing the ‘Enter’, he opened the door and plastered on an affable smile, only to be met by a curly red head bent over a pile of papers, and a furiously scribbling, quill-wielding hand.
Momentarily set back, Draco stared at the bent head for a few seconds before politely but loudly clearing his throat. One long-fingered, freckled, liberally smudged with ink hand was lifted, and the industrious Weasley intoned, “Just a minute,” without ever lifting his head.
Draco was taken aback and in a former life would have been mortally offended by this high-handed behaviour. As it was, he obediently stood there, taking the chance to look around the office. It was a small office, made even smaller by the incredible amount of files, folders and books contained in it. He was pleased to note that Percy Weasley seemed to be a very neat person. With the exception of the chaos on his desk, the rest of the office was remarkably ordered. There was a window at the back with a magical view of bright blue skies, under which sat two overgrown plants that were obviously trying to break their way out of their undersized pots.
The sound of quill scratching on parchment ceased and Draco looked round to find the redhead looking at him curiously. Draco hadn’t remembered that this Weasley wore glasses, but on seeing that short-sighted scrutinising look, he distinctly recalled being told off by this former head boy. The memory was so old and from such a different lifetime, that Draco felt a sharp pang of something indefinable in his chest and barely remembered to smile and bow slightly.
Weasley cocked his head to one side. “Malfoy, right? Lucius’ son. Draco, isn’t it? Same year as Ron.”
Shit, he was recognised already! Most people took longer to place his face. Draco hoped there still was a way to salvage the situation and make some sort of favourable impression.
“Yes, sir. Draco Malfoy at your service. You asked for a replacement for your secretary. And ... well, here I am.” Draco tried to smile cheerfully but felt like he failed dismally.
“Hmm... You are to replace Mandy?” Weasley queried.
“Yes, sir. Here are my papers.” Draco carefully handed him a sheaf of papers from his bag and started to worry he would be ignominiously dismissed.
“Hmm... Yes...” The Weasley examined the papers carefully. “Well, it all seems in order. Have you had any experience with this sort of thing?”
“I was assistant to the secretary of the director for the Issuing and Regulation of Portkeys at the Department of Magical Transportation for a year, assistant at the House-Elf Registration Office at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for four months, and assistant archivist for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes for six months.” Weasley seemed to be quite interested in Draco’s recital, and scrutinised him some more before speaking.
“Mandy wasn’t exactly a secretary; she was more of a personal assistant. It will be hard for anyone to take her place, but needs must. I expect you to be in the office every morning by half past eight and you may have lunch whenever you find most convenient. I suggest you install yourself at her desk and get a bit acclimatised. You should find her Floo address in case you ever need to ask her anything. She also said you could owl her whenever you need to.”
Draco smiled shakily w22; things hadn’t turned out too bad after all w22; and made his way obediently to Mandy’s desk.
Stepping into Mandy’s shoes proved to be easier than Weasley had predicted. Her desk was remarkably well-ordered and she had left behind a detailed list of duties. Of course that didn’t stop Draco from Floo calling her a couple of times on flimsy excuses, in an attempt to find out more about his employer. Mandy, whom he vaguely remembered from school, proved to be a very bubbly mother-to-be who only had the best to say of Weasley, adding almost as an afterthought that he was a very demanding and precise man to work for.
Every morning Draco had to make sure Weasley drank his tea, and every lunchtime he had to try and make him eat something. During the day Weasley got lost in his archives, researching various occult and forgotten subjects. Draco would often get dragged into it as well and for hours one blond head and one red head could be seen poring over manuscripts and feverishly writing. Eventually Draco would lift his head to stretch and ease the crick in his back and would catch sight of the clock: seven in the evening. It would then often take a whole hour of cajoling and putting things back to get Weasley to go home. By the time Draco was home, had a light supper and fell into bed, he was exhausted and couldn’t for the life of him tell where the whole day had gone.
Draco’s actual work seemed to be comprised mostly of organising Weasley’s schedule and appointments — a task that proved remarkably easy. Weasley had a virtually non-existent social life and all his agenda held were departmental meetings, appointments with various Wizengamot members, the birthdays of the numerous members of his family, and official functions. Draco could only shake his head. Social outcast as he was, even he had a fuller schedule than Weasley. Well, at least on weekends, Draco conceded.
“So how are things going with the wearisome Weasley?”
