Facade

Dear Sirius and Remus,

I pray this letter finds you as well as when I left. Doubtless you are not missing me. I have met up with the Weasleys and met the enchanting Miss Hermione Granger. Ron is to be congratulated on his choice of partner's. She will keep him in line and make him happy in so many ways.

This happy news of Ron's wedding makes me anxious about my own, inevitable, match.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate" Draco's nasal drawl interrupted Harry's thoughts. He glanced up, thinking the intimate tone of voice was addressed to him. Malfoy was seated by window, Miss Weasley beside him. She gazed at him, a secret smile on her face as he read from a collection of Shakespeare's sonnets.

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer's lease hath all too short a date"

Harry had to admit that Draco was a credible reader, his voice expressive and natural, as if he spoke in iambic pentameter all the time.

Turning back to his unfinished letter, Harry continued.

You both know, as I have confided in you, that I do not wish to press Miss Weasley into a match that is not of her own choosing. It is cruel and unjust.

"Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimm'd"

Harry listened, his eyes unconsciously drawn towards the golden haired male. Shaking himself out of revelry, he continued again, Draco's voice a soothing murmur in the background.

I have made the acquaintance here of a gentleman by the name of Malfoy. Draco Malfoy of Lambton. He is a friend of Miss Granger, incalculably rich, incredibly handsome, intelligent, talented, knowledgable about all women's arts and a fair billiards player besides.

"And every fair from fair sometime declines, by chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd" Draco paused, his tongue flicking over his lips before he continued. He glanced at the figure at the writing desk.

"But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st," Harry's eyes met his for a brief moment and Draco wondered if he was, perhaps, the subject of Harry's scribblings. "Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, when in eternal lines to time thou grow'st"

The most surprising thing, other than his being here at all, is the fact that he has spent the time here courting Miss Weasley. He is, by far, the better gentleman between us. Or would be, if he had not been so proud. He spends as much time watching me as he does Miss Weasley. I cannot understand him. I do not know that I want to.

"So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee." Draco smiled as he finished. Miss Weasley applauded politely.

"You are such an accomplished speaker, Mr. Malfoy. Don't you think so, Mr. Potter?" Miss Weasley asked.

Harry looked up, tilting his head. "Indeed, Miss Weasley. Mr. Malfoy is quite a pleasure to listen to. It's as if he enjoys hearing himself as much as we enjoy listening to him." A small grin curved his lips as Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Perhaps you think you could do better, Potter?"

"As soon as I finish my letter, I shall demonstrate." He inclined his head in Ginny's direction. "If Miss Weasley desires."

Ginny blushed. "Of course I would love to hear you read, Mr. Potter. I cannot remember the last time you did such." Ginny bit her lip, looking downcast for a moment.

Harry looked as if he meant to speak, but Draco interrupted. "Finish your letter, Potter. I shall pick out a sonnet for you, with Miss Weasley's assistance."

Harry nodded, thankful for Malfoy's graceful aid but puzzled as to why he would behave in such a way. "I shall only be a moment, I assure you."

We shall remain at Hogwarts until the Saturday. Dumbledore is throwing us a small feast for our departure, at which time, I hope, we shall part company from Malfoy forever.

I pray you, write to me at The Burrow, as I long to hear the news of Godric's Hollow.

Yours Sincerely,

Harry

Harry quickly sealed the letter, pressing the small gold tool into the hot crimson wax. The "P" monogram embossed neatly onto the smudge. The "P" was a particular kind, using a lightning bolt in place of the stem for the letter P. Most people recognized the subtle difference, but few knew the significance of the lightning bolt. He stood, walking to the window where Malfoy and Ginny were seated and settled himself in an armchair on Draco's other side.

"Ready, Potter?" Draco asked, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

"Without a doubt." Harry answered, and reached for the book. Draco passed it to him, their fingers brushing casually. He nearly jumped, but kept his demeanor indifferent, shooting Draco only a slightly confused look. The blue eyes met his with some humor before turning serious. Harry took the opportunity to look at the text, smiling once at Ginny before beginning to read.
"Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still,
The better angel is a man right fair:
The worser spirit a woman coloured ill."

