Chapter Text
When Harry received the letter cordially inviting him to the wedding of Pansy Parkinson and Ginny Weasley, he was excited. No, really, he was. Ginny was one of his best friends, and he was happy to see her happy, no matter how things had ended between them. Pansy wasn’t so bad either, once you got past the barbed comments and unapologetic eyeliner. They’d known each other for three years now- long enough for Harry to admit (privately) that she was clever, funny, and utterly devoted to Ginny. Sure, they’d never braid each other’s hair or go shopping for shoes together, but he was genuinely glad to go and support them.
When Harry read that it was a destination wedding at the Parkinson vacation estate in Sydney, Australia, he was doubly excited. It meant he’d have to close the restaurant for a couple days, but he supposed that was the price of running his own business. He could use a vacation, especially one where he wouldn’t be too worried about people recognizing him or trying to crash the wedding to get a glimpse. His headlines had never really made their way to Australia, and he certainly wasn’t heartbroken about the prospect of avoiding the Daily Prophet’s inevitable article, probably titled “Lonely, Heartbroken Potter Attends the Wedding of Stunning and Talented Ex-Girlfriend and Holyhead Harpies Chaser Ginny Weasley.”
However, when Harry learned that he’d have to go early and stay at the mansion for a whole week leading up to the event, he was a little less enthused. Hermione had been delighted when Ginny asked her to be her maid of honor, but with Hermione being due to give birth in 2 months, it wasn’t best for her to be away more than necessary. She’d make the actual wedding, but an extra week away from home wasn’t something she was comfortable with. So, Harry had been asked to fill in a couple of weeks prior.
“It’ll be fine,” he told himself on Monday as he waited in line at the Ministry for his international portkey to the Ministry in Australia. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to celebrate Ginny. It was more that an entire week celebrating his ex’s wedding when he was single with no hopes of changing that soon wasn’t really his idea of a great time.
“It’ll be fine,” he repeated as he confirmed the address and prepared to apparate to his destination. He tried to focus on how beautiful the weather would be, and the fact that the house was right on the beach.
“It’ll be fine,” he said under his breath as he walked up the driveway to the mansion and knocked on the door. It was truly ungodly large. By Harry’s initial guess, there were at least three floors, and the stark white walls placed between the floor to ceiling windows were dripping in money and modernity.
“What the fuck?” he blurted, as the door opened and none other than Draco Malfoy stood in the entrance.
“Charming,” Malfoy drawled, leaning lazily against the doorframe, dressed in crisp white linen and looking like a particularly judgmental holiday advertisement. “Always a pleasure, Potter.”
At the sound of his name, Harry made an effort to close his mouth, which until then had just been hanging slightly open in shock.
Thinking about it later, he truly didn’t know how it hadn’t occurred to him that of course Pansy would invite Malfoy, her oldest and closest friend, and that of course he would be at the pre-wedding events. With his event planning business booming, he would likely even be organizing them. But it definitely had not occurred to Harry. He’s not sure he would have agreed to come if it had. The prospect of a week watching Pansy and Ginny being in love reminding him that he was painfully single was already not pleasant, but this, he wasn’t sure if he could tolerate.
Malfoy sighed, drawing him out of his self-pitying thoughts. He leaned against the doorframe, a smirk on his face as he seemingly enjoyed Harry’s accidental outburst.
“Malfoy,” he said stiffly, trying for polite and landing somewhere closer to strangled.
“I take it Ginevra didn’t tell you I’d be here?” Malfoy crossed his arms, and Harry’s attention was drawn to his outfit. Malfoy had on a white button up shirt, which despite the long sleeves seemed somehow light and airy. He’d paired this with tan linen pants that spilled down his legs. In the late afternoon sun the shirt appeared almost see through, and Harry could feel a flush making its way up his neck as he noticed Malfoy’s chest was visible.
Malfoy cleared his throat expectantly, and Harry shook his head, realizing he’d just been standing there like an oaf.
“Er- no, she didn’t tell me much of anything,” he replied, but before he could elaborate, Malfoy was shoved out of the way by Ginny, who threw her arms around Harry.
“You made it!” She pulled away, keeping her arms around his neck, and looked at his him, a wide smile on her lovely face. “Merlin, it’s been ages.”
