Medieval Night

The letter arrived by eagle owl, the scroll clasped delicately in its strong claws, the parchment sealed with silver wax and tied with a black ribbon.

Revelers!

It is, now, that most ominous of twilights. The hordes have grown fat in their lazy peace. Scotts have lost the tartar glint from their eyes. The sultan's mustache has been trimmed. Sad wizards roam the sepia wastes looking for paltry herbs and weed. The squires' tights are striped with runs and the dragons have all drunk from Hypnos' chalice. There is silence in the temple, where God waits no longer. A priest stalks about counting the stones between the East naves, listening to the waxen coughs of the sanctuary lamp when suddenly a light peeks through the door. Startled, he looks up knowing that a moment has come, a moment of final change. A tired breeze of God blows through the hallows of the church. Symbols of dark and ancient power are resuscitated from the dust of their tombs. His capacity for wonder restored, the priest rushes to the undercroft for his reserve of ale knowing the coming day will demand drink. As he runs, the candle of Christ stirs once more in a wind driven by thousands of marching bodies braced against the cold, bitter thrill of the infinite. The candle shudders again then puffs out in a sigh of sanguine pleasure. The sullen pirate on the stoop of the Church looks up at the red dawn brewing, and pokes the sleeping wizard beside him. The wizard looks up, to a holy vista of green, five point fields stretching out to the blood steeped horizon. The ethereal laughter of nymphs resounds off the cobblestones as the course sting of Scottish brogue spills drunkenly into the street in a state of violent expectation. Tongues and limbs mingle in the morning, a new day has come where wyrd things wait and gods rise from their slumber.

Join us for a night of revelry, an evening of debauchery, a celebration of drink and drug and dance! The moors shall sway. Fat ladies shall sing. Chickens shall, contrary to their training, run amok. And all shall bow before the power of the mystical faculties of the drink, until that sober hour comes, and washes clean the night of its sin.

Our night shall commence at eight in the evening three Fridays hence at the Parkinson Estate. Apparition coordinates to follow.

Please rsvp before the 20th of the month. Nobody likes a bitchy Parkinson.

Cordially,

Draco Malfoy

Harry looked up from the invitation to meet Ron's bewildered eyes.

"What the fuck?"

Hermione had been laughing continuously for a good five minutes, and Harry was unsure when she would stop. Unable to decide whether or not Malfoy's invitation was a joke, Harry and Ron had shown the gilded paper to Hermione, hoping that she would be able to enlighten them. All that happened was Hermione staring at the invitation, eyebrows rising further and further toward her hairline as she read more and more. Then the laughter started. Every time they thought she might pause long enough to speak, her eyes would return to the invitation where she, presumably, read another line and erupted into laughter anew, her curly hair falling over her blushing face.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances before simultaneously heading toward the kitchen of the Burrow, where Mrs. Weasley had only that morning whipped up a batch of blueberry scones that were still steaming under a heating charm. Slathering on enough cream for the entire plate, Ron eagerly munched on the piping hot scone, humming his delight.

"I shmld homm moor offfen," he said as he chewed.

Harry chuckled. "What?"

Ron swallowed. "I should come home more often. Damn this is good." He bit off another huge chunk, closing his eyes in bliss. "Oh gob, thass goob."

Harry simply laughed again before taking a bite out of his scone, sans copious amounts of cream. "Yeah, it's good. Nothing beats your mum's cooking, mate."

"I ahee," Ron nodded.

"Ron, is it that hard to swallow?" Hermione asked from the doorway, exasperation clear in her voice. "Never mind," she said quickly as Ron opened his mouth, still full of cream and scone, to reply. "So, should I put our names down for the party?"

Her tone was entirely too perky for Harry's taste. "I'm sorry, what? Did I just hear you express a desire to go to Malfoy's party?"

"He invited us, and I'm not aware of any other obligations we have on that date. It'd be rude not to accept. Plus, he obviously put some thought into that invitation. I haven't read anything so enjoyable in ages."

Harry was stunned. After years of hearing about the glory of Hogwarts, A History, it was all undone by a simple party invitation? Written by Malfoy?

"Hermione, are you insane? It's Malfoy," Ron said, his nose scrunching up in distaste.

"I am aware of that fact, yes."

They waited for her to elaborate; she didn't.

