Royal Flush - Malfoy's Side

That was not how I would choose to celebrate the end of 2000.

If there is one reason why I despise Ministry parties, it is because of all the insipid socialites that get invited as well. Maven Parkinson has no idea of how truly boring she is. Her daughter is much worse. The only thing Maven has eyes for is seeing Pansy married to Draco, and aligning the Parkinsons with the Malfoys. There is nothing on Earth that would make me subject Draco to that.

Besides, if my suspicions are correct, he has taken up with some other young man and is cavorting happily on some other spot on the globe, with my implied blessing. It's a relief to not have him around. He is my son, but his whims are irritating to say the least. And he left with the reason that he was sick of being dragged to all the functions necessary to maintain good social standing.

But I cannot blame him for that entirely. The party, which was in Potter's honour, was to celebrate the demise of the late Dark Lord. And there is only so much vapidity that one can stomach. Draco is young, flighty and his threshold for such has always been low. There are times I wish I still had that low threshold.

It is hard for me to say that I would actually miss the deluded fool of a master I used to serve, but life certainly is duller. The Dark Lord was simply a stepping stone to power, one that, much to my disappointment, crumbled beneath my feet.

After I was barely able to escape serving a sentence in Azkaban, not very much captures my interest. It all seems rather blasé and monotone; there is absolutely nothing to spice it and give it that essential quality that makes one enjoy it.

The party was so boring in fact that I had taken to watching the guest of honour when I could; that was much more interesting. He was genuinely bored in the presence of some, his glazed eyes indicative that he was thinking of something else. Others, he looked as if he could not wait to flee somewhere safe. And yet with others, he looked as if it was very difficult to restrain the urge to hex them beyond recognition.

Of course, I was actually surprised that he showed up. Potter is notoriously shy of events and tends to not even bother with a courteous written response. So, seeing him walk in was definitely unexpected. To the sound of great accolade was not.

What was unexpected was the expression on his face. It was one of careful neutrality. It was the type of face someone practices in a mirror until they perfect it, and can make it look natural.

It did strike me as somewhat odd because Severus used to do the exact same thing. But there is no way I can ask him now. When I last saw him, he had died defending the very same young man I was looking at. Perhaps that was his legacy of sorts; passed down to the son of the man he despised with a passion.

I did watch Potter all night. The event of the night was when Potter was made to step up to the podium and deliver a speech. The audience was nodding its head and looked appropriately mournful; some women were even clutching a handkerchief and dabbing at their eyes.

It was nothing less than the very height of hypocrisy, as these were the same socialites that denounced him when Skeeter published her articles a few years back, portraying him as a deluded, unbalanced individual.

The speech was predictable to say the least. He said what everyone wanted to hear. That too seemed very rehearsed. When he stepped down from the podium, the Minister - still Fudge, how I do not know - stepped up and called for a moment of silence. And that's when Potter did it, something that seemed very out of place for him.

He slipped out of the room. That certainly caught my attention. I simply excused myself with the pretence of finding the bathroom once that moment was over.

Now, in all honesty, it did take me a bit to find Potter. The skills he learned were quite impressive. And the house that was hosting the venue seemed to possess limitless rooms. When I finally found him, he was sitting in a drawing room in the north east wing, far from the maddening crowd.

He knew that I was there since he told me to come in, his voice placid and unruffled.

I pushed open the door to find him sitting in a large overstuffed chair in front of a crackling fireplace. There was a small table in front of him, and he was playing a game of solitaire.

He gestured vaguely to a seat, his eyes never leaving the cards in front of him.

Honestly, I sometimes wonder if the boy is daft. There are very few people who would want to be left alone in a room with me. And here he is, inviting me in.

I think he's taken a page from Dumbledore's book.

He asked if I had decided to find some peace and quiet from the crowd downstairs. I simply looked at him; obviously, if I was there, then that question was true. When I didn't reply he looked up at me with a critical light in his eyes.

I was half expecting him to say something scathing.

Instead, the brat asked me if I wanted to play a card game. All I did was nod my head yes and next thing I knew, I found myself facing five cards. Potter must have assumed that I didn't know what he was doing.

All he said was that it was poker.

The little fool didn't realise that wizard poker is quite different from that crude Muggle poker. Much more skill is needed with the deceptive cards yelling out all manner of things.

What I failed to realise for a few seconds was that Potter was playing Muggle poker, with Muggle cards. Of course, it is nothing less than rude to abruptly leave in the middle of a game.

So he trapped me.

And he trounced me.

I will find him again and settle this score.

Wednesday, January 31st, 2001

Potter is hard to find.

I have used all my connections and called in a few favours. All of which yielded nothing. Even the owls I sent to him were useless. My letter returned each and every time. I didn't see him again until I making an errand at Mezzoforte in Diagon Alley. The piano in the family room was in dire need of tuning.

