Bound To You (Drarry)

Bound To You

Harry stared at the crisp white card on the table. He had the odd desire to reach out and run his fingers along the embossed, gold print, but he refused out of spite.

"Why is there an invitation to Malfoy Manor sitting on my coffee table?" he asked the room at large.

The room did not answer. After several long seconds of tense silence, he fire-called Hermione.

"Why is there an-"

"You have eyes, don't you?"

Harry glared at her. The effect was somewhat diminished by the crackling flames licking across his face. She gazed passively down at him. Harry could see a familiar white card sitting on the coffee table beside her.

"Yes, I have eyes, but-"

"You can still read?"

"Hermione!" Harry protested, coughing as the logs shifted and a large cloud of smoke hit him in the face. "Of course I can read the bloody invitation - you're missing the point!"

"No, Harry, you're missing the point." She narrowed her eyes at him. He noticed, too late, that her arms were folded. "Draco has invited you to his twenty-first birthday party, and you're going to attend."

"But, Hermione." Harry was appalled to detect a note of whinging in his voice, but he pressed on, nonetheless.

Hermione's voice rose. "If you snub him, Harry James Potter, then the entire wizarding world will begin to snub him, and that's a cruel thing to do to someone who is genuinely trying to improve, just because you don't want to go to a party! You worked with him recently and you managed not to kill each other; surely one night isn't too much to ask."

Harry's mouth opened and shut like a fish, but he knew she was right. He had no real reason not to attend Malfoy's party, and if he didn't go, then his absence would be noted. Merlin help him, he had reached the age where he had to care when his absence was noted. When had that happened? He had thought that by avoiding the Ministry office and the desk job and everything else that had been laid out in a neat little path for him, he might also have avoided the politics. Sadly, it would seem that Harry Potter could not avoid politics, no matter how hard he tried to disappear.

He mumbled his acquiescence to Hermione and withdrew from the fire. It was only when he had picked up the invitation, turning it over in his hand and fighting the urge to tear it into pieces, that it occurred to him that he wasn't the only one who was unable to escape the slimy obligations of the political world. He smirked, feeling light again for the first time since he had laid eyes on the damn card; Draco Malfoy, without a doubt, did not want him there either.

~~~

The chatter of animated party guests rose above the ballroom to where Harry was standing - or, more accurately, hiding - on the mezzanine. Ron and Hermione were somewhere below him, chatting with Professor McGonagall, and he had taken the first opportunity he could to leave them there. Despite the occasion, the party was undoubtedly a success, if for no other reason than the excellent food and strategically-placed charity banners that reminded guests who the Malfoy family aligned themselves with these days.

Harry rolled his eyes as a silver platter bedecked with Muggle pastries and held aloft by a fully-clothed house elf went hurrying past, toward the stairs, and marvelled anew at how quickly people forget.

The sound of raised voices caught his attention, and he stepped back into the shadow of the doorway behind him, thankful that he had been hovering at the very end of the balcony instead of in the middle near the stairs. Immediately, he realised that he could hear the voices clearer in this room, and he turned around to see that he was in some kind of parlour with French doors that were partially open. The two figures arguing on the other side of the doors had their backs to him, and he was able to quickly walk over and duck into the corner, next to the glass, before they noticed anyone else was there.