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Ministry Sponsors First Ever Talent Show Extravaganza!
Do you possess a secret non-magical talent? Does your blood sing for a day in the spotlight? The Ministry of Magic proudly invites witches and wizards from every department to showcase their extraordinary abilities! Tickets to the public are available now, five galleons a seat that will directly contribute to adding a new wing to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. No more than two wixin per act. To schedule your talent, please owl Percy Weasley before Friday, September 18th. Performances will wow on October 31 in the Ministry Atrium at 7:00 in the evening. Don’t miss out, owl and reserve your tickets now!
Draco scoffs, folding the memo that had just landed on his desk and setting it aside. He possesses many non-magical talents, none that he feels the need to display in front of every single one of his colleagues. The very idea makes his stomach roil with…distaste. He can only imagine the sort of inane, ridiculous-
SLAM!
He jumps, hot coffee slopping over the side of his cup as his office door bangs against the back wall. Hissing, he vanishes the mess, already knowing exactly who has entered his office.
“Theo.”
“Oh. My. Sweet. Circe! Draco, did you see? A muggle talent show?!” His best friend is practically vibrating with excitement, and Draco wonders why he didn’t see this coming. “I have been waiting for something like this for the entirety of my life! A chance to show the world…” Theo’s words trail away as he contemplates just what it is he wants to display to an atrium full of judgey Ministry drones. “All my many er- I mean there are non-magical things I am very good at.”
“Theo. You can't very well suck Potter’s cock on the stage.” Draco smirks, as always quite proud of his quick wit, he is the master of ‘the burn’ as Potter has so often put it.
I am hilarious.
Theo splutters, feigning offense with his hand over his heart.
“I have more to offer the world than my expert oral skills. In fact, I-” Theo stops speaking, obviously struck by some act of genius that Draco wants no part in.
A polite knock sounds behind Theo, and they both turn as Harry strides into Draco’s office, perching his chosen ass onto the corner of his desk. “Thought you might be in here.” Harry looks at Theo with the kind of sickly-sweet sappy fondness that Draco tolerates only because it means that his best mate is well-loved for the first time in his life. Potter and Theo’s relationship had shocked everyone but Draco, who had had to listen to Theo wax poetic about the git for all of eighth year. Theo slinks forward, situating himself between Potter’s spread thighs and running his fingers through his thick black bird’s nest hair. “Well, I had to tell Drakey here the good news.”
Draco groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose with perhaps excessive exasperation. But they bloody live together, are these displays really necessary!? “Is there a reason the two of you are in my office?”
Harry straightens, doing a very poor job to hide just how affected he is by Theo’s wandering hands. For Merlin’s sake, the Auror uniform does nothing to hide an erection.
Not that Draco has firsthand experience in this matter. Certainly not.
Harry coughs, cheeks flaring pink. “I was- yeah actually. I was just- er- you play the piano right?”
The question knocks him off balance, not that he will let Potter ever see him less than cool and composed. A single pale brow arches, as he takes a long, slow sip of his morning caffeine. It will be a three cup sort of day.
“I do.”
Harry tucks his hands into his trouser pockets, his attempt at nonchalance completely ruined by the wicked delight on Theo’s face. “Harry, baby, are you meddling?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, love.” Harry smacks a kiss against Theo’s cheek, whistling jauntily as he steps back out of Draco’s office and into the bullpen. “I’ll see you two for after work drinks, yeah? Leaky at seven.”
Theo’s eyes trail him as he goes and Draco reaches out, flicking him between the eyes.
“Oi!”
“I have work to do, Theo. So if you are done ogling your fiancé and wasting my time over talent show drivel, I really should get to it.”
“Alright, alright. You don’t have to tell me twice.” Theo heads for the door, before turning one more time. “You will come to drinks though, won’t you?”
“I’ll think about it.” Draco does attend, on occasion. It really depends completely on whether or not-
“Yes, Granger is going to be there.” Theo’s face is open, hopeful, and Draco is reminded just how far his Puff-at-heart best friend has come. How long he had had to hide his gentle nature, had to disguise his yearning for love and touch with Slytherin cunning, but it’s still there, clear as day in his challenging stare.
Well, that changes things.
