𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 2008

The Opposite of War

Title: The Opposite of War
Team: Fanon
Author: dacro
Prompt: The Empress
Wordcount: 8070
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual situations in a public place, swearing, violence
Summary: The opposite of war isn't peace; it's creation.

"Anything interesting?"

Harry didn’t know how it had become a Saturday ritual, but somehow it had. Hermione would show up around noon with food and news about her week, pester him about never leaving the house, and open his mail for him.

"You have an invitation from Draco Malfoy."

Harry nodded. It had arrived on Monday and he’d promptly shoved it to the bottom of the pile. "Yeah. Charity auction, right?"

Hermione lifted one leg to half-sit on the mahogany monster of a desk that Harry had bought on a whim to make the study look more ‘mature’.

She flipped the card open and took a minute to study the expensive-looking cream paper before reading aloud. "All funds collected will be used for the protection and early education of Muggle-born children and their families, as outlined by the mandate of the Small Futures organisation."

Harry stole the card and tossed it back onto the paper-littered desk. "As if Malfoy needs money."

She gave him a look that said ‘Honestly!’ without a sound. "He’s been doing great work for years. These children, Harry—you wouldn’t believe how well prepared they are for Hogwarts now. The difference in early education between Muggle-born children and the ones raised by wizarding parents is almost indistinguishable now."

Harry raised his eyebrows at the odd praise. "You heading up his fan club?"

"It just nice to see someone who’s come so far. Remember how hideous he used to be? That person is gone, Harry. And more than that, he was willing to risk what was left of his reputation and nearly all of the Malfoy fortune to see that the next generation wouldn’t follow his mistakes."

"Here, you go," he said, plucking the card from the desk and flicking it at her. "Maybe you can get him to autograph the invitation."

She fanned herself with it, and set it down again. "You know, it says you can bring a guest," she sing-songed, moving behind him to rub his shoulders.

The massage felt wonderful, but Harry knew it had hidden motives. "Hermione…"

"You haven’t been anywhere in weeks," she said over his shoulder. "Witch Weekly speculates that you’re either dead, or on a secret romantic honeymoon in New Zealand."

"Wonderful." Harry had heard it all before—the rumours, the gossip, the predictions about everything he did and the not-so-discrete grumbling from the ‘public’ at whatever he didn’t do. He loved Hermione, but her pushing only added to the irritation. He took a breath, brushed her hands away, and stood to face her. "So what I need is a room full of fake people with fake smiles expecting me to outbid everyone? I’ll pass, thanks."

He should have made his own prediction about the glare and the head-tilt. She always did both before telling Harry he was an idiot in one way or another.

"Well, don’t bite my head off, Harry. I just thought it might be fun to get dressed up, have a nice dinner, support a good cause and see a few people we haven’t seen in a while. And you know if Ron comes back with approval from the Invention Commission, it's possible I'll never go on a date again!"