Ron continued uncomfortably. "Well, yeah, he's Malfoy. Why would we want to spend any time with him?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron, don't you think it's about time you got over this ridiculous obsession with hating Draco Malfoy?"

"Well, no," Ron said, clearly against the suggestion. "Hating Malfoy brings joy and happiness into my life. Why would I give that up?"

His girlfriend turned to Harry in supplication. "Will you please talk some sense into him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Harry shrugged. "I kind of agree with him. Malfoy's never exactly endeared himself to any of us and we haven't seen him in years. Now all of a sudden we get some weird invitation to some party at his house. Why would he invite us?"

"Exactly!" Ron crowed triumphantly.

Hermione rounded on the redhead. "You do realize that I work with Malfoy, right?"

Ron looked stunned. "Since when?" he demanded.

"Since six months ago when he joined the department. Do you never listen to anything I say?"

Ron suddenly became very interested in cleaning up the crumbs that had fallen onto the counter-top, mumbling incoherently about his mother, standards of cleanliness, and a man's attention span being short-circuited with age and traumatic events, especially ones revolving around bloody heavy evil lockets of doom.

"Look," Harry said quickly, really not in the mood to witness the tense fighting that basically served as foreplay for his best friends' relationship, "it's been a long time since the war, and I'm sure Malfoy's a great co-worker or whatever, but to me and Ron he'll always be a backstabbing little ferret whose only redeeming quality during the war was cowardice." Harry looked down at the invitation again. "He also has really odd choices concerning what to write on invitations."

"It's a medieval party, Harry," Hermione explained with a sigh. "He throws it every year."

A short silence ensued.

"Seriously?"

"Harry!"

"Sorry, sorry…but seriously. A medieval party? Why?"

"I don't know, maybe it's some pureblood tradition. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm accepting his invitation, and I'm putting down your name as well."

"Woah, let's not be too hasty now. I mean, if you want to go, that's your own cup of tea. Don't be adding me in, too."

"I concur," Ron said fervently.

"But it will be so much fun! Last year they bought these giant chickens and let them run around the gardens. They even organized a race! Don't you want to see that?" she asked enthusiastically.

"No," Harry and Ron said simultaneously, before breaking into huge grins and shaking hands over their impeccable timing.

"I've heard that there has also been fencing and feasting and minstrels and even a few seers and-"

"Hermione, you hate divination."

"Well-I-that's not the point! The point is that this is a party that I've heard nothing but good things about for the last five years, and damn it, I want to go! So you are going to dress up like a knight, conjure yourself up a horse, and take me!" Hermione stated.

Harry was extremely glad she hadn't stamped her foot to highlight her passionate speech, or he might have laughed in her face again. And ever since the last time that happened, he wasn't keen on a repeat of her reaction.

"Okay," Ron said slowly, "but what's in it for me?"

Harry cringed as Hermione delivered a smack to the back of Ron's head. "The pleasure of taking me out, that's what's in it for you!" she snapped. "And don't pretend that the mention of feasting didn't interest you, because you know it did."

"True enough," he admitted, before looking at Harry. "Well, mate? You in?"

Harry looked back and forth between his two best friends, one with a resigned expression on his face, and the other radiating excitement. As usual, he caved. "Yeah, alright. I'm in."

"Great!" Hermione said, clasping her hands together in delight. "Oh, I've got to work on my costume right away. There are so many choices. Do I want to go the traditional route and be a maiden, or should I do something bold? Hmm…How about…"

The sound of her voice trailed off as she wandered back into the living room, ostensibly to pen a reply to the invitation. Harry watched her, unable to keep from smiling at her charming concern over a simple wardrobe choice. He really couldn't care less what he wore, and besides, he knew that the choice wasn't really up to him anyways. He would pick out something and then the night of the party Hermione would take one look at him and declare his outfit unfit for the occasion, immediately transfiguring it into something she claimed to be more suitable. He pretended to be annoyed by her meddling and she pretended to grumble over his lack of fashion sense, but they both had laughter in their eyes when all was said and done.

"Bother."

Harry looked up at the clear disappoint in Ron's voice to see him looking down at an empty plate.

"We're all out of scones."

"No."

"Harry-"

"No."

"What if I just-"

"Hermione, not a chance in hell."

"But-"

"No!"

"Oh, fine," she said, finally relenting with a huff. "Do it yourself then. But don't blame me when you're the only person there dressed like an idiot! And yes, there were actual idiots!"