Blaise’s white teeth shone in the dark of the bar as he grinned at Draco and took another gulp of his drink. Loud music blared around them and the pair had to shout to hear each other. Draco bent towards Blaise before yelling his answer.
“He’s not so bad. Not nearly as tiresome or as overbearing as some. The only real problem is he works such long hours! During the week, I practically forget what my place looks like!”
“You do realise that you don’t have to stay and slave away for the Ministry? You can come and work for me any time you want. But, yes... you want to restore your family name to its former glory.” Blaise sighed dramatically and returned to his drink while looking out over the dance floor.
Draco softly hummed along to the music and followed his friend’s gaze to the dancing silhouettes under the flashing lights. Then he leaned back towards the other man.
“It’s really not too bad, Blaise. Working for a Weasley could be my big break if I play my cards right. Besides, my job is mostly arranging and organising his work and appointments. You know how much I enjoy running people’s lives for them.”
Blaise grinned widely again. “And telling them what to do. Do you order Weasley around then?”
Draco laughed at the thought of ordering Percy Weasley around. He might be inordinately obedient to his superiors, and it was true that he had to be practically bullied into eating and going home, but otherwise he seemed almost as immovable as a rock. Like all Weasleys, Draco mused.
“It’s only been two weeks, but give me time and I might get there yet!” Draco grinned.
They both laughed at that and Draco wondered if he would really be able to make it happen. After a moment, he shook all serious thought from his mind; it was his night out. He looked at Blaise and lazily stretched.
“Fancy dancing?”
Blaise laughed again, showing off his whiter than white teeth, and shook his head. “I think I’ll just sit here and admire you from afar.”
Draco gave a soft chuckle and made his way to the dance floor to join the throng of moving bodies, leaving all concerns behind for the time being.
Draco looked at his watch. Half past one. It was a slow day and he had had everything finished and in order ages ago. Weasley, having completed everything else, seemed to have started on a project that wasn’t due for another month or more.
Draco stretched himself lazily, leaning his chair backwards precariously and stretching out his hands over the neatly ordered desk. He had worked closely with Weasley for the past weeks and spent an inordinately big amount of time with him. He had proven himself as a capable and quick-witted assistant. But it wasn’t enough; he needed to talk to Weasley, make him fully appreciate his abilities, make the redhead like him and want to help him.
Draco blessed his luck for handing him a tolerable Weasley, one whom it shouldn’t prove too great a hardship to befriend. Who knew what he would have done if he had landed that obnoxious Weasley from his year. He looked at his watch one more time, steeled his resolve, and got up to try and start things moving.
He carefully knocked on Weasley’s office door and let himself in. His superior lifted his head from the papers he was poring through and gave Draco a small distracted smile. A smile that, even though Draco rationally told himself Weasley didn’t really mean it, still warmed him. It was so rare that people smiled at him, especially in the Ministry.
“Draco, what can I do for you?”
That had been another pleasant surprise. Weasley proved to be one of the few people to call Draco by his given name rather than address him as Malfoy. Draco tried to ignore all distracting warm feelings and address the matter at hand.
“It’s lunch time, sir,” he said patiently.
Weasley blinked and then glanced at the clock on the wall. “And so it is. Would you like to take a lunch break?” the redhead asked, perplexed.
“Yes, I would, sir, but you should take one too — a real one. Leave the office for a change.”
Weasley looked surprised and opened his mouth to protest, but Draco kept on speaking.
“You have no appointments today and you are rather ahead on your work. You have plenty of time; you should take a real break for a change. Besides...” Draco put on his coy and abashed look that invariably got grandmothers feeling sorry for him, “...I feel lonely eating by myself. I would really appreciate it if you could keep me company.”
Weasley looked suitably surprised and at loss for words. Draco smiled prettily and tried not to overdo the puppy dog look. It wouldn’t do to lay it on too thick. Weasley seemed to waver for a bit and be on the verge of declining before obviously coming to an impulsive decision.
“All right. Why not? Let’s have lunch together. We could go to the Ministry cafeteria or...” Draco could see Weasley was getting an even more impulsive thought, “...we could go to the pub near the Ministry, where I often have my dinner.”
This was going to be better than Draco had hoped.
“Yes, the pub sounds wonderful,” he nodded. “Let’s go there.”
