He's known since the beginning that whatever this is -- was -- between him and Malfoy was just purely physical. Malfoy had made that abundantly clear. Harry, however, had fallen far too fast and too deep. It didn't make much sense back then and it s...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Harry
(Just imagine him with specs on and, of course, THE scar.)
~oOo~
Harry fidgets in his formal dress robes as he stands beside his date for the evening, Ginny Weasley. They are at another Ministry do and, like always, he's yet again the guest of honor and is, of course, expected to make another bloody speech.
"Stop that." Ginny scolds, swatting his hand away from his white bowtie. "You're making a mess of it."
Harry grunts, shoulders slumping in defeat as he eyes the massive double doors of the ballroom with a grimace. Six years since the War ended and he's still not used to this. He doubts he'll ever get used to it. Its ironic how he's more comfortable facing down a half dozen dark wizards solo than standing in front of sycophantic politicians and the supercilious elite of Wizarding Britain as he gives another sodding speech about unity and equality, while everyone pretends to wholeheartedly agree with him. They're a bunch of fucking hyprocrites; the whole lot of them. Even Harry has begun to feel like a right fraud.
"Where the hell are they?" Ginny grumbles, looking around for any sign of Ron and Hermione. They've agreed to meet outside so that Hermione could give Harry another quick run through of his speech. He's repeated the bloody thing to himself so much that he could recite it in his sleep. But Hermione, ever the perfectionist, would not be deterred once she's set her mind to something.
Harry chews the inside of his cheek; his hand shoved inside his trouser pocket, fiddling with the piece of parchment that contains a different version of the same word vomit he's repeated like a fucking parrot in every single speech he's ever given since the War ended. He wonders now just how many iterations of the same bullshit Hermione could crank out before the Wizarding public cottons on to the fact that Harry's just been repeating the same inane drivel. He scoffs to himself then, realising that the public probably didn't give a rat's arse about what he says so long as it is he, Harry sodding Potter, saying it.
"Finally!" Ginny whisper-yells.
Harry looks up and instantly spots Ron's head of bright red hair as he towers over the throng of guests. He could barely see Hermione amidst the milling crowd. Despite how tense he is, Harry sags in instinctive relief at the sight of his best mate. There is a great number of people already making their way into the ballroom, but Ginny has them ensconced in a dim alcove that affords Harry some semblance of privacy, hiding him from the almost rabid attentions of the other attendees.