She stomped out of the room, calling for Ron. Harry looked at his reflection in the mirror, though he really didn't need another confirmation of the hideousness before him. What was Hermione thinking? He looked absolutely ridiculous. She had dressed him in flowing bolts of orange and dark green fabrics that were lined with gold-thread and were near falling off his frame from the weight of the cloth. Thick brown leather was belted at his waist, matching leather sandals crisscrossed around his calves, dark kohl was smudged around his eyes, and part of his head was covered by a cloth that draped down his back, kept in place by a band around his forehead.

Hermione had insisted that he looked dashing and exotic as a Moor; Harry thought he looked stupid and highly inappropriate. He couldn't show up to face Merlin knew how many Slytherins like this! Malfoy would laugh him right out the front door. It was bad enough that he had to spend an entire evening with people who had tormented him in school, but he would be damned before he stood before them dressed as he was, a perfect target for their mockery. Merlin knew he had matured, but had they?

Ron entered, chewing on a turkey leg covered in a spicy rub his mother had whipped up earlier and sent by owl with love. He grinned good-naturedly around his food as Harry promptly snickered at his friend's chosen costume: a dark brown monk's robe, with a rosary wrapped around his belted waist, a cross hanging from his chest, and an enhancement charm giving him a large belly and unnaturally rosy complexion. His red hair had been cut to resemble an upside down bowl placed on the crown of his head, and a glance at his other hand revealed a small bible.

"Crazy, isn't she?" Ron commented. "Said I was a Muggle who talked openly about acts of magic, but claimed that it came from someone up in the sky rather than from wizards. How weird is that?"

"Very," Harry assured him, suddenly remembering the first time he had ever held a wand and felt the magic rush through him. He figured that was what all the Muggle religions aspired to create within their followers: that sense of peace, of something simply feeling right. It really was a shame that not everyone could enjoy magic.

"What're you?" Ron asked.

"A Moor." At Ron's blank look, Harry tried to explain, but found it difficult to come up with the words. "It's a…they're…well, they're from Spain. And they're religious. And monks didn't like them."

"Why not?"

"Difference of opinion."

Ron shrugged, and then went back to chewing. "I reckon I'll be the tolerant type tonight. So, are we leaving soon?"

"However long it takes Hermione to get ready, I guess," Harry answered. He turned back to the mirror. "I think I might take advantage of her absence and change."

The redhead snorted. "And hope she doesn't notice you're wearing something completely different? Good luck with that." When Harry turned back again to the mirror in worry, Ron rolled his eyes. "Harry, it's fine. You look fine; it's just a bunch of stupid Slytherins, who cares what they think?"

Ron was right, Harry told himself. Why did he care?

Harry entered the ballroom after Ron and Hermione, still grumbling about how Hermione had dressed herself as Guinevere while he was still wearing his damn Moor costume. Why did she get to be a queen and look completely at ease with her long flowing gown and crown of silver flower petals while he had to stumble around and try not to impale himself on his scimitar?

The room was crowded with people, all dressed in different costumes and carrying various weaponry or tankard full of honeyed mead. Apparently Harry's grumbling had delayed their arrival by the perfect interval, for the party appeared to be in full swing. There was a large banquet table overflowing with food and no silverware in sight; colorful banners and tapestries hung from the ceilings and walls; a fountain in the center of the room provided beverages according to the tastes of whomever held their cup under its flowing top; a traditional band was set up on the far end of the room with various couples dancing in the near vicinity; and was that an abnormally large chicken he saw making its way out on to the balcony?

Making his way toward the drink fountain, Harry grabbed a cup and held it under the flowing liquid, gratified to find Firewhiskey once he brought the rim of the cup to his lips. He would certainly need it tonight. He continued to drink, smiling occasionally in acknowledgment at various old schoolmates, most of whose names he was ashamed to say he couldn't remember. Harry had just spotted Neville and decided to join the Herbology professor's table when a gleam of silver caught his eye. Focusing harder through the throng of people, Harry realized he was looking at his host. Malfoy was dressed in resplendent midnight blue robes with silver accents on the color and cuffs, and swirling novas of golden thread whirling softly in an indescribable pattern across the fabric. It reminded Harry of a painting he had seen once in grammar school, and how he had thought the magic of those stars against the night sky could never be surpassed. There was a circlet of silver banded across Malfoy's forehead, and he was apparently playing the part of the good host, laughing agreeably with a guest Harry didn't recognize. It was, in a word, breathtaking.