Draco looked round the pub as they waited to be served. It was a cosy, affordable pub very near the Ministry, yet he had never entered before. Used as he had been to living expensively and spending widely, he found it hard to scrounge and economise, but that was what he had to do. The manor was his – given back to him in appreciation for his assistance during the war and the trials – but it was in ruins, and his inheritance had been confiscated to pay for his father’s war crimes. His father had spent the majority of the war in Azkaban, but had been tried and Kissed as a representative of all the Death Eaters who had died and thus revenge couldn’t be taken of them.
Thoughts about his father made Draco even more determined to restore his name and his home by any means. He turned his attention back to the present. Opposite him sat Percy Weasley, a surprisingly reasonable Weasley, twiddling his thumbs nervously and gazing out the window now and then. A sliver of rare sunlight fell on his head, turning his hair a burnished copper. Draco felt himself get caught up in the moment; the colour and the slight curls of his superior’s hair reminded him momentarily of the youngest Weasley girl, the only one of the lot that he had found easy on the eyes.
Draco shook his head to stop the traitorous wandering thoughts; he couldn’t afford to lose concentration. He had got Weasley out of the office; now he had to get him out of his shell.
Draco smiled charmingly. “So... you say you come here often?” Weasley started, apparently lost in his own thoughts, and turned to pin Draco with his sharp blue gaze. “Yes, actually,” he said. “It’s close to work, it’s quiet and comfortable and the food is good. I would say I come here most nights. It’s certainly better than eating at home, especially with my cooking.” Weasley gave a self-deprecating chuckle.
“I’m sure you’re not so bad at cooking as all that,” Draco purred. He used the tone of voice that used to make girls blush at school and Weasley ducked his head and gave a slight smile.
“So you live alone then? No charming lady friend to cook hot meals for you?”
Here Weasley gave a hearty chuckle. “No, no lady friend.” Weasley looked at Draco for a second with that piercing gaze of his, and for a paranoid moment Draco thought he had been found out, that Weasley could see right through him and understood everything; it almost made him feel ashamed. Almost.
“So, how about you, Draco? Any ‘lady friends’?”
Draco could hear the humour in the voice; he was almost offended, but Weasley was smiling as he looked at him, and that was a good sign. It also warmed him, as usual. It wasn’t hard to blush – Draco blessed his fair skin – and to mumble in fake abashment, “No lady friend either.” And then to add as a supposed afterthought, “Wouldn’t be able to support a lady in the manner she deserved anyway. Not anymore.”
He cast a sly look at Weasley to see how he took it. Weasley just looked at him in his typical manner before saying earnestly, “You shouldn’t put yourself down, Draco. I’m sure you have a lot to offer the lady of your choice.”
Somehow he found it even easier to blush and duck his head this time. What was harder was fighting the inexplicable warm feeling inside.
Once their food arrived it was even easier to talk to Weasley with the ice effectively broken. He tried to lead the conversation to finding out more about Weasley and explaining his own situation, but somehow found himself talking about his father and his childhood at the manor.
Before he knew it, he was gesticulating animatedly, immersed in a spirited description of a childhood escapade involving Vince, a Kneazle and his father, only to realise that it was Percy Weasley — his superior, the man he wanted to impress with his abilities and his seriousness, the son of Arthur Weasley, who hated and was hated by Lucius Malfoy — that was listening to him intently while pinning him with curious amused eyes.
Draco suddenly forgot what he was saying.
“...ugh, yes,” he finished awkwardly, “well, that’s a rather old childish story that I’m sure you weren’t interested in. I am sorry to bore you with it.”
Although Weasley looked like he disagreed, Draco wildly looked around for an escape and glanced at the clock.
“Gosh!” he exclaimed. “Look at the time. It’s ten past three!”
With these magic words, Weasley’s face immediately changed from relaxed amusement to stressed urgency. Strangely enough, Draco felt a pang of disappointment surge through him.
“Come on then. We have to return!” And with that Weasley jumped up and almost bolted back to the Ministry with Draco in tow.
After a precedent had been set and Weasley realised that the end of the world hadn’t come and that their work still got finished ahead of schedule, it proved easy to persuade him to take another lunch break together. Soon it became quite an institution; several times a week they would go to the pub to eat and talk.
Weasley would on occasion open up and offer titbits and glimpses into his life and past and the workings of the ever-growing Weasley family, but Draco always ended up being led on by that gentle smile and those curious amused eyes to share more and more anecdotal stories from his childhood — replete with funny impressions and wild hand-waving, — as well as confessions about his life after the war. He shared things he had never planned on sharing with Weasley… his Weasley. Things that his Weasley would listen to with amusement or compassion or even righteous indignation on Draco’s behalf. And sometimes his Weasley would lay a comforting hand on his own and look at him earnestly, and Draco would find himself too busy fighting the burst of fiery warmth in his chest and the prickling at the corners of his eyes to remember to rejoice that his plan was working so well.
