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A Series of Malfoy Events	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11220 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Three—Who Refuses Draco Malfoy
            Harry looked at the platinum ring, and then he gave a long, delicate sigh and reached out, placing his hand on top of Malfoy’s, over the box. He held his eyes and asked gently, “Did you forget that I asked you for silver, instead of platinum?”
            For an instant, he saw it, deep in Malfoy’s eyes. The flare, the unexpected shimmer, the utter shock that someone would have challenged him on the game he was playing.
            Then he tilted his head back and met Harry’s eyes with an easy little curl of his lip. He murmured, “You know my objections to silver.”
            “Yes, but you know mine to platinum, and they’re deeper.” Harry shook his head, keeping the movements slow and dreamy. It was oddly easy to do, as long as he was in Malfoy’s low, heated gaze. He patted Malfoy’s fingers. “Yours have to do with color. Mine have to do with that time I was almost kidnapped and killed.”
            This time, he saw it, before Malfoy caught it: the slightest sign of a sag to his jaw. He didn’t let it fall open, but the chance had been there, and Harry knew it. Malfoy wasn’t immediately able to produce a retort.
            “Time you were kidnapped and killed?” piped up one of the watching crowd, sounding interested and awed.
            I almost forgot they were there, Harry thought in wonder. Isn’t that strange, when this whole performance is for their benefit?
            He turned to the person who had asked—a Crocodile, from the deep green robes and grinning emblem on her beast—with a small nod. “Yes. It was traumatic.” He paused, aware that he was the center of fascinated, staring eyes, and yet not resenting it the way he usually did. Clearly, what he should have done in response to Rita Skeeter’s lies was to make up his own. “How many of you have heard of the Masked Avenger?”
            Hundreds of heads shook simultaneously. Of course they did, because Harry had pulled the Masked Avenger out of whatever dimension most of the stories about his love life came from.
            “It was very traumatic.” Harry lowered his voice a little, but cast a Sonorus at the same time, so his voice could reach the far corners of the hall the Crocodiles had rented. There were other Quidditch players glaring at him, probably for stealing their attention or thunder or something, but Harry ignored them. They could benefit at the next party. “The Masked Avenger was a horrible masked wizard who attacked Light wizards who had defeated his kind and swore to make them pay. They say he was Voldemort’s bastard son with a lamia, and that’s why he had to hide his face.”
            A ripple of awe ran around the room. Of course there were people who didn’t believe it. Unless he was a lot stupider than Harry had thought he was, one of them was standing at his elbow right now, still offering him the platinum ring.
            Harry nodded and looked from face to face, making sure that his own was as sober as possible. “He kidnapped me when I was walking down Diagon Alley on my way to the Apparition point.”
            “What were you doing there that day?” asked someone who probably hoped to disprove the lie or something.
            “Secret Ministry business,” said Harry promptly. “Anyway, he kidnapped me and bound me with platinum chains.” He glanced at the ring and gave a shudder that he made sure was as delicate as the sigh he had used to refuse Malfoy’s first offer of the ring. “It was terrible. Ever since that day, I’ve loathed platinum.”
            There was more silence, for about half a second. Then someone demanded, “But what happened then? How did you escape him?”
            “I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I really wish I could tell you. But it’s not only secret Ministry business and an Unspeakable assassin would be dispatched to murder me if I ever told you, it’s also related to the way that I first began dating Draco Malfoy.” He turned to Malfoy with melting eyes. “I know he wanted to propose in public, but I’m not sure he wants me to tell that story in public.”
            Malfoy stood there with his extended hand still clasping the platinum ring, and his other arm folded across his chest. Harry thought he would see the spark of challenge in his eyes, and Malfoy would make him tell the “story.”
            But there was something else there instead, a light so bright that Harry blinked. It wasn’t glee, although it had part of that in it. It wasn’t anger, not at all. It was—
            It sort of looked like admiration, although if it was, Harry wasn’t certain why Malfoy was still alive. Surely he would have killed himself if he’d ever realized he was feeling admiration for Harry Potter of all people.