His voice was hesitant, lacking Draco's self-confidence, but intoned clearly enough. As he read on, his ears began to burn slightly, his cheeks becoming flushed and his words even less confident. Draco had selected this sonnet with a purpose alright. But for what? Were these Draco's feelings or his own? Harry wasn't sure anymore.

"To win me soon to hell my female evil,
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil:
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turned fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell,
But being both from me both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell.
Yet this shall I ne'er know but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out."

When he finished, Ginny smiled at him encouragingly. "Thank you so much, Mr. Potter," she said, demurely.

Draco only snorted. "Can you not even read a decent sonnet? What kind of a lover are you, Potter?"

Harry flushed hotly. "Now, see here, Malfoy-"

But Draco waved a hand, silencing him. "Leave the poetry to the experts, Potter." He arched a brow, a smile upon his lips. "For example . . .

Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all,
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call,
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more:
Then if for my love, thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest,
But yet be blamed, if thou thy self deceivest
By wilful taste of what thy self refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery gentle thief
Although thou steal thee all my poverty:
And yet love knows it is a greater grief
To bear greater wrong, than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes."

As Draco finished, Harry's dared not meet Miss Weasley's eye, afraid his flushed skin was suspect enough. But she touched his sleeve gently, and smiled, before addressing Malfoy.

"Perhaps, Mr. Malfoy, we've read enough poetry, today." She suggested softly.

Draco walked near the lake, eying the inviting water and longing for his own pond at home, Malfoy Manor.

He had come to Hogwarts as Hermione's escort and friend. As she had no male relations of her own it was only natural that her childhood friend be asked to accompany her to her intended. He had expected parties, the local country gentry, perhaps a pretty girl or two. And of course, having to endure the Weasleys.

It was not that Draco disliked the Weasleys on principle. Although he had a fair amount of pride and disdain for the lower classes, even wealthy lower class like the Weasleys, he had been taught to value each individual. His real cause for dislike towards the red-haired clan was the simple fact that they were taking his friend away from him, and they could never be good enough for her. He had endured the greater part of the ball in silent arrogance, turning a cool eye on any girl that looked his way.

Then he had seen Harry Potter across the ballroom. Staring at him with the most wonderful combination of curiosity and awe. And everything had changed.

"Draco!"

He turned at the sound of Hermione's voice and smiled at her. "Hullo, dear Hermione. And how are you faring this fine Tuesday?"

Her hair was in disarray, thick curls escaping from her carefully prepared chignon, but they embraced like siblings. Hermione felt that Draco truly was the elder brother she had never been fortunate enough to have. "I am well, Draco. And you?" She eyed him knowingly. "What has got you wandering the edge of the lake in contemplation?"

Draco sighed. "You know me too well, Hermione." He let her go and took her arm, walking them towards the trees. "I am indeed in comtemplation."

"Of what?" Brown eyes twinkled merrily. "Or rather, I should think, of whom?"

"Of a certain redhead." Draco said easily. "She is a delightful girl. Any man would be lucky to win her heart."

Hermione smiled at her friend. "She will be a delightful sister, I believe. I shall plot to get her married straight away." He smiled back and they walked a bit in silence.

"And what do you think of Mr. Potter?" She asked.

"I think him-" he paused. "I believe him to be a fine gentleman. Perhaps a little too soft spoken for a girl like Miss Weasley."

Hemione smiled. "You think yourself a better match then?" She asked.

Draco hesitated.

"I know you have no interest in her, Draco." His longtime friend, and confidant, smiled at him. "I do not know what you intend, though." She grinned at him, her prominent front teeth exposed to view. "If you are not careful you shall end up with both of them in love with you, when I know you only mean for one."