Harry grinned back at her. It had been too long. Usually they would get together every couple of months with Ron and Hermione to go out for drinks at the Leaky, or Harry would go to one of her games, but with all the craziness of Hermione being pregnant and Ginny’s ever hectic schedule with the Harpies, it had been at least 3 months since the last time he’d seen her.
“I missed you,” he said, and he meant it. They’d drifted a bit after the breakup - only natural, really, considering - but she was still one of his best friends.
He could feel Malfoy’s eyes on the two of them, but resolutely ignored him. Pansy appeared at the door next to Malfoy, and her eyes swept his travel outfit- faded jeans, ratty old shirt, messy hair. She smiled faintly, the way one might at an old crup that had turned up on the doorstep.
“Welcome, Potter.” The corner of her mouth tilted up, as she shifted her gaze to her fiancée, who dropped her arms from around Harry’s neck. Ginny took a step away so the four of them stood in a small circle. Everyone’s eyes were on him, and he shifted his weight. Already, he felt like an outsider, but for Ginny’s sake he pasted on a smile.
“Dinner’s in an hour if you want to get settled. You’re the last to make it, so you get the bedroom next to Blaise.” Pansy smiled sympathetically. “Sorry in advance.”
Harry blinked. “Why-?”
“You’ll see,” said Ginny with a grin, hefting his bag and steering him inside. “Wedding week starts now!”
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Ginny practically dragged him about the house, chattering about menus and flower arrangements. Harry followed, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light. The Parkinson estate was so large it was almost obscene. White marble floors, floating staircases, the faint hum of cooling charms keeping the heat at bay. What did anyone need with this much house?
The entrance hall opened directly into an expanse of open-plan living space, divided only by clever enchantments and tasteful furniture. The entire far wall was glass—floor to ceiling windows stretched the full length of the room, opening out onto a terrace and, beyond that, the beach. The ocean shimmered in the late afternoon sun, rolling endlessly toward the horizon.
Harry stopped walking. He’d never seen water that blue.
“Not bad, is it?” Ginny said, smiling at his expression. “Pansy’s parents had the place redone a few years ago. They mostly use it for parties, but we figured—why not make a week of it?”
“It’s…” Harry trailed off, taking in the sunlight glancing off the polished surfaces.
“Yeah. It’s something,” Ginny supplied.
“You should see it in the morning,” said Malfoy’s voice, much too close behind him.
Harry turned; Malfoy had followed them in, hands in his pockets, looking insufferably at ease in the middle of all that elegance. “The sunrise hits the water and reflects through the wards. It’s murder if you’re hungover.”
“Sounds nice,” Harry muttered.
Malfoy’s smirk was faint. “I thought you’d appreciate the view. Very… rustic compared to your usual haunt, isn’t it?”
Harry blinked before deciding to ignore him and follow Ginny toward the kitchen. Somehow, it managed to be more ridiculous than the living room. It was a cathedral of glass and light: pale stone counters, gleaming copper fixtures, and an entire wall that seemed to dissolve into the sea. The smell of salt air drifted through an open doorway that led onto a shaded veranda lined with flowering vines. The view continued to be staggering- waves folding gently onto white sand, gulls darting in and out of the surf.
“Merlin,” Harry murmured, setting his bag down on a stool and running a hand along the countertops. “You could cook for the Queen in here.”
“Pansy practically does,” Ginny said, pulling open a cupboard and revealing shelves of perfectly labeled ingredients. “Her family hosts half the British pureblood set every summer.”
“I do most of the hosting,” Malfoy corrected idly, inspecting a vase of white lilies. “This room was the hardest to iron out, but I think it ended up adequate. Pansy tends to prefer to be adored rather than stressed.”
Harry turned, incredulous. “You designed this room?”
“Of course. Someone had to make sure it had everything needed to host a respectable event.” Harry studied his face, the smirk that seemed ever-present. His tone was casual, but his posture was too precise, the faint tension around his mouth giving him away. He knew Malfoy was a successful event planner- Harry wondered, fleetingly, how much of Malfoy’s career was built on making things beautiful to cover whatever else he didn’t want people to see.