He swallows thickly, picking up his quill and beginning on his reports. “I’ll be there.”
—--------
Draco’s newfound admiration for the Golden Girl was completely rational. She was brilliant and hard-working, and Draco respected intelligence and drive because they were respectable things to be. Obviously. And if he only attended Friday night drinks at the Leaky on the nights where he knew the Head of The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was attending, well then that was pure coincidence.
Draco arrives fifteen minutes late, as he nearly always does. The Leaky Cauldron is already packed with the Friday usuals. Harry and Theo are tucked into a corner booth, surrounded by at least three Weasleys, Blaise, Oliver Wood, Longbottom and Chang. Draco ignores the prickle of discontent he feels at the lack of voluminous curls. Only because Granger is an expert conversationalist, and the only of this crew that will understand his recent success. The case had centered completely on a specific rune that he’d had to translate from a specific dialect of Mermish. Granger is the only one that could appreciate his triumph for what it is.
A presence at his side has his muscles loosening, a relaxed smirk curling his mouth. He can smell her before he sees her, a blend of lilac and ink that has him turning to greet the smiling witch.
It’s completely normal to recognize someone by scent alone, of course. And Malfoys have very talented noses (unmatched palates, too).
“Granger.”
“Oh, hullo, Malfoy! Sorry, I was running a bit late. Looks a bit crowded over there.” She bites softly on her lower lip, extending onto her tippy toes to look for an open chair. Draco’s own toes absolutely do not curl in his dragonhides as he contemplates the indentation left by sharp incisors. Theo’s eyes light up as he spots them and begins waving frantically to two chairs that definitely weren’t there the first time Draco looked.
“Saved ya a seat!” Harry’s voice carries over the crowd, and Hermione beams.
“Oh, brilliant! I am desperate for a drink.”
Draco steps forward, following her to the table. “Long day?”
“Ugh. Long week. Month? Year?” She flashes him a smile, before sliding into the seat closest to their best friends.
“Canadian Ministry still giving you fits?” He enjoys the flash of surprise in her eyes, the one that says ‘you remember?’ As though no one else in her life is ever actually interested in what she is doing at work.
“Oh, ah. Yes, actually. Apparently, reducing their harvest of wand-friendly trees, even by a small percentage, is out of the question. Their population of bowtruckles is half what it was a decade ago.”
Hannah Abbott appears with a double firewhisky for Draco and a glass of spiked gillywater for Hermione. The whisky burns across his tongue and he sinks into the heat of it. It had been a rather long day.
“Okay, so, now that you two are here,” Theo takes a long drink of his own spiked gillywater. “We can discuss what everyone is doing for the talent show!”
“And I have told you,” Harry pushes his mop of hair back, scowling. “I am not participating. The last thing I need is a front page in the Prophet because of my subpar football skills.”
Hermione snorts into her drink, “But it’s for charity, Harry! Surely you could come up with something better than dribbling and goal scoring.”
“But he’s so good at scoring,” Theo interrupts, waggling his eyebrows.
“Merlin, Theo.” Draco takes a deep breath, “I for one, agree with Potter. There’s not enough gold in all of England to make me go on stage.”
“Hermione, you will, won’t you?” The Weasel has a handful of chips half way to his mouth. “Nev and I are already working on something big! Think it will blow the judges away!”
“Who even are the judges?” Harry swipes the basket of chips from beneath Ron’s nose, ignoring his shout of outrage.
“Perc says-” Draco shudders at the very full mouth speaking in his direction, “Kingsley, and head witch of the Saint Mungo’s board, uhhh Melody something?”
“Tretch.” Draco interjects.
“Right. Melody Tretch. And a super secret celebrity judge.”
Draco opens his mouth but Potter beats him to it, “No, Malfoy. I am not one of the judges. Do fuck off.”
He tilts his drink in Harry’s direction, grinning widely. “If you say so.”
Theo is looking back and forth between them all, looking more than a little put out. “You will, won’t you, Hermione?” He repeats the question that Draco realizes went unanswered before. He tilts back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest and surveying her.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“You have to!” Ron tosses a rolled up napkin at her. With a flick of her wand, the rubbish sprouts wings and takes flight. A yellow finch lands lightly on Draco’s shoulder, chirping cheerfully. Without thought, he reaches out, stroking its silky breast with the backs of his knuckles.
