It had been Hermione's idea, initially, which didn't surprise Harry. She was the one with the ideas, and aside from the occasional misstep—SPEW, say—they were usually pretty good ones. And this one, it seems, is particularly beneficial for Harry, though he hates admitting it.

He and Ron and Hermione and a great many of their Hogwarts classmates began working at the Ministry soon after they left school. It's a generally satisfying experience for Harry, going on late night Auror raids with his best friend, listening and re-listening to Hermione's explanations of newly passed wizarding laws, and examining Luna's latest scars from whichever beast she and her department are attempting to regulate. Even the people he hadn't gotten on with well in school, people like Zacharias Smith and Pansy Parkinson and, unbelievably, Draco Malfoy have grown up well enough that greeting them in the hallways and making small talk feels absolutely fine.

There's one outstanding problem with being employed by the Ministry of Magic, though: the parties.

Kingsley Shackebolt is a man who loves parties.

Naturally, Harry enjoyed getting together with friends and having a few drinks and reminiscing about their younger years—not that any of them are old now, per se, with Harry having just turned 25. But Ministry parties are completely different from firewhisky shots and storytelling at Ron and Hermione's cottage. Ministry parties are all fanfare and champagne and speeches and dancing.

Oh, God, the dancing.

Harry first learned he was a horrible dancer at the Yule Ball, when he bruised poor Parvati Patil's feet over and over before ignoring her for most of the night. After that, he hadn't exactly sought out opportunities to dance; now, in his sixth year as an Auror, he's forced into one every couple months, whenever Kingsley finds an excuse to throw another Ministry gala, and according to Hermione, Harry's wallflower status is no longer endearing.

"Of course, it isn't just you," she says encouragingly as she nearly drags him into a room at the Ministry that Harry's fairly certain is used for experimental spellwork. Neville, who's dating Luna and thus required to attend the galas, waves at him weakly. "You and Neville and Seamus and the Patils and a few others—you could all use a bit of help."

"I notice you didn't put Ron on your list," Harry grumbles, shuffling over to where Neville's standing.

"No, he and I are going to teach the class, not attend it," she says, smiling a bit too proudly. It did drive Harry a bit mad, seeing the two of them waltz for the first time and being forced to acknowledge that both of them had more coordination on a dance floor than he did. Apparently quick reflexes and dueling skills only go so far.

"I was surprised at how many people responded to the idea, actually," says Hermione. "Luna's coming, right, Neville?"

He nods. "I'm sorry I can't be your partner, Harry."

"Can't say I'm not heartbroken, but I'll move on one day," says Harry. "Who else, then? You mentioned earlier that the Patils would be here. Anyone else I know?"

"Oh, just a few others from here and there." Hermione waves her hand dismissively and looks over Harry's shoulder at the door. "Hi, Susan! Glad you could make it."

"It's a good thing someone's glad," Harry says under his breath to Neville, who chuckles.

"It shouldn't be too bad, provided your partner isn't too terrible," he says. "Luna knows how to dance but she's doing this for my benefit."

"Wish I had someone doing that for me," says Harry, trying to sound carefree and failing miserably.

Neville claps him on the shoulder. "Sometime, it'll happen for you, I promise," he says. "Have you talked to Anthony lately?"

Harry shakes his head, trying not to cringe at the mention of his most recent ex's name. "I think he's still upset at me for being honest." Five more people drift into the room, and Harry glances around to make sure no one else from Anthony's department is around. Fortunately, so far, it's just Susan and Seamus and the Patils and...

"Wow, didn't realize he'd need to be here," Neville comments, looking at Draco. "You'd think he would've been dancing for years."

"Actually, I'm not shocked," says Harry. "We're often along the back wall together at parties. It's the one time we really talk. His and Hermione's department, the whole Magical Law bit, it's not as boring as you'd think."

"Maybe they're just both good at telling stories," Neville says, and Harry shrugs. He looks at Draco and raises his hand in a tentative way. Draco nods back swiftly; Harry thinks of it as just about enough, considering the nature of their relationship. They'd thanked each other for some things and apologized for others while they were still in school, and they're fine now, at least halfway comfortable with trading workplace anecdotes and talking about the weather. That's what Harry assumes may happen now—that is, before everyone else floods the room. Harry recognizes a pair of Obliviators, both Hogwarts students who were fourth years when Harry was finishing up there, and Terry Boot and Dennis Creevey, two of the Minister's many undersecretaries. Harry does a count and realizes he's almost certainly about to be paired with another man, because Hermione—or maybe everyone, he supposes—knows his preference in that regard. He also realizes who he's almost certainly going to be partnered with and he can't help wondering if this was somehow on purpose.

Hermione always figured there was something more between Harry and Draco than either of them ever let on. Harry dismissed this as ridiculous, Hermione hoping for an improbably happy ending like all those movies she loved and Ron tolerated. But Hermione sincerely believed that a relationship rooted in hatred could somehow end in love, sweet, unending love, and Harry had to hand it to her for her craftiness this time around.

Not that it would be going anywhere, of course.

"Alright, then," says Hermione, her voice carrying across the room. "Who's ready to begin?"