Ginny clapped her hands together, and Harry jumped, his eyes darting from where they'd been staring at Malfoy. “Come on, I’ll show you your room.”
Mercifully, Malfoy lingered in the kitchen. Harry grabbed his bag, and he and Ginny passed through a sitting area with pale green sofas and floating lanterns that glowed like captured stars. Each room seemed designed to one-up the last- bookshelves that reorganized themselves, enchanted paintings that shifted to match the mood in the room (currently, a still-life rendering of an apple and a pumpkin, whatever that meant), and a grand piano that played softly when anyone walked past.
By the time they reached the guest wing, Harry felt like he’d stepped into another world, one where everything gleamed and sparkled.
“This is you,” Ginny announced, stopping at a door near the end of the hall. “Next to Blaise.”
Harry smiled despite himself. The room was bright and impossibly clean, with a view that overlooked the beach. He set his bag down, taking in the white linen bedspread, the pale driftwood furniture, the faint scent of sea salt carried on the wards.
If he ignored the sharp pang in his chest at the unnecessarily large bed, it was perfect.
“Dinner’s at seven,” Ginny said, already halfway out the door. “Try not to pick a fight with Malfoy before then, yeah?”
“No promises,” Harry grinned, and she laughed, disappearing down the corridor.
Left alone, he walked to the window. The sun was sinking, staining the sea gold. He couldn't possibly be sad in a place like this, right?
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Dinner that night was… ridiculous. Of course it was — this was a Parkinson-hosted affair. In his time knowing her, Harry had come to learn this meant nothing could be done halfway.
The long banquet-style table glowed with floating candles and cut-glass goblets that refilled themselves. Everything shimmered faintly, from the silverware to the plates, which were so clean Harry could see his own reflection in them. The dining room opened straight onto the terrace; the wall-high windows were gone now, folded away by magic, and a warm ocean breeze drifted through the room. Somewhere outside, waves broke against the shore in a lazy, rhythmic hush.
Harry took the seat his name card indicated — he wasn’t quite sure why a casual event needed name cards, but he listened dutifully anyway. Unfortunately, this put him beside Malfoy, whose white shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows as if he’d just stepped out of an advert for expensive linen. Harry smirked to himself as he realized Malfoy's elbows were on the table- certainly an etiquette faux pas- when a flash of dark ink caught Harry's eye. It was gone just as quickly as Malfoy unrolled his sleeves. Harry looked up to meet his eye, and Malfoy raised his chin as though daring Harry to say something. He did not.
Across from them sat Pansy, oblivious to the strange interaction they'd just had and radiating the serene satisfaction of a woman admiring a job well done. She was dressed in an eye-wateringly short white dress that looked like it was made for her, all curves and soft lines. By contrast, Ginny had on a white peplum blouse, her ginger ringlets delicately framing her face. They looked like complete opposites, but both were stunning. Harry felt underdressed in his dress shirt and black trousers.
"Everything looks beautiful," said Harry, inclining his head when Pansy grinned back at him.
"Thank you," both Pansy and Malfoy began. They shared a look, and Malfoy raised a lazy eyebrow at her.
"I hired you, didn't I?" said Pansy, defensively. "It's only because of my good taste that we get to appreciate your talents." Malfoy rolled his eyes, somehow managing to look prim and proper all the while. Harry looked over at Ginny, amused, but she was busy gazing at Pansy with a dopey grin on her face. Harry took a sip of the wine in front of him.
Conversation flowed smoothly, mostly between Ginny and Pansy, but Harry was surprised at how often Malfoy chimed in, and even more surprised at the fact that Harry found himself rather enjoying when he did. He mostly contributed embarrassing stories of Pansy, though, and Harry was always interested in those. Interestingly, the stories didn't seem to be mean-spirited, and several times Harry caught himself laughing into his wine.
They had just finished a round of bread with a lemon butter spread that Harry had appreciatively eaten three slices of when there was a knock at the front door. Ginny stood, placing her napkin on the table to presumably walk to welcome their new guests, when Blaise Zabini waltzed into the dining room- hand-in-hand with Neville Longbottom.
Harry blinked. This was new.
