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Additional Note: Sorry for clogging up news feeds today, I just wanted to get all of these posted and I've had a really productive day.

Author: [livejournal.com profile] darkravenwrote
Title: A Ballroom for Two
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: None, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy
Word Count: 895
Rating: G
Warnings: None, stupidity. Banter?
Prompt: For my ‘Adaptable’ tile on GYWO Bingo.
Author’s Notes: Hehe, well this one was fun to write :) Hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Summary: When Harry said they’d do undercover work, this wasn’t exactly what he had in mind.

"This is all your bloody fault, Potter!" Malfoy spits at him, tugging angrily at the lavishly laced cuff of his robes.

"Don't be so overdramatic. It's just a bit of undercover work, nothing to be ashamed of." Harry tries not to itch at the abundance of purple dye smothering his hair.

"That's easy for you to say," Malfoy hisses under his breath as Lord Hasbeen Jollyfeather swans past. "They haven't dolled you up in florescent pink and pearls!" He yanks at a streak of said pink in his hair to underline his point.

"Well, no, but this purple isn't exactly flattering either," Harry reasons, then bows low as Lady Wisterankle Jollyfeather pauses to accept their kisses to her knuckles. He catches his lip on one of her emerald rings and quickly licks up the blood before it can drop onto her fingers.

"Oh, aren't you precious," she gushes at Malfoy. Malfoy's smile more resembles the baring of teeth than a greeting. The dainty love stone on his left incisor sparkles in the light along with the glitter on his cheeks. Harry thinks his blush is probably from anger rather than her well-meaning compliment. "And your partner," she continues, flicking her golden gloved hand in Harry's direction. He tenses, waiting for her verdict. "Isn't he handsome? Aren't you lucky?" She giggles and smirks knowingly at them and ambles off, no doubt searching for someone of influence worth making real conversation with.

Malfoy slides up behind him. "You were saying?" His breath is hot on Harry's exposed ear. He bobs his head apologetically and the high bun they've spelled his hair into flops energetically back and forth atop his head. At least they didn't try to cut it. Malfoy hadn't been so lucky; the Ministry dress girls had snipped and styled his fringe until it danced across his forehead in the shape of a prancing stag. Malfoy took that as a personal insult, predictably, and nearly lopped his poor hairdresser's ponytail clean off. "I look like an idiot."

"I look like an idiot too," Harry says. Trying to calm Malfoy, Harry has found since they became auror partners two years ago, is a lesson in patience and inevitability, in so much as, respectively, Harry has very little and Malfoy always gets his way. This usually means that when he wants to have a rant over something, he'll have it whatever situation they're in, appropriate or not.

"Indeed, Potter," Malfoy allows, and Harry thinks maybe he's gotten off easily, before," the difference being that you normally look like an absolute fool, whereas I am the human equivalent of grace and poise."

"Whatever, Greggorus Tartbottom." Harry can't be bothered to argue while he's got glitter so uncomfortably close to his crotch. It's gaining ground with his every move. "If you want out of the costume then go put more effort into charming the target."

"There's no need to stoop so low. You don't see me calling you Igor Perrywinkle, do you?" Malfoy shakes himself. "Offensive codenames aside, I still maintain that this is all your fault."

"How?!" Harry asks, trying to emulate innocent befuddlement at a low decibel. "How exactly is this my fault?"

"Because," Malfoy answers slowly, like he's talking to a three year old. Harry may look like he's been dressed by one, but he's a highly trained auror thank you very much. "You filled out the experience and mission willingness forms!"

"Yeah, and I did them exactly like you told me to." Paperwork isn't his strong suit, that's true, but he can fill out a bloody form when he needs to -- which is often because Malfoy hates paperwork.

"I did not tell you to put 'willing to dress up in poncy outfits and go on so-called undercover missions'. I specifically told you not to put that."

"Like that's a thing." Harry shakes his head, refusing to be led off track. "No, I put that we were 'adaptable'."

"Well, there you go then! It's your fault!” The row of delicate pearls along the seams of his shoulders glint dangerously. “Don't you know political Ministry speak? You basically signed away our dignity right there and then." They can't be loud, arguing like this in the middle of a ballroom full of people. At least Malfoy has recognised that; his voice is on the way to supersonic instead.

"You signed it too," Harry defends weakly. Suddenly, he feels thirsty.

"I didn't read the dreadful thing. Merlin, I knew I should have done it myself." Malfoy rustles at the overlapping skirts of his robes again, self-consciously rearranging them around his long legs.

"Consider this payback for all the paperwork, including those bloody forms, that you've left me to do on my own then." Harry grabs a flute of champagne from a server's tray as he passes and takes a deep gulp from it. Maybe it will help him control the rosy flush creeping over his collarbones. It clashes with his robes.

Draco eyes him. His gaze begins at Harry's purple bun of hair, glances over his sparkling cheeks down over his blue mouth. He eyes Harry's pointed goatee then journeys down his lavender robes with their lace-covered cutouts and corduroy embroidered cuffs. "How's that working out for you, Potter?" he asks snidely. He turns away and stalks towards their target, finally focused on the mission now their tiff has concluded.

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