"Clever as ever, Miss Granger." He said somberly. "Spot on, in fact. But you know I cannot do anything." He face drew tight. "Father wrote me another letter. Reminding me not to 'get too attached' to any of the girls here, as I have a perfectly suitable fiancée waiting for me at Malfoy Manor."

Hermione blinked. "Who? I thought you said you had dissuaded your father with ideas that you were joining a monastery?"

He frowned. "No, that fell through. Father found out it was only a ruse. Damn stupid servants. I should have that Dobby sacked." He sighed again, returning to his current reason for melancholy. "Miss Pansy Parkinson is to be the next Mrs. Malfoy. Or so I am told." He growled slightly.

Hermione struggled not to laugh, commiserating with her friend. "Oh, dear, well. That could pose a problem, couldn't it?"

Draco scowled at her. "I do not find the situation as amusing as you do, Hermione."

"Obviously."

"And besides that" his tone grew serious once more. "What am I doing, ruining Potter's chances for happiness with Miss Weasley? She is his intended even if not they are not engaged. Just as Miss Parkinson is my own."

Hermione leaned on his shoulder, comfortingly, and he drew her into his embrace. "How can I pursue someone who's future is decided already? And if it is not decided, I shall be wrecking what was so carefully crafted. And yet I cannot back away. His every look, sigh, even glare drives me wild with fancy."

She smiled, kissing Draco's cheek. "Love does not understand the plans of men, Draco." She drew back. "But I have faith in your decisions. I know that you will endevour to do the right thing. Whatever that may be."

That night Harry found himself wandering the hallways of Hogwarts restlessly. His mind occupied with thoughts of Malfoy as well as Miss Weasley. He sighed, one hand gripping the candleholder tightly to keep away the darkness. As he gazed at the portrait covered the walls, he had the oddest sensation that the portraits watched him back.

Turning a corner, he began to hear faint strains of music. He blinked, curious, and moved towards the noise, following it as it got louder and he could make out a melody. It was "Voi Che Sapete," which Ginny had played for them not four days ago.

Wondering who could be up at this late hour, he stopped outside the Grand Ballroom, where he had seen Draco Malfoy for the first time. Cautiously opening the door, he saw a shadowed figured, illuminated only by flickering candlelight and the moonlight pouring in from the large windows. He thought at first it might be one of the ghosts Dumbledore had mentioned. The figure seemed so pale, his hair silver and nearly incandescent in the dim light.

As he walked closer, the single candlestick in his hand, the figure stopped playing, glancing up to see him and leaving the melody unresolved.

Draco swallowed, seemingly frozen in place. "Good evening, Potter."

Harry set his candle on the top of the pianoforte, next to Draco's larger candelabra. The flames danced and flickered towards each other. "It's nearly morning, Malfoy." He turned his head, regarding his midnight companion. "What are you doing up so late? And playing the pianoforte in the Grand Ballroom, no less?"

Draco shrugged in response, his voice tired and somewhat hoarse. "And what of you, Potter? I'm amazed you can show your face in here after that poor example of dancing you gave us last week."

Harry went red, but he challenged the other boy's superiority. "And you are so very skilled in dance yourself."

"I am." Draco answered simply. "My father made sure that I knew all the dances. Even the more scandalous ones one never finds outside the Continent."

Harry blinked, his interest piqued. "Scandalous dances? Like what?

Draco grinned. "Have you ever heard of the waltz, Potter?"

Harry stared at Draco in seeming awe. "Once . . . a French bloke I knew at university claimed to know it. None of us really bothered to find out, though."

Draco stood up from the piano bench, taking Harry's hand and pulling him towards the window. The moonlight was reflected off the highly polished floor. Harry blinked at the intimate touch of Draco's gloveless hand on his own and shifted uncomfortably.

"Do you want to know, or don't you, Potter?" Draco asked. Face to face, they were around the same height, Draco being perhaps slightly smaller than Harry in frame.

"I-I want. . ."