"You started without your most esteemed guests?" Zabini pouted, coming to a stop at the end of the table. He released his hand and placed it on Neville's lower back, guiding him to the name card that had suddenly appeared in the seat on the other side of Harry. Zabini pulled his chair out and Neville took a seat, looking over at Harry with a wave.
“You didn’t tell me you two were together,” Harry blurted, looking from Neville to where Blaise had taken a seat on the other side of the table.
Neville gave him a small smile. “Er — well, we meant to, but—”
Blaise smiled, dark eyes amused. “We didn’t think you’d mind, Potter. You’re not still holding out hope for me, are you?”
Harry made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough. “Right. You wish.”
Next to Harry, Malfoy sipped his wine and said to Zabini, “I did warn you he’d be weird about it. Should have told him earlier.”
Harry shot him a look. “I'm not being weird about it. I'm just surprised. It's surprising. I didn't even know you were-” Harry felt his cheeks heating up as the table stared at him. Flustered, he turned back to Malfoy. "It's fine, really. Besides, you're one to talk about communication. I think 90% of the words you say to me are insults."
“I’m consistent,” Malfoy said mildly. “It’s a strength.”
Ginny kicked Harry under the table. “Play nice,” she whispered, but she was laughing. Harry smiled back at her before taking another sip of his wine. His head was pleasantly warm, and he would have to remember to send an Owl to the inventor of self-filling wine glasses to thank them. This would be a weird, long night.
At long last, dinner was served by discreet house elves, each course more absurdly beautiful than the last: delicate seafood canapés, golden soup that shimmered faintly with warmth charms, roasted vegetables charmed to stay crisp despite the heat.
Despite himself, Harry couldn’t help it- several glasses of wine and a few beautiful presentations had loosened his tongue. He caught himself leaning forward, examining the plating.
“Merlin, that looks incredible,” Ginny said, spearing a bite of seared scallop. “Harry, you should try this- it’s practically art.”
Harry smiled faintly. “It’s not bad.”
Pansy caught that. “Not bad? It’s divine. My parents’ chef trained in Paris for years.”
“I can tell,” Harry said before he could stop himself. “But they’ve over-reduced the beurre blanc just a bit. You can smell it- the acidity’s gone flat.”
The table went quiet for a beat. For the second time tonight, Harry's cheeks grew warm. Ginny was trying not to grin. Blaise raised a brow, and Neville winced next to him. Fantastic.
After the war, Harry had been a bit aimless. A year of being on the run, years of being scared for his life, and a lifetime of losing too many loved ones had finally made him realize that being an Auror wasn't what he wanted. He needed some security, something his and his alone. Thankfully, with the combined inheritances of his parents and Sirius, he had plenty of time to experiment. He took all sorts of different courses and picked up all sorts of different hobbies, but only one really stuck. In a way, it made sense that cooking would feel safe to him. It had been the only thing that kept him safe with the Dursleys, only now he could pick the food, experiment with it, hell, eat it himself if he wanted to. It made him feel alive again in a way nothing had in years.
He'd been so lucky that Luc, the head of the culinary school he went to in France, had understood his desire for anonymity. Cooking was his, for him and him alone, and he wanted to protect that. He attended school with a Glamour, and when it came time for him to open his own place, he'd grown too used to the privacy to change that. On some level, he also wanted to know that people enjoyed his restaurant- his food- for his talent, not his name. As far as the public knew, Harry Potter was living off his trust fund, doing nothing but attending Ministry galas and running his charity. Only his closest friends knew- Ginny and Neville included-, and he had no plans of changing that- unless, of course, he kept indulging in too much wine and talking too much. Harry cursed himself.
Malfoy tilted his head, studying him. “I take it you cook, then?”
Harry shrugged. “Bit of a hobby.”
“Hm.” Malfoy’s eyes lingered on him, assessing. Harry stared back. “Well, I’ll make sure to let the staff know their sauce was merely adequate for the Chosen One’s palate.”
Ginny snorted into her wine. “Oh, don’t tease him, Draco. You’ll lose.”
“I’m not teasing,” Malfoy said smoothly. “I’m genuinely curious. Potter, of all people, knows a thing or two about mediocrity. I trust he can point it out when he sees it.”
“Careful,” Harry said, smiling thinly. “You’re sitting right next to me. I’ve got a fork. I’d hate to have to use it.”