Harry looked up further and realized Malfoy had caught him staring, and was in fact making his way over to stand in front of him.

"Welcome."

"Thank you for the invitation," Harry said.

Malfoy nodded. An awkward silence ensued.

"Um…"

"Did Granger pick your outfit?" Malfoy asked.

"Yeah," Harry said a bit sheepishly. "I tried to argue with her about it, but…"

"It suits you," he said. Harry stared, certain that Malfoy was mocking him but unable to come up with a response that didn't sound horribly rude.

"I'm Merlin," the blond stated helpfully as Harry continued to stare.

"Of course you are."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I guess I just should have expected you to show up as one of the most powerful wizards of all time. Why didn't you just go with Slytherin and be done with it?" Oops. He hadn't meant to say that.

"Because then it wouldn't be medieval, Potter," Malfoy explained patiently. "The Hogwarts Four lived before the Dark Ages."

"Right." Well, that was a great start to the evening. And why was Malfoy looking at him like that? He knew he should have changed! Damn Hermione!

"Excuse me," Harry said quickly, before shoving past Malfoy and heading towards Neville as swiftly as possible. He couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief when Neville greeted him enthusiastically and then immediately launched into a description of his recent trip to Thailand to study underwater plant-life. Harry nodded, drank his whiskey and made soft noises in the appropriate places, grateful for the chance to simply let his mind try and focus on the bizarre encounter with Malfoy. Why was he so unsettled? It was just Malfoy, for Merlin's sake. Merlin…

Harry couldn't help but seek out that blond hair again and again, eyes managing to zero in on the Slytherin despite the long white hair and beard. If Harry squinted his eyes and tilted his head slightly, Malfoy dressed up as Merlin almost passed for Dumbledore, and wow, was that an uncomfortable comparison. He took another swig of Firewhiskey, trying to burn the unwanted thoughts from his mind. He turned back to the conversation with Neville, but realized that Neville had already directed his comments to that redheaded girl from Hufflepuff (Susan? Was that what her name was?). She was doing a much better job of listening; hanging on to Neville's every word about some underwater slug.

Harry titled his glass as farewell to Neville and left to explore the room. He kept his eyes open for Ron or Hermione, but couldn't see them in the dense crowd. The room was filled with people, dancing and chatting and laughing loudly, so much so that when combined with the alcohol he had consumed Harry soon began to feel a bit claustrophobic. Getting a refill of Firewhiskey, he slowly navigated his way toward the large, open doors that lead onto the balcony. He breathed a sigh of relief as the cold, crisp air hit his lungs, and walked further into the night until he the loud revelry was somewhat dimmed behind him and he reached the edge of the garden.

He had to admit that the night was beautiful, and whoever had decorated the gardens had done a spectacular job. Faerie lights twinkled among the trees and every few minutes danced in tandem to an unheard melody, creating patterns of light in the darkness. There was the pleasant sound of rushing water, though Harry couldn't find its source despite the lights. A few night-blooming flowers that he vaguely remembered studying in Herbology glinted in the moonlight, and were only occasionally trampled by the stray chickens running around aimlessly upon the grounds. Harry laughed into his drink, knowing the bizarre image of giant chickens running through the immaculately sculpted gardens would stick with him for a long while.

"I see you are enjoying yourself, then."

Harry turned around, surprised to see Malfoy standing behind him, a soft smile painted on his face. The blond had removed the beard and long white hair, but still kept the circlet that bound his chin length locks, which Harry assumed was the length he usually kept his hair.

"I see you lost your beard."

Malfoy's smile grew wider. "I decided even Merlin was once a young man, so the costume could still remain intact without some of the theatrics. Plus everyone kept insisting I join them in raising a toast, and the mead would keep dripping into my beard, which was highly unpleasant."

Harry chuckled despite himself. "I can imagine," he said, eyes gazing down at Malfoy's pointed chin, where not a hint of drink was evident. He glanced up further and found himself staring at the man's lips, which were stretched wide over fairly straight teeth in a pleasant smile. The smile seemed to be getting larger every moment, and Harry realized it was because Malfoy had stepped closer, shortening the distance between them until he was only a few feet away.