"What do you want?" The voice was close, more intimate. Harry blinked, trying to clear his head.

"Are you going to show me the waltz?" He asked neutrally. He could not tell if there was disappointment in Draco's eyes or not. In the moonlight they looked pale, almost luminescent.

Draco said nothing but guided the hand he held, placing it on his left shoulder. He then clasped Harry's left hand with his own, stepping close to wrap his right hand around Harry's waist, pulling their bodies into alignment.

Harry's eyes were downcast and his entire body was tingling with Draco's closeness. He felt like his skin was on fire whenever Draco touched him, even breathed on him. He nearly trembled.

"Right." A husky voice said near his ear. "Now, I'm leading. You're the woman."

"I-I'm the what?" Harry's voice cracked on the first syllable.

"The woman." Draco smiled. "Cannot expect you to be able to lead when you don't know the dance, now can we?" He tightened his hold on Harry's waist. "Now follow me. To the count of three. One, two, three..."

Draco kept counting, guiding Harry's body around the dance floor effortlessly. Their hips were tantalizingly pressed against each others' as they turned and changed direction. After only a few minutes, Harry had to admit Draco's was right on two counts. First, the Waltz was indeed scandalous and second, he was an exceptional dancer. Harry felt woefully inadequate even in his role as follower.

How long they danced like that, Harry did not know. Time seemed to flow freely yet stand still when he was in Draco's arms. He was guided skillfully in the moonlight, the pressure of Draco's hand on his lower back directing him at his seeming whim. Harry began to feel dizzy and looked up, to see Draco staring at him intensely.

"What do you think, Potter?"

"I, erm . . ."

"Do you want to take the lead?" Draco asked, bringing them to a stop.

Harry flushed. "Do you really think I'm ready?"

"The woman can guide too, Potter." Draco smirked. "Look at how Hermione treats your friend Weasley."

Harry couldn't help but smile, although he was still unsure. He hesitated to move from the safety of Draco's direction.

"Come on, Potter. Take me."

"Beg pardon?"

"Don't you want to impress Miss Weasley?" Draco asked, an eyebrow lifted.

"I, well. . . I could never dance as well as you in any case." Harry muttered darkly.

"No, you couldn't." Draco agreed. "But think of what a sensation a waltz would be at the next ball. Even a poorly danced one. Take me." Draco moved Harry's hands once more, placing himself fully inside Harry's grasp.

"Now, nice and slow. One, two, three"

Harry hesitantly tried his turn at leading. Draco made an excellent partner, as well as a leader. He followed Harry's inclinations nearly before Harry had demonstrated them, their bodies clinging to one another in the moonlight. From his position of dominance Harry felt more compelled to watch Draco as they danced, studying the illuminated features.

So finealmost feminine in a way. From the high crown of silvery blonde hair down to the delicate pointed chin, Draco was visual perfection. They danced for what must have been hours, until the lightness of the sky announced that dawn was soon approaching.

They came to a stop once more. Harry letting Draco free from his embrace almost reluctantly.

"Thank you, Malfoy." He said at last, the hand that had recently been entwined with Draco's brushing his hair back from his forehead, revealing his scar.

"It was my pleasure, Potter." Draco drawled. He blinked at the scar revealed on Harry's forehead and reached out instinctively, tracing the length of it delicately with a finger.

Harry closed his eyes at the touch, then opened them to meet Draco's scrutiny. "It's from an accident, as a child. The accident that killed my mother and father." He mumbled, almost embarrassed.

Draco met his eyes, expressing sympathy but also something Harry couldn't define. "You have no cause to be ashamed of yourself, Potter." Then the seriousness was gone and the usual smirk was in its place. "You acquitted yourself well in the dance." Draco turned his head, not meeting Potter's gaze. "Miss Weasley is a lucky girl indeed." The last was said softly, a tentative smile gracing Draco's lips before he pivoted, exiting the ballroom leaving Harry alone.

AN: Sonnets used were, in order, 18, 144, and 40.