The scroll was tightly rolled and sealed with a beautiful golden wax seal; nevertheless, Draco immediately knew what it was. The parchment was heavy, with an intricate red and green border in a holly design; it even smelled faintly of cinnamon. Even though Draco hadn’t seen one of these in a long time, there was no mistaking the invitation to the Ministry’s Yule Ball.
Draco had only been once. When he was fifteen his father had finally decided he was old enough to accompany his parents. If he had known then that it was going to be a once in a lifetime experience, he would have paid more attention to the event and spent less time getting inebriated with sweet-tasting mead and flirting with people who were too old for him.
He gripped the scroll, suppressing a pang of longing for what had been and could be no more, and knocked on Weasley’s door. He was not surprised to find his superior thoughtfully reading an old book. Weasley lifted his head and smiled, as was his wont when seeing Draco.
“Draco! Come here and look at this.”
Draco held up the scroll. “Your Yule invitation has arrived, sir.”
“Yes, good. Put it over there then. Now, you must see this.”
Draco obediently put the scroll on the desk and went round the desk to see.
“You remember the March case of course, the dispute between the vampires of Yorkshire Moors and the Pickering family. Now, this case isn’t entirely the same, as you can see. For a start it doesn’t concern vampires, which you might say should discount the case immediately, but if you look closely you will find the similarities fascinating...” As was his habit, Weasley sucked Draco into his research and his theories, letting the scroll lay forgotten for the time being.
Later on, in their usual pub – for it was a pub-lunch day – Draco couldn’t help but remember the invitation.
“So, sir, the Yule Ball invitation came. Any thoughts about who you might take?”
Weasley scratched behind his ear and glanced distractedly out the window. “No, not really.”
Draco wanted to pursue the matter. The Yule Ball was a prestigious affair and Weasley needed to carefully consider his date, but the subject was obviously closed, as Weasley was now earnestly leaning forward on the table and talking excitedly about their most recent subject of research.
“So what do you think of the werewolves versus the Bulstrodes? It is a very old case and you can argue that there is rather a difference between vampires and werewolves, but they are both considered dark creatures and you must have noticed other similarities. Like, for example, the antiquity of the estates and the relation of the clans to the land.”
Draco frowned thoughtfully. “To me it’s not so much a question of vampires or werewolves,” he said finally, “as much as the difference between the Yorkshire Moors and the Welsh hills. Both lands are old but they are also intrinsically different, and I think the question will fall there.”
And with that Draco let himself fall into a comfortable dispute with Weasley over the March case. He didn’t really mind; on the contrary, he never ceased to be flattered that Weasley would want to talk to him like this and seemed genuinely interested in his opinions. It almost made Draco feel like Weasley could consider him his equal.
The end of November proved to be quite rainy and uneventful and, by the time December had come, the lack of anything more interesting in his life had Draco practically dying of curiosity about who his Weasley would eventually take to the Ball. Weasley himself was scandalously unperturbed by his shameless procrastination, and that drove Draco mad. He had tried asking a couple of times if he had finally found a date. He had even hinted that time was flying and if his superior didn’t want to suffer the indignity of attending alone, or with a second-rate companion, he had better get a move on it. All the red-head did was smile condescendingly – as if Draco amused him but was not to be taken seriously – and change the subject. It didn’t take Draco long to come to the conclusion that the only way to satisfy his curiosity was to go to other sources and perhaps discover Weasley’s past dates.
It didn’t prove hard to do.
The other secretaries of the Wizengamot Administration Services – or Wiz Admin, as they liked to abbreviate themselves – had grudgingly accepted Draco into their little circle upon seeing that he was here to stay for what seemed like a year. Draco often spent his coffee-break, or any lunch break that wasn't spent with Weasley, with them. Under better circumstances he would never have socialised with such people, and he was constantly acutely aware of slumming, but what was he to do? Besides, he reasoned, they were a very good source of Ministry gossip.
One day over coffee, after a lull in the conversation, Draco put down his cup and carefully said, “Mister Weasley got his Yule Ball invitation weeks ago but it doesn’t seem like he has invited anyone yet.”
He looked up to scrutinise the others’ faces before hastily adding, “Of course, I might be wrong.”
