Drarry One Shots

25

'25' is a short story set seven years after the Battle of Hogwarts on the night of Draco's twenty-fifth birthday party at Malfoy Manor. The Malfoys have carefully rebuilt their lives and realigned their loyalties. Lucius is supposed to be announcing Draco's engagement to Astoria Greengrass but the women in Draco's life seem to know about his long-lasting infatuation for the Chosen One and are plotting to bring them together. Harry is proving to be exceptionally allusive despite an invite to the party.

Very mild swearing! Mostly fluff with sexual tension, some implied sexual content but no smut!

I hope you enjoy xx

*****

'Do you think he'll come?' Draco fretted with his black satin cravat again and his mother slapped his hand away.

'Leave it alone! I'm sure he will, if he has any sense about him.'

They were stood on his bedroom's balcony overlooking the manor's driveway. The early June weather was glorious; not too hot to be uncomfortable but perfect for the guests to spill out of the ballroom and onto the veranda. It couldn't have been planned any better. The gentle sounds of the String Quartet that was setting up in the ballroom drifted into the garden through the open doors.

'He never answered though...'

'Draco, darling, we've been over this a hundred times.' She smoothed her hands over the bodice of the forest-green ballgown she was wearing, the patterns of crystals sewn around the Queen Anne neckline twinkled. She sighed, 'we have more than enough catering to cope if the famous Harry Potter turns up unannounced. Your father has, as usual, gone completely overboard.'

It was true, his father had gone over-the-top excessively. Draco had just wanted a few friends over but Lucius had insisted on holding a formal Ball and that family friends and most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight should be invited too, that is, those whose names weren't tarnished by the war. Lucius had very carefully realigned himself after the Battle of Hogwarts and the demise of Voldemort, and he'd ingratiated himself with the more respectable pureblood names, from Lady Agatha Parkinson to the Abbotts, from the Finch-Fletchleys to even the Weasleys.

'Ron and Mione haven't heard from him for months.'

'It's Hermione, dear, please don't be so common as to shorten people's names tonight. I'm sure Mr Potter is fine, darling, he's probably on his way back from Romania or somewhere as we speak. He's probably just dramatically captured Fenrir, or some such other heroic deed that'll be all over the front page of The Prophet tomorrow...' There was a hint of distaste in her voice.

'Merlin, is that what he's been doing? How do you know these things, mother? Do you think he's okay? I hope Fenrir...'

Narcissa went to the dressing table, her layered-skirts swishing as she moved, and picked up a crystal tumbler with a finger-height of Firewhiskey and some ice in it. She handed it to him, 'just to calm the nerves now, not too much, we can't have you getting drunk tonight.'

'Mother!'

'...I have absolutely no idea where Harry has been or what he's been up to or how he is. It was just supposition. And stop mussing with your hair or you'll have to do it again.'

Draco's hair was somewhat longer now and he'd smoothed it back into a low ponytail, tied with a simple black ribbon at the nape of his neck. He no longer lathered it in Sleekeasy, though he still used a touch of it occasionally, remaining loyal to the brand out of principle once he'd learnt that Harry's grandfather had invented the potion. He knew he was only hanging on to every possible tenuous connection since they'd parted ways after school.