"You're staring."

Harry jerked his head up from Malfoy's smiling mouth to meet equally amused eyes.

"No, I'm not," he immediately denied.

"I think you are," Malfoy said, grinning even more.

"No," Harry said, drunkenly shaking his head back and forth, trying to dismiss the realization that he had never really seen Malfoy smile before tonight, and that the sight was actually rather…pleasant. Nice, even. "I think I drank too much."

"What makes you say that?"

"You look…pretty."

Malfoy started laughing, the vibrations making his robes dance a little, emphasizing the lines of his body in a way that made Harry shiver. "You think I'm pretty?"

Harry was flummoxed. "No. You just….there's moonlight…and faeries…and you're very blond," Harry complained, gesturing widely with his hand and spilling some of his drink onto the ground. "This is very weird," he opined.

"Perhaps. I'm enjoying myself, though."

Harry cocked his head to the side, thinking. "Me, too," he surprised himself by saying.

"I know a way we can enjoy ourselves even more," Malfoy said, stepping closer yet.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the blond. "How?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Merlin, as you know, was a very powerful and knowledgeable wizard. But when he was younger I'm sure there a lot of experiences he needed to fulfill in order to become the great man he eventually became." Malfoy smiled again, a very Slytherin trick in Harry's opinion, because that smile made him want to agree with whatever Malfoy said. Especially since Malfoy had now stepped directly in front of Harry, and somehow managed to navigate his hands between the voluminous folds of Harry's costume in order to stroke his hands up and down Harry's side. Another sneaky Slytherin tactic, Harry thought.

"Why…why are you out here, Malfoy?" Harry asked, trying to extricate himself from those wandering hands. His attempts to move backwards were foiled, however, by the man simply moving forward with him until Harry found his back pressed up against the stone wall that ran around the perimeter of the garden.

"I followed you," the blond stated bluntly.

"Why?"

And there it was again, that secretive smile that Harry was starting to resent even as he grew fonder of it by the second.

"Because," Malfoy said, leaning forward so that he could speak quietly into Harry's ear as if he were divulging a great secret, "Merlin had a thing for Moors with smoky eyes."

Harry snickered. "No he didn't," he objected, trying to ignore the feel of warm breath against his skin, and the fact that if he looked back on it his attraction to Malfoy had been obvious from the second he had seen him smiling and laughing in his shining, starry robes.

"Oh, well, in that case, because I have a thing for smoky eyes," Malfoy said, and before Harry could respond, Malfoy had closed the scant distance between them and placed his lips firmly over Harry's.

Malfoy lips were slightly chapped and tasted like the honeyed mead he'd been drinking. A smooth tongue darted across Harry's lips, which opened in surprise and allowed that tongue in to stroke against the sensitive contours of his mouth. He couldn't help but follow that tongue back into the warmth it came from, and groaned at the taste of a darker flavor behind the sweetness of the alcohol. Harry heard a muffled sound to his right and realized that he had dropped his glass in favor of wrapping his arms around Malfoy's shoulders, one handing coming around to grasp at the nape of the man's neck and finger at the soft tendrils of hair there. Malfoy obviously approved of Harry's actions, as the grip around his waist become tighter and the kiss grew rougher, Malfoy pulling Harry's body firmly against his own. A wandering hand dipped lower to cup his ass, making Harry arch his back into the warm touch, allowing their groins to brush against each other to mutual arousal and delight. Harry continued to rock his hips, enjoying the hands tightly gripping him and the hard length pressing against his, only a few bolts of cloth as a barrier between them.

Even that obstruction became intolerable, however, as Malfoy moved his lips down to Harry's neck, biting hard and smoothing with soft sweeps of his tongue, sufficiently distracting Harry from the hand that swiftly unbuckled his leather belt and pushed inside his robes to caress the skin underneath. Harry moaned loudly and leaned his head back against the wall, enjoying the attention even as he cursed Malfoy's ridiculous robes for being so difficult to unbutton. It was distinctly unfair that Malfoy got to touch him in all manner of places, and Harry couldn't return the favor because of the ridiculously stupid robes that blocked his way.