Julie, the eldest secretary, clucked her tongue while Dotty, the most outspoken, spoke first.
“Well, that’s our Mr Weasley for you. A true gentleman and a conscientious worker, but...”
“…last year they say he showed up alone. I suppose he might just do the same again,” added George, one of the court’s minute takers.
Draco was shocked and disappointed. “Alone?!”
“Yes, the poor dear. Mustn’t have much luck with the ladies,” Julie put in. “As I recall, he took Mandy a couple of times.”
“Ooh, lucky Mandy!” squealed Cathy, who was almost as new as Draco to the department.
“Lucky that Anthony was all right with it, you mean,” put in Dotty rather snidely.
“But this is preposterous! Didn’t he ever take a real date?” Draco demanded, feeling decidedly outraged. He was starting to feel like his superior was letting the side down with this undignified behaviour.
Julie scratched her head in thought. “Well, he did take Gabrielle Delacour one year, his sister-in-law’s sister.”
“And we all know how that ended up!” George’s exclamation earned curious glances from Draco and Cathy, so with the air of a seasoned gossip he gleefully continued, “They say he showed up at the Ball with a radiant part-veela on his arm, but left it with a crying Hannah Abbott clinging to him. Apparently their respective escorts had hit it off so well as to be discovered on one of the balconies in quite an intimate position.”
George laughed heartily while Cathy giggled and Dotty snorted. Draco, for his part, didn’t quite know how to react.
“A couple of weeks later, Gabrielle Delacour and Eric Blackeagle were married.”
Julie sent a frustrated look George’s way and continued, “Now that I come to think of it, he went with Penelope Clearwater, now Penelope Adams, once too. That was quite a while ago. He was new to the position and the war was just over...”
Draco remembered Clearwater. She was the prefect that had got petrified back in a previous life when he was a second year in Hogwarts.
“And how about old Mister Badger? Every year he takes a new bright young thing to the Ball, and he’s just getting fatter and balder and older each year,” said Dotty laughing.
“His luck isn’t much better. He might take a bright young thing to the Ball, but he certainly doesn’t always leave with one,” George added with a snicker.
“It’s not any worse than Miss Barnaby, who first took all her brothers, then all her cousins and now is going through her nephews,” said Julie referring to a now elderly member of the Wizengamot.
“And Mr Finch-Fletchley, who took a man?” Dotty put in.
“Not just a man, a Muggle!” George intoned and Julie looked scandalised all over again about the old affair.
Draco had heard of Finch-Fletchley. He had taken his obvious boyfriend to the Ministry Ball as a sort of statement. What he hadn’t expected was that the furore created over bringing a Muggle far overshadowed the fact that he was a man.
The Ministry hallways were by now gaily decorated, and the atmosphere was more cheerful and relaxed than usual while everyone eagerly awaited the holidays.
It was just under two weeks till the Yule Ball and Draco had finally given up on interrogating his Weasley about whom he was bringing. He had been eventually forced to accept that either Weasley was uncharitably keeping his choice of date to himself, or else he was going alone. Draco wasn’t quite sure which case he considered worse.
March’s vampire case proved confusing and complex, and thus took up most of their time and thoughts. They spent even more hours than usual poring over texts and discussing possibilities, and Weasley had quite a number of meetings with the Wizengamot members in charge of the case. Draco got so immersed in the research that he ended up occasionally taking notes home with him to read over — something he had never done before.
Before the war, Draco had only had vague dreams and ambitions about his future, but, whatever he had wanted, it was certainly something glamorous and exciting; it was not being secretary to an archivist. After the war, Draco’s ambitions had been turned towards learning to get by, and he had to admit that working for Weasley was the best job he had ever had so far.
He often got so carried away by the job and the research and the daily routine that he forgot about his plan. Fortunately, it seemed to be working perfectly all by itself with hardly any further pushing by him. He had got so close to his Weasley that the redhead had grown on him and he had started to quite like the fellow. Even better was the fact that Weasley seemed to like him too, and it was obvious that he had grown to show a healthy appreciation for his abilities.
Draco had become quite optimistic, and the feeling had given a new bounce to his step. Both Julie and Dotty had noticed and discreetly – or not so discreetly in Dotty’s case – had asked if he had got himself a girlfriend. Draco just smiled mysteriously.
It was late Thursday morning and Draco had just finished writing out the report for January’s project; they were ahead of schedule as usual. He spent some minutes admiring his turn of phrase and checking his footnotes before going to have Weasley look it over and sign it.