“A fork would be a bit uninspired, don't you think?” Malfoy asked.
“Maybe I’ll improvise.”
Ginny groaned. “You two are insufferable.”
But it wasn’t… unpleasant, exactly. The rhythm between them was strange — sharp edges that kept softening when he least expected.
Later, when Pansy started talking about floral arrangements, Malfoy leaned slightly toward Harry, his voice low. “They’re using moon lilies. She insisted.”
Harry glanced sideways at him. “Problem with that?”
“Not at all. They’re just impossible to source outside Europe. It's been a nightmare to find someone reputable to get them out here, and I’ll have to charm them to keep overnight. It’ll take hours, but Pans insisted.”
“Well, it is Pansy we're talking about. Wouldn't be her if a potentially small problem didn't feel like the world was ending.”
Malfoy’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, well. Not all of us have years of experience being the one saving the world, Potter.”
The words landed heavier than either of them intended. For a moment, Harry couldn’t quite meet his gaze.
Thankfully, no one at the table seemed to notice the awkwardness between them, and Ginny continued on. “Neville, tell them about the Harpies’ garden project.”
Neville brightened immediately, explaining the joint initiative between Hogwarts and the Harpies to grow sustainable herbs for potion kits for broom maintenance. Blaise chimed in with charming asides, Pansy and Ginny exchanged soft smiles, and Harry realized suddenly that everyone here had built something new out of the wreckage of what came before.
He was proud of that. Genuinely. But part of him still felt like an observer — like someone who’d stepped sideways into a life he wasn’t meant to have.
Once again, Malfoy’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You’re quiet, Potter. Regretting all those polite things you said to me in the doorway earlier?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “How long did you have to practice sounding that smug?”
“I’ve had it all my life,” Malfoy said lightly. “It’s a gift.”
“Tragic, really. Imagine what you could’ve done if you’d used your powers for good.”
“I have,” Malfoy replied, softly. His gaze was steady, unreadable. “You just haven't been paying attention.”
For a second - one disorienting, weightless second - something in Harry’s chest went still. Why did talking to Malfoy keep making him feel like the world was tilting on its axis? Like he’d taken one wrong step and fallen off a cliff? Blaise cracked a joke, and everyone laughed, and the spell broke.
Dessert appeared in the form of miniature tarts that tasted faintly of summer and sugar. By the time they finished, the air was warm and soft, the sky darkening to indigo beyond the terrace.
Harry leaned back, wine glass in hand, feeling pleasantly full, a bit too tipsy, and faintly out of place.
“Dinner was lovely,” Neville said earnestly.
Pansy smiled. “We’ll have brunch on the terrace tomorrow. Draco’s planning that, too.”
Malfoy inclined his head. “Something simple.”
“Simple for you means gold-leafed cutlery and imported citrus,” Blaise said dryly.
“Details matter. Food tastes better when it’s paired with nice things,” Malfoy returned, unconcerned.
Into his wine glass, Harry snorted. “You’d hate my restaurant, then.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them. Ginny’s eyes snapped to his, amusement barely concealed.
“Your what?” Malfoy asked, brows lifting as he followed the look of panic between them.
Harry coughed into his glass. “Nothing. Muggle figure of speech.”
“Right,” Malfoy said slowly, clearly not believing him but not pressing either.
Harry forced a smile and drained the rest of his wine. He decided that he would in fact not be writing that thank you letter.
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Hours later, Harry threw himself down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. This was already going worse than he thought, and as much as he wished otherwise, he could tell the next week was going to be painful.
He was so truly happy for Ginny, but the constant reminder that people were in love all around him stung.
He’d been with Andrew for two years, and they’d been so happy. And then they hadn’t been. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, and they had no hard feelings between them, but it had just been time for it to end. They split amicably, and while Harry knew it was for the better, that didn’t mean his heart wasn’t still sore, or that he was looking forward to a week filled with signs that he was single and lonely.
They’d broken up about a year ago now, Harry was startled to realize. He’d gone on a few dates- mostly people Hermione had tried to set him up with- and he’d gone clubbing in Muggle London a few times, but nothing stuck. He’d gotten to a point where he was mostly okay with it.
