WILD FLOWERS ✿ d.malfoy

51.

a/n: this is a very long part :)

Sometime later, when the youngers are sound asleep, the lights have dimmed and the alcohol is brought out, I find myself sat on a fluffy armchair. Tipping the glass back, I drown the entirety of the butter beer in one gulp and stash the glass away in what was a huge pile of used cutlery but is now empty. The house elves sure do know their work. With a sigh, I sit myself down on the armchair again, and look over at the dance floor. Tracy and Caelum flow gracefully in each other's arms, having forgotten everything besides each other's faces. I hope they make it. I really do. Carina and Adira have long since vanished off the face of Earth and I, in my right mind, have no intention of interrupting their business.

Laughter echoes through the atrium, the waters outside the window seem murkier – well, it looks black, pitch black, but now and again, there seems to be light floating against the glass, as if the merpeople are trying to get a glimpse of the festivities. I spot some knowing faces of the Quidditch team, half of them drunk and dancing, moving their bodies in ways i didn't know possible and spewing out laughter like a tipped over cauldron. A small smile creeps over my lips watching Warrington spill champagne on Pucey's dress shirt. Oh, how much it must have cost him.

"Not enjoying the party?" His hair glistens silver in the torch light, slightly falling into his forehead. Malfoy is pale to begin with, but he somehow manages to look even more so in the dim light, sticking out like the one firefly at night. I sit up a little straighter instinctively. He takes the armchair beside mine, his hands balancing a plate of cheesecake and a glass of decidedly full prosecco.

"I prefer to spectate," I nod towards the dance floor which is no better than a mosh pit with the myriads of bodies clashing over each other in a state of drunken madness.

"Or you just don't know how to dance," he raises an eyebrow mockingly, sipping his prosecco but never breaking eye contact. I poke my tongue against my cheek. He's right, I don't know how to dance, but I'm not about to dismiss my pride and agree with him.

"Maybe I just don't want to get my dress torn or stepped on," I say, adjusting the smooth fabric so I covers my legs and provides some slight resemblance of warmth.

He just snorts and places the emptied glass onto the table glass table in front of us.

"So, I take that you know how to dance," I quiz, my eyebrows raised as I lean forward, resting my elbow on the arm and my chin on my palm.

He looks smug, "I do, actually."

"Well, I suppose being a rich kid does have its favours," I shrug nonchalantly, hiding my astonishment and the little desire to see him dance, or maybe dance with him – "I'm afraid not everyone one of us was granted the same privilege."

His smirk widens as his eyes twinkle, amused. "So, you're admitting that you can't dance." I look at the dance floor, and glare at nothing and everything. He lets out a laugh, it hangs in the air between us and I realise I've never actually heard him laugh before. Not like this. And I almost don't admit to myself that it's a beautiful sound – okay what was in the butter beer. I can't think straight.

He nudges the cheesecake towards me, and tips his head towards it, telling me to eat it. I slit my eyes, sceptical.

"Have you poisoned it?" I poke it with the spoon, half expecting it to explode in my face.

Laughter dances in his eyes as he looks me over, like he's seen me for the first time. "No. Why would I?"

"I don't know, Malfoy. Why would you do anything if there wasn't something in it for you?" I sit back, exasperated, and let out a huff. The cheesecake is the world's beauty if there ever was one.