            Right on cue, Malfoy broke their entranced stare and swept a bow. “Right on all counts, and I should not have presumed to make the ring platinum,” he said, drawing his wand. Harry reflexively tensed, but most people were watching Malfoy now, and he doubted they had noticed. “Will this do?”
            He touched his wand to the ring and Transfigured it. Nonverbally, which made Harry stare for whole other reasons. Transfiguration was among the branches of magic that very few people could make work without words. Usually, the ones who could were also the ones who had talent to become Animagi.
            The ring shimmered and seemed to twist, and when Harry could see it again, it was a glinting band of woven stone. Diamonds, Harry realized at a glance. Like the knob on the door of Malfoy’s bathroom. Diamonds were either solely woven together or they covered the metal beneath so thickly that there was no chance of seeing what it really was.
            Then Malfoy knelt.
            He did it gracefully, regally, as he did everything else, as though Harry was kneeling himself and he was trying not to consciously tower over him. Then he held up the box, his eyes steady and bright, and waited.
            Harry felt the moment swaying dizzily around him. This was the part where things could go horribly wrong, and probably would, if he made a single move out of place.
            Could he even make a single move in place? he wondered for a second. It seemed that Malfoy came up with a counter to everything, a way to top every outrageous move Harry tried.
            Then Harry looked into Malfoy’s eyes, still unreadable, and changed his mind. No, Malfoy was not going to counter everything Harry did. If he came up with something this over-the-top, then Harry was only going to have to choose something else, force Malfoy to race him to keep up. The way he had in Quidditch.
            And if Malfoy got hurt because of it, maybe he would back the hell off and realize that not getting hurt in the first place should be enough for any person.
            Even if he’s an octopus.
            Harry bent down very slowly, at the waist, and let his lips rest for a second on Malfoy’s forehead. It felt soft and cool in a way that made Harry want to snort. Of course Malfoy probably coated it with ground dragon eggshells or something else hideously expensive advertised in the best shops in Diagon Alley.
            “You had my heart the first time you knelt for me,” he said, and let his voice get all soft and intimate. Then he picked up the diamond ring and considered it soberly, as if he was a jewelry appraiser. He heard people in the room holding their breaths.
            Holding their breaths. Harry would have felt sorry for himself if he had thought Malfoy could beat him, but instead, he just felt sorry for people whose whole existences revolved around other people’s actions, to the point that they would react this way based on whether someone else accepted a marriage proposal.
            Then Harry nodded and slid the ring onto his fourth finger. The rest of the room exploded in cheering so loud Harry could feel it booming through the walls and floor like Muggle music. He kept his head bowed, peeking out from under his eyelashes at Malfoy as he rose to his feet.
            He was fairly sure that most of the fans wouldn’t notice that Harry had never actually said yes.
            Malfoy knew it. He put out one arm, and Harry rested his hand gracefully on it. Malfoy opened his mouth. He might be making another announcement about his proposal, or possibly he would say something about food or dancing or when the wedding would be. The point wasn’t what he would say, but what Harry could prevent him from saying.
            Harry turned to the Crocodiles instead, held out his hands in a way that made the ring sparkle madly, and announced, “In honor of our wedding party, my fiancé would like to pay for everyone’s drinks tonight!”
            Malfoy shuffled around to stare at him. Now Harry felt sorry for him, because instead of an octopus or a giraffe, he just looked like a goldfish. A goldfish that had seen an enormous paw scoop all the rest of the goldfish out of the bowl and knew what was coming for him next.
            Of course, anything Malfoy might have said was drowned by the even louder explosion of cheering. Harry fluttered his eyelids at Malfoy and added, “That’s what you said before we left home, dear. I didn’t mean to ruin your surprise. I didn’t, did I?” He fluttered his eyelids some more.
            This is harder than it looks. I wonder how hard some of those women who did it for me practiced?