The day had been… fine. But the edges of loneliness crept in, sharp and familiar.
A knock on the door made him sit up. Ginny slipped in, her hair pulled up. She had two glasses of wine in her hands, and he took the one she extended as the peace offering it was meant to be, making a mental note to drink this one slower than the others.
“I knew you’d hide in here,” she said, grinning, though her eyes softened when she saw his face.
“Not hiding,” Harry protested. “Just… digesting.”
“Right.” She sat beside him. “Listen, Pans and I talked about it, and there’s this really lovely girl we think you’d hit it off with. I know-” she held up a hand, cutting off Harry’s groan and inevitable protests. “I know. But I think you should give it a try, Harry. Astoria’s funny, and smart and sweet and beautiful, and more importantly she’s interested in you and I’m tired of seeing you mope around.”
“I’m not moping around.”
“You are. I know you’re lonely after Andrew. And, well, you know.”
Harry flinched at the words everyone had skirted around but not dared to voice aloud before. Ginny looked back up at him and her sympathetic expression deepened.
“Look, Harry, you can deny it all you want, but I know you were really hurt for a while. And Merlin knows you shouldn’t want my input on anything regarding your love life. But- you deserve more than work and takeaway and pretending you don’t care.”
She put her hands up in a placating gesture, and the earnest look she gave him made his stomach turn. “I just want you to at least consider it. I’ll leave you alone, but just- please. I’m worried about you.”
Harry tried not to think too hard about this little speech that she’d clearly prepared. Sure, he’d been a bit lonely, and maybe he worked a little too much, but he didn’t need to be set up with someone. It had literally never gone well for him in the past. The dates were always horribly stunted and awkward. People didn’t seem to know how to act around him, tiptoeing around the entire war that he’d been through like he was delicate. Harry felt stupid complaining about it, but he was sick of everyone acting like it had never happened, like he wasn’t a veritable child soldier. They all avoided the tough topics, not wanting to deal with the non-glamourous side of his life as the “Chosen One”. Even the people Hermione had set him up with had done it in the end. He couldn’t imagine someone that Pansy Parkinson had suggested would go any better.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he tried. Ginny didn’t look convinced. He heard footsteps in the hall, and for a moment hoped it was Pansy coming to rescue him from her fiancée.
“And why not?” she asked, tilting her head a bit and giving him a pointed look. “Give me one good reason, and I’ll back off.”
He searched for something she’d accept as an answer but kept coming up blank. He’d been here before with Ron, Hermione, Molly, and it always ended the same. Any answer he gave, she’d just tell him to give it a try, that a single date couldn’t hurt, and the thought was making his palms sweat. Why couldn’t anyone just trust him when he said he was fine?
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, feeling like a fish. A useless, uncomfortable fish who was almost certainly going to have to suffer through a blind date at his ex’s wedding.
He opened his mouth to give into his unfortunate fate, when he noticed the footsteps had stopped, and Malfoy was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place.
“Well, Ginevra, probably because he’s already taken. That does present a bit of an obstacle.”
Ginny’s head snapped up. “What?”
Harry blinked. “What?”
Malfoy stepped forward, slipping an arm easily around Harry’s waist. “We were going to tell you later, but since you’re so determined to play matchmaker…”
Harry made a strangled noise. “What the fuck?” He squeaked. His mind was on a delay, still running through his first sentence. He kept trying to process it but getting stuck, like his brain was rejecting what it heard.
Malfoy moved his thumb back and forth reassuringly on his hip, and Harry’s body froze. It seemed to shock his brain into motion as he tried not to focus on Draco Bloody Malfoy’s arm around his waist. Was Malfoy trying to help him? If they were together, Ginny would get off his back about finding a date, at least for the week. Why would he do that, though? Harry highly doubted Malfoy would do something this weird without expecting anything in return.
Come to think of it, Harry didn’t even think he’d known Malfoy was gay. Maybe he wasn’t and just knew Harry was bi. His breakup with Andrew had been all over the papers, and so had every bit of their relationship before that. Most people knew from that, but Malfoy probably didn’t give enough of a damn about his personal life to read his Daily Prophet sections.