"Clothes…off," he muttered darkly, pulling sharply at the other man's robes to no avail. He thought a moment, then remembered that he was a wizard. "Evanesco," he said, grinning when Malfoy's robes immediately disappeared and afforded him the sight and feel of a very naked blond Slytherin in his arms. Unfortunately, the unexpected nudity caused Malfoy to pull roughly out of Harry's grasp, which didn't suit him at all. "Come back," Harry demanded, reaching out again, searching for that pale skin that gleamed under the dim lights of the garden.

Malfoy laughed, shaking his head. "Not without leveling the field, Potter," he said, before waving his wand and making a long cut through the front of Harry's costume, which fell open to the sides and very effectively exposed Harry's body without causing him to lean his bare back against the cold stone of the wall. Malfoy immediately returned to his previous position, this time pressing his body inside Harry's robes, and Harry instantly decided that the decision for full skin to skin contact was absolutely brilliant and that Malfoy was obviously a genius of the highest level. They continued as they had before, grinding against each other and using the wall as support, until the desire became too great and Harry reached his hand in between their bodies to grasp Malfoy's cock and align it against his own. A second later one hand left his ass and traveled around to help pump the cocks between his own grip, turning Harry's whimper of protest into one of spiked arousal and need. He could feel everything, the soft nipping of teeth and tongue against his neck, the brush of hair moving against his thigh as their legs collided, the leaking tip of Malfoy's cock mixing with his own fluids as they pumped each other, hands gripping together and blood pounding a throbbing, steady heartbeat to stimulate all those glorious nerves, Malfoy's thumb catching on his foreskin and rubbing their flesh together until the heat grew and spiraled almost unbearably between them. Harry opened his eyes to find Malfoy's grey ones already on him, taking everything in with such intensity that Harry had to look away or drown in them, but then he looked up and saw the faeries moving overhead and the stars shining above them and he had to look back, because he would rather drown in those grey eyes than swim in a sea without them, so he leaned forward, eyes wide open, and sucked Malfoy's bottom lip between his own, and felt a shudder and a splash of warmth against his cock and stomach and then he was falling forward into Malfoy's eyes as he came, aware of nothing but the cloth falling from his shoulders and the strong arms encircling him in its place, acting as his new shield against the cold and feeling oh so much warmer than anything else ever could.

Harry breathed in and out, letting his racing heart slow down as he puffed breaths of air into the crook of Malfoy's neck. Gathering himself, he raised his head to look at Malfoy again, pleased to see that the man was once again smiling, grey eyes crinkling at the corners as they leaned against each other, skin touching skin under the night sky.

"You all right?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, adjusting himself so that he could grip the blond more tightly. "Still a little surprised. But yeah, I'm all right."

"Good."

"Did you, er….did you know this was going to happen?"

"It's medieval night," Malfoy shrugged, still looking horribly pleased with himself. "Anything can happen."

The package was delivered by eagle owl, dropped lightly on top of her desk and opened itself with a flourish as soon as her hand touched the black ribbon wrapped around it. The fragrant smell of flora filled the air as a gorgeous bouquet of yellow roses tinged with pink edges lifted themselves out of the box and arranged themselves neatly in the crystal vase that followed, water forming in the vase until the flowers were quite perfectly positioned to maximum effect. A letter made its way into her hands.

Granger,

You are the most conniving, manipulative Gryffindor I have ever met. You shamelessly conspired with my own friends to entrap me in a relationship with Potter, who has yet to leave me bed and is quite exhausting in his efforts to keep me there as well. You preyed on my well-known personal weakness for brilliantly displayed eyes that peer out of exotic make up and my less known penchant for sex against a wall whilst surrounded by faerie lights and giant chickens run amok.

Your brazen actions were sneaky, dirty-handed, devious, deceitful, and downright Slytherin. I shall never be able to forgive such a barefaced breach of the tentatively honest rapport we had begun to share, ignoring of course the fact that the only honest rapport I've ever had was with my mother.

In conclusion, you have violated a sacred bond between coworkers, and I have no choice but to express my feelings regarding such an outrageous act as frankly as possible:

Thank you.

Cautiously waiting for the ball to drop,

Malfoy

P.S.— Harry and I cordially invite you to dine with us next Tuesday. Weasley is welcome, so long as he remains mostly silent. I will provide an excellently prepared meal in order to assist this stipulation. Please indicate your preference for seafood or red meat by the end of the week. Nobody likes a bitchy overpriced gourmet cook.

Hermione leaned in to sniff her flowers, and smiled.

~Finite~