            A sudden memory jolted into Harry’s head, of a time he had gone into Flourish and Blotts last year and run into a former Hogwarts student who had been a Hufflepuff three years below him. Harry had politely pretended to remember him, but had been puzzled when the man kept looking at him and blinking hard, instead of clapping him on the back or asking for his autograph or wanting to reminisce about school.
            He was flirting with me? He was, wasn’t he?
            That was a weird thing to think about, that Harry could have missed flirtation from a bloke up until now.
            He blamed being caught up in the memory for letting Malfoy get the upper hand again. Malfoy said, “Of course not, Harry. I got to make the announcement of our marriage, and that’s the far more important thing to me.” He caught Harry’s hand again and drew him near, and whispered, “And now you’ll oblige me by waltzing with me.”
            About to refuse, Harry had a far better idea. He widened his eyes and looked up at Malfoy. “Okay,” he sighed.
            Malfoy would have paused, maybe, but he seemed to be driven by a desire not to be a goldfish again. He drew Harry towards the center of the hall, beneath the illusory crocodile, where a dance floor had appeared. Or maybe it had been there before, only crowded. Harry had to admit he hadn’t had time to notice much before Malfoy proposed.
            Bloody proposed.
            Harry felt as if he was riding a cresting wave, and he couldn’t go down, or he would drown. But it was exhilarating. The pulse pounded all through his veins, and when Malfoy put his hand over Harry’s wrist as he drew him into a waltzing posture, there was no way he could miss it. Harry watched to see what would happen.
            A complacent look settled on Malfoy, and Harry didn’t even have to wonder what he was thinking. He whispered, “It’s all right, Harry. Many people find their heartbeats going erratic around me.”
            Have you considered whether it’s because they’re afraid of your ego? Harry thought, but he had to stick to the plan, and not quips that would break it, entertaining as they would be. Besides, Malfoy didn’t deserve the benefits of Harry’s wit.
            Instead, Harry stuck to the original plan and waited for the first complicated dance step to open up in the waltz. Then he tripped over Malfoy’s feet.
            Malfoy stumbled and gave him an incredulous glare. Harry gaped up at him and gasped, loudly enough to be heard by people still obsessed with thoughts of diamond rings, “I’m sorry, Dragon. Only you know I’m no good at dancing when I’m looking into your eyes!”
            Malfoy stood there in outrage, trying to decide what to do something about first, Harry thought, the nickname or the pretense. Harry acted like he wanted to keep dancing, and tripped several more times as Malfoy remained motionless.
            “Dragon, come on!” Harry said, and tugged at Malfoy’s hands, whining, when he stood there. “This is my favorite part!”
            Several of the people watching gasped or sighed or said something about how romantic it was. Come to think of it, Harry thought as he watched Malfoy with inner serenity that not even his focus during a case could match, it must be more than a few, or Harry wouldn’t be able to hear them that well.
            Then Malfoy smiled.
            It was the same dazzling smile Harry had seen in his bedroom, and it might have worked to charm him if he was capable of being charmed by men. As it was, it gave him an excellent excuse to lean in and rest his forehead on Malfoy’s shoulder as if he was about to faint from the sheer loveliness.
            Malfoy raised Harry’s head and stared deeply into his eyes. Without appearing to move his lips, he murmured, “You are embarrassing me.”
            “How?” Harry let his eyes widen. He didn’t know how good he was at getting them to fill with hurt, because it wasn’t an expression he practiced all that often, but he thought it was pretty good from the way Malfoy flinched. “I didn’t know that! I never wanted to do that!” He dropped Malfoy’s hands and wailed loudly enough to fill most of the hall, “You should have told me, Dragon!”
            There was silence now, or as much silence as there could be with people whispering and the waltz limping to a halt around them. For Harry, the most important silence was that Malfoy stood there without an idea of what to say.
            Sorry that you tried to date someone who’s too much for you, aren’t you? Harry didn’t fold his arms and wink at Malfoy, because that would have ruined the game completely, but he really, really wanted to.