Entering the office, he found the redhead gazing at some imaginary spot high above the door and twirling his quill absently.
Upon Draco’s entrance, he put the quill down and smiled at Draco as was his habit. “Yes, Draco?”
“I just finished writing up the findings on the regulation of dangerous plant mutations.”
“Very good, Draco.”
Draco handed the parchments over and Weasley diligently read them over, nodding and humming and making slight corrections as was his wont. When he had finished, he signed it and looked up at Draco, smiling once more.
“Well done, Draco. Just send it on its way and we’ll be done with that.”
Draco smiled back at Weasley, warmed by the small compliment, but Weasley made no move to return the parchments he had in the meantime rolled up and sealed with his official stamp. On the contrary, he seemed to be studying Draco.
“Draco, do you have any plans for Christmas Eve?”
The question was so unexpected and bizarre that Draco was at loss as how to respond.
“I do know that it’s rather late in the day and it is very possible that you have already made arrangements, but I thought I would just ask...” Weasley continued.
Draco did actually sort of have plans. The past couple of years it went without saying that he would go to Blaise’s Christmas Eve party and spend Christmas day very much hung over. But a mad notion crossed his mind and he blurted out, “No, I don’t. Not really. I mean, I don’t have any real plans for that day. As such.” Weasley looked momentarily surprised before slowly smiling. “How would you like to go to the Ministry’s Ball?”
Even though that was the mad notion that had crossed Draco’s mind for a crazy minute, he hadn’t really expected Weasley to say it and, as such, he was left totally speechless. He stared at the other man with wide surprised eyes. Weasley continued talking.
“I’m not taking anyone else with me, you see, and the invitation does say ‘Percy Weasley and guest’. I thought it would be a pity to leave the invitation unused when it was quite obvious that you would like to go to the Ball. You would like to go, wouldn’t you?”
Draco nodded slowly, not really believing what he was hearing.
“But...um...” he stuttered, “I’m not a woman.”
Weasley laughed at that. “No, you’re not. I don’t see why that should matter. They are no specifications about the gender of one’s guest.”
“People might get the wrong idea...”
Weasley didn’t look very convinced. “No one seemed to get the wrong idea when I took Mandy. I don’t see why it should be any different with you. You really shouldn’t worry about unimportant things. What you should consider are the people I could introduce you to there. You could do so much better than this, and you know it, and I might be able to help you a bit.”
Weasley was looking at him with that sharp knowing gaze of his and Draco’s heart was beating in his ears. That was exactly what he had wanted! It was being handed to him on a silver platter by this Weasley that understood him and saw through him. He looked into the earnest blue eyes and spoke without thinking.
“But I’m a Malfoy. What would it do to your reputation to take a Malfoy to the Yule Ball?”
Weasley smiled wryly; it was a barely noticeable upturning of the corners of his mouth.
“I’m not as concerned with my reputation as I once was, seeing as it no longer is what it once was. Anyway, Draco, appearances really aren’t everything, are they? I think you should come, but, if you’d rather not, it’s really up to you.”
Draco could barely breathe; he knew had no fight left in him. Why was he fighting anyway? Of course he wanted to go.
“Yes,” he breathed, “yes, I’ll come to the Ball with you. I’d like it very much. Thank you.”
Draco stared at Weasley, winded, while the other man gave him the smug smile of a victor and picked up the forgotten scroll to hand to him.
“Good. That’s arranged then.”
Draco took the scroll silently, nodded to his superior, and exited the office.
The rest of the day passed in a sort of daze. He couldn’t stop thinking about the invitation and hiding a secret little smile behind his hand. His plan was working! Weasley was going to help him. But, more than that, another part of him – the one that pined for the luxury of his youth – was overjoyed to go to the Ball for the Ball’s sake. That part of him wanted to compare the floating chandeliers and the dancing Christmas trees to those hazy images from his youth, and would have loved to dance the night away as if in a dream.
Strangely, what really seemed to warm him inside and create a lightness he couldn’t stop bubbling up and turning into a soppy grin or an aborted giggle, was the fact that Weasley had asked him, Weasley wanted to help him, Weasley wanted to go to the Ball with him. It was almost as if Weasley...his Weasley…cared.
And, in a rather peculiar turn of events, that thought made Draco quite giddy.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Notes: My first fanfic ever. Lots and lots of thanks to my beta raisinous fiendling for helping me out and giving lots of good advice.