So why was he offering? Was this a joke? They didn’t like each other. Beyond the occasional event or gala Malfoy had organized as part of his business, they never even saw each other. But Harry couldn’t see any sort of cruel plan here, and when he looked at Malfoy, there was nothing overtly malicious in his expression.
Ginny looked between the two of them, recovering from her shock, but humor quickly replaced it. She laughed out loud, a full belly cackle, eyes stopping on Malfoy’s arm around him.
“Right, and I’m the Queen of England. Good one, Malfoy.” She snorted, clearly extremely amused. Every ounce of Harry’s focus was on not breathing, not moving, not paying any attention to how close Malfoy was or the warm pressure of the arm on his lower back. He looked away from Ginny down at his feet, deliberately not reacting as Malfoy’s thumb continued tracing along his back.
A beat passed, silent, and Harry glanced back up. Ginny was no longer laughing, her face running from disbelief to horror to cautious intrigue.
“Harry? He’s bullshitting me, right? This is a joke?”
He had to make a decision. Running through what had been said, he realized he could still play along with this after his initial reaction, thanks to Malfoy’s quick thinking. But did he want to? For starters, he’d have to spend time with Malfoy all week, and Merlin knew it would already be enough of a challenge just to be civil, let alone convince Ginny they were together.
But he really, truly, could not go on one more blind date. Especially not to Ginny’s wedding. This was just a week, that was all, and then they’d go their separate ways and Harry could go back to his lonely but perfectly fine life.
He’d been quiet for too long again, and Malfoy pinched his side as Ginny looked at him expectantly. He looked up and met Ginny’s eyes, hoping to convey more surety than he felt.
“No,” Harry croaked out, not convincing in the slightest. The weight of Malfoy’s hand was warm and pleasant, and he tried not to think about that as he cleared his throat and tried again.
“No, he’s not lying,” he managed, hoping he sounded more convincing this time. Ginny’s eyes widened in surprise.
“I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me you two are dating?” she asked, with the last word coming out in something close to a screech. Not that he could blame her. That was the appropriate reaction, one he wished he’d been able to express. “For how long? How did this start? Is it serious?” She paused for a second, eyes growing wider. “Does Ron know?”
Harry’s face paled. He really had not thought through the fact that Ginny’s whole family would be at this wedding. Harry had just signed himself up for the weirdest week of his life.
He figured going pale and quiet wasn’t doing a good job of selling this, so he opened his mouth to respond, “Three months,” to her first question.
This was right about the exact same time Malfoy answered, “Six months.”
Malfoy’s hand tightened on his waist, and Harry really tried not to think about it because this was Draco Malfoy and he should be revolted. He was a bit conflicted as he tried to focus on feeling revolted and looking the opposite, and so, fuck it all, he eased back against Malfoy’s side.
“We reconnected 6 months ago and started spending time together, but didn’t start dating until 3 months ago,” Harry grinned, proud of his quick thinking. “And no, Ron absolutely does not know,” he grimaced, and a similar look appeared on Malfoy’s face in his periphery. “With Hermione and the baby, I didn’t want to add anything to his plate.”
Ginny nodded slowly, her gaze on his face assessing but a bit less skeptical. “And? Is it serious?” she asked again, looking at Malfoy this time. “Because you’re not taking pictures together at my wedding unless this is serious.”
Harry choked a laugh, but a pool of guilt coiled in his stomach at the reminder that this was Ginny’s wedding, and he was lying to her.
“Very serious,” replied Malfoy, pulling back and looking at Harry with what he was surprised to see could actually pass for affection. The guilt in Harry’s stomach was replaced with nerves. There was no way he could be as convincing as Malfoy, but he gave a small smile.
This response seemed to convince Ginny past her final bit of suspicion, and she nodded slowly, sighing.
“Okay. Fine. I guess I’ll leave you two alone then.” She paused. “I assume you’ll be sharing a room?” Harry opened his mouth to interject, not quite sure how to get out of that one, but Ginny continued. “And don't think we won't be talking about this, Harry. Merlin, Pansy’s gonna lose her mind. You’re gonna get an earful, Malfoy.” She shook her head, and Malfoy looked genuinely uncomfortable. “I’ll see you both in the morning. We’re hiking! 7 am start!”