            Malfoy moved a step closer and put his finger beneath Harry’s chin. He said, with a tender tone that would fool the people listening because none of them were close enough to hear the words, “I despise that nickname.”
            “You didn’t tell me that.” Harry did his best to pout, and then nearly ruined it all by laughing when Malfoy recoiled a bit from him. It wasn’t much, but Harry was close enough to see it, and that was the point. “You only implied it. You know I need things spelled out for me, Dragon—oops.” This time, he tried for a cute look when he peered up at Malfoy. Some people thought he was cute, just like some people thought he was in a relationship with Draco Malfoy.
            Malfoy’s eyes were shining with that unreadable light again. “Spelled out?” he whispered. “I can do that.”
            And he bent down, and kissed Harry.
            Harry cocked his ears for a sound of the gasps and the hisses that probably surrounded them as he hesitantly kissed Malfoy in return. He had to make it look real, he thought. He felt a little defensive as Malfoy moved his lips slowly back and forth, and slightly bored, and mostly curious. He hadn’t thought he would ever kiss a man, unless he got drunk and someone dared him. And then it would probably be Ron.
            This was—well, it made his lips feel sensitive.
            But it was still slightly boring.
            Malfoy finally moved backwards and gave him a triumphant look. The Crocodiles all around them were sighing. A few Quidditch players glared. Harry licked his lips and cocked his head towards them.
            “Former dates of yours?” he asked in one of those voices like the one Malfoy had used, where the tone was enough for people, and they didn’t need to hear the words.
            Malfoy’s eyes looked metallic now. Harry decided that he looked like one of those cheap statuettes that some people sold in Diagon Alley from temporary stands. They’d been Transfigured from cheap materials, and so had Malfoy’s attitude. “Yes.”
            “How many of them did you ask to marry you?” Harry asked, with real curiosity. He didn’t pay attention to the papers these days out of self-defense; only the Quidditch section remained refreshingly free of gossip about him.
            “None.”
            “Wow,” said Harry dryly, as Malfoy began to steer him towards the side of the dance floor. “I feel special.”
            Malfoy caught his arm and spun Harry towards him. Harry was already pulling out his wand as he moved, instincts drilled into him through Auror training waking up. But Malfoy hadn’t tried to hurt Harry. He only stood there and stared at him intently, from head to foot.
            “You should,” Malfoy whispered. “Because you are.”
            A few people were staring at them, or more specifically, at Harry’s wand. Harry needed to do something with it, so he conjured a flower and handed it to Malfoy. Malfoy accepted it gracefully up until he noticed what it was, and then he looked at Harry like a goldfish again.
            A snapdragon.
            Harry winked at him and said, “You say the nicest things, Drago—oops, I mean Draco. Now, shall we go eat?” He sauntered towards the dinner table, letting the lights flash on his diamond ring and answering questions with quips and snappy replies that multiplied and danced lightly on his tongue.
            He felt a little sorry for Malfoy. He had a common disease; he would probably be horrified to know how common. Harry had never found a compact name for it that he liked, so he called it what it was: “Harry-Potter-Shall-Collapse-At-My-Feet-Because-I-Said-A-Few-Sweet-Things-To-Him-Itis.”
            Poor Malfoy. He might think he has the advantage because he proposed to me and it’s the first time I’ve been courted by a man.
            But Harry had been courted and chased by dozens of people, maybe hundreds, if he could count the ones who had sent him owls but never shown up in person. It would take him a long, long time to be impressed.
            And there was nothing like the fizz of adrenaline in Harry’s blood, not to mention his absolute disinclination to surrender to Malfoy’s advances, to make the chase a long one.
*
moodysavage: Well, Harry pretended to accept without accepting, as you saw here. But Harry wants to continue this as long as he can, because he’s having fun.
And the codes are jealous of your awesomeness, clearly.
starr: Harry thinks that what he did worked, though!
SP777: Well, maybe for real. You can never be sure with this Draco.
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A Series of Malfoy Events