Effortless. Beautiful magic.
“Singing in the tent with you two is completely different than in front of a few hundred people.”
“Singing?” He doesn’t blurt, because that is not something that Malfoys do, but his interest is certainly piqued. “You’re a singer, Granger?” He imagines she likely has a lovely voice, warm and honeyed. He’s struck with a vicious need to hear it.
“She’s like an angel! I swear, her voice is the only reason I didn’t give up when we were on the run.” Harry nods along seriously as Ron talks. “She puts ole Celestina to shame.”
“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Hermione laughs lightly, looking down into her own glass.
Blaise lifts two fingers, signaling Hannah to come back over with a fresh round. “Cormac was telling everyone who would listen in Sports and Games that he is going to blow the competition out of the water.”
“Oh Merlin, help us!” Cho’s eyes widen in what Draco can only describe as horror. “He will probably strip to his pants and have the audience count how many pushups he can do.”
Draco snorts. “Short performance then.”
“Draco with the burrrrrn!” Harry lifts his glass, and Draco lifts his mostly empty glass in salute, never mind that Potter had been the direct target of his snarky wit for years. He won’t pretend he doesn’t like the easy comradery that exists between him and Harry now. It’s pleasant, far less exhausting than detesting his existence.
The rest of the table falls into easy conversation, most contemplating what sort of performances they will be blessed with in two months time.
Draco traces the rim of his drink, entirely too aware that beside him, Hermione has lapsed into an uncharacteristic silence. He leans in so as to not draw attention to them, and definitely not to inhale the floral scent of her curls. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah. Yes.” She smiles weakly, “Just lost in thought.”
He’s not stupid, it’s obvious now why Harry was asking about his piano playing earlier that morning. Though, why he hadn’t decided to mention it earlier, Draco can’t fathom. It’s the perfect excuse really, a reason to spend time together, a reason for him to acknowledge that what started as curiosity had long become something… more. He’s been wanting her to see him as more than a casual acquaintance for some time.
“I think that it could be fun, maybe.” Her voice is so quiet he has to lean even closer to catch her words. “I used to sing with my dad, he would play the piano at parties or on-on holidays. Christmas carols and the like.”
Draco takes a minute to let her words sink in. He knows about Granger’s parents, everyone does, how she’d spent over a year in Australia working with Memory Specialists trying to recover their memories. In the end, her obliviation had been too strong. The stupid Prophet had run a story on it while she was away. Rita Skeeter’s office had gone up in flames the next day. Draco suspects Potter, but the DMLE had been ‘much too busy to investigate something as trivial as an office fire.” Robard’s exact words. Draco always appreciated his boss for just that reason.
Unconsciously, drawn by the need to make her think of better things, Draco traces the veins across the back of her hand. Her hands are small, with slight fingers and carefully manicured nails, though the effect is ruined somewhat by her disastrously mangled cuticles. It’s a habit, one he is oh so aware of. Her hands are never still.
He tuts, whispering a healing charm over one particularly torn finger. “I would offer up my services. Though I am likely a poor replacement, I’ve been playing since I was four.”
Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t look away from where they touch.
“You mentioned earlier that you wouldn’t be caught dead participating?” She finally looks up, scanning his face for… something. He wonders if he’s been found wanting.
“Ah well.” He pulls his hand back, giving her the space to consider. “You’ll find there’s not much I won’t do for charity.” Or you.
She rolls her eyes, hiding a smile behind another drink. “Draco Malfoy, the generous and passionate philanthropist, how could I forget?”
When he looks up, the table has gone quiet, several sets of eyes watching them with varying states of amusement and surprise.
“Alright,” she sighs, more put upon than he cares for, “I suppose I will owl Percy in the morning.”
Theo throws his hands up in the air, his elbow clipping Harry’s jaw as he cheers. Ron claps enthusiastically, swaying slightly into Cho. Blaise is quiet, but there’s a smugness about him that makes Draco think that money is being exchanged beneath the table.
“I don’t know what you’re all so excited about. Granger and I are going to destroy the competition.”