With a final searching look and another shake of her head, she closed the door behind her. Harry sagged a bit in relief, and quickly stepped away from Malfoy, moving over to sit on the bed. He ran his hands through his hair and took off his glasses, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Malfoy waited a few seconds to make sure she was gone before turning toward him.
“You’re welcome, Potter,” Malfoy smirked, all traces of his act gone. Harry was relieved to see the familiar expression, though a tiny- minuscule, really- part of him was disappointed.
“Mind telling me what the fuck just happened?” Harry replied, his words holding no real bite. He wasn’t sure what he had gotten himself into, and was seriously questioning his brain function.
“I saved you. You looked like you were about to burst into tears.”
Harry’s cheeks reddened. “I didn’t need your help,” he mumbled, and it sounded childish even to him. “Why did you even offer? I mean, now she’s going to tell Pansy and it’s going to be a whole thing. We’re gonna have to spend the week together. And the wedding.” He groaned. “I’m gonna have to tell Ron,” he added miserably.
Malfoy shrugged. Harry didn’t think he’d ever see him shrug before. “It just seemed like you didn’t want to be single at your much more successful ex’s wedding. Besides, my mother worries. It’d probably make her feel better if she thought I was dating the bloody Saviour of the Wizarding World, no matter how annoying he may be.”
Harry snorted. He knew there was going to be an angle. Leave it to Malfoy to admit to using him and insult him in the same sentence. He was honest, at the very least.
Harry had to admit, the thought of being having a date, however fake, to Ginny’s wedding did sound useful. He loved Ginny, and always would, but things between them hadn’t ended great. He hadn’t exactly been the best partner after the war, but when Ginny ended things between them it became clear she’d known for a long while it needed to end. Harry had not known any such thing. Ginny had been spending a lot of time with Pansy and realized some key facts about herself, and it felt like Harry was the last to know. While she hadn’t exactly cheated, per se, she and Pansy had gotten together about a week after the breakup, while Harry was re-evaluating his entire life. To tell the truth, things had been stilted between them for a while now, and he hadn’t been excited about looking like the lonely, jilted ex while celebrating one of his best friends. Unfortunately, he supposed this was his best bet.
Harry sighed. Here goes nothing. “So how does this work then? I’m not doing this without some sort of ground rules. No one’s going to believe us unless we come up with a backstory, and even that’ll be a long shot.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “It’s not exactly astronomy, but if you insist. We can say we reconnected when you came to one of the events I threw around six months ago, since you decided to be oh-so-helpful with the timeline.” He thought for a second. “The Centaur Rights Gala was around that time- it should work. We’ll say you were tipsy, we were talking, you thought I was the hottest thing you’d ever seen, blah blah blah- wounds healed and bridges mended.” Despite himself, Harry snorted. Malfoy continued. “We kept bumping into each other at charity events because you were head over heels and stalked me, obviously- that part wouldn't even be a stretch. We started seeing each other seriously three months ago and now, of course, we’re helplessly in love.”
Malfoy gave a sardonic smile at this last line, and Harry swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. They were really doing this.
“I suppose that works as well as anything,” said Harry. “But the story’s one thing. Getting anyone to believe it when they see us is entirely different.”
“I’m not really worried about that part,” said Malfoy, his wry smile returning. “We just have to make it last until the wedding is over. Then we can go back home and go back to never speaking to each other.” There was a bit of bitterness in his voice. Clearly, he was regretting ever agreeing to this.
What other rules did they need to cover? Ginny had seen him with Andrew, and in his own relationship with her, so she knew Harry wasn’t big on PDA.
“No touching unless necessary.” Harry said quickly. “And you’re not sleeping in here tonight. You can put your stuff in here if you need to, but we are not sharing a bed.”
“Tragic," Malfoy deadpanned.
“We stick to the story, try to avoid any other questions, and we get through this week.”
Malfoy nodded. “No need to freak out, Potter. You’re in luck. I’m an excellent liar.”
Harry gave him a look. “You’re lucky I’m desperate.”
Malfoy’s mouth twitched. “We’ll make it convincing. After all, it’s just one week.”
“One week,” Harry echoed, wondering how on earth he’d let this happen.
Malfoy’s grin sharpened. “Try to keep up.”
And with that, he swept out, leaving Harry staring after him.