The one convenient aspect of Mezzoforte is its location; it's not more than a few steps from Knockturn Alley. And the wide glass windows allow for one to see who comes and goes into the Alley.

Imagine my surprise when I look out the window and see Potter coming out of Knockturn Alley, holding a crimson parcel tied with twine in one hand and a smaller one tucked under his other arm.

It didn't take long to finish my business at Mezzoforte and trail after Potter.

Even though Diagon Alley wasn't that crowded at this particular time of the day, he was hard to follow. The only word is that he slides. He moved through the crowd effortlessly and all I could do was catch glimpses of his black hair, flickering in between everything else.

That was Severus' favourite tactic when he knew he was being followed.

I can't help but wonder what else Severus taught Potter before his untimely demise.

I lost Potter for a bit. When I found him again, he had taken a seat inside a small bistro, at the window. I almost missed him because of the curtain. It shielded most of his face and all I was able to recognise was a bit of that shock of hair. The maitre'd took one look at me, said I was expected and directed me to the farthest table by the window.

So Potter did know I was following him. Quite impressive since he didn't look back to see just who was following him.

Potter didn't even look at me as the maitre'd handed us menus and swept away. He simply remained hidden behind his menu, making small noises. It must have been a terrible choice. To have the quiche, salad or continue to irritate me.

When he finally placed the menu down and ordered, he turned his full attention to me. Without his glasses, Potter's gaze is a bit too direct and a tad disconcerting. And then he said what is probably, the most galling sentence ever.

"You're too hasty. You made it too easy for me to beat you."

Potter has some nerve. His spinach quiche and black tea came and he ate leisurely, looking at me, expecting a rebuttal. I waited until he was done and told him to come to the manor at seven. I didn't wait to see if he accepted or not. I simply left.

He came.

It was wizard poker this time.

And he trounced me again.

Potter must have some sort of strategy. Something that enables him to continually beat me. Ever since that day in January when he first came to the manor, there have been weekly poker games, at our mutual convenience.

Still, I was surprised to find Hedwig come soaring to my study windows early in the morning. I happened to leave some documents there and went to get them before leaving for the Ministry.

All Potter had owled me to say was that he had set his Floo to allow me to come. And he expected me to arrive between 8 and 9 at night.

I never thought I would actually have something to look forward to. If there is one benefit to the weekly poker sessions, it is that I have refined my technique.

Potter's crass interpretation is that I'm "starting to suck less."

I anticipated nothing less than his utter defeat.

I arrived to find that Potter was indeed waiting for me. Sprawled on the couch wearing oversized pants, shirt and overly fuzzy slippers, watching something from a noisy blaring box and what appeared to be a bottle of beer in hand.

It wasn't a charming picture of domesticity. Apparently the courtesy of dressing the part for entertaining in one's home was lost to Potter.

Potter wasted no time in turning off the box and then guiding me to what he called the "poker room". It was just a poker table in a bare room with a light overhead.

We weren't playing long when the sound of someone knocking on the door came. Potter left for a few minutes, leaving his cards face down. The daft boy likes to tempt misfortune. How fortunate for him I will not resort to cheating to beat him.

When he came back, he ungraciously fell into his seat and muttered something about hating Valentine's Day and stupid dates.

I arched an eyebrow and he looked at me, explaining that he hadn't dated anyone since the war ended.

Perhaps it's just me, but he could have easily said, "Since Severus died."

But then he asked if I wanted another card and my attention was focused back on the game.

I had three of a kind.

Potter had a high straight.

I lost, yet again.

Wednesday seems to have become the regular poker night for Potter and I. It alternates between the manor and his place. The only concession I have allowed for these nights is to not wear my robe.

Sitting under a light for long hours while playing with minimal conversation does not make for comfort.

It doesn't mean I'm any less impeccably dressed. When Potter comes to the manor, he dresses appropriately. When I go to his house, he's in his usual state of "dress". The pants are worn thin, the shirt is full of holes and the slippers have some questionable stains on them.

But his eyes are sharp and I can see his mind thinking, scheming, behind green irises. I honestly don't know when he dispensed the glasses but it had a greater effect. Without those pieces of glass to make his eyes look bigger, it's harder to read his emotions. He is not an open book any more and anything that enters my mind about what he's planning is pure speculation.

Tonight's game was a sharp deviation from the norm.

Potter struck up a conversation.

I don't know whether it was because he was genuinely bored or if this was some new tactic on a psychological level that he was employing.

But I played along but gave the shortest answers possible.

Apparently that wasn't good enough for him. His watched me for a moment and then his questions became more complex, requiring thoughtful answers.

The conversation improved vastly from that point.

The poker game ended much later than any other one before.

By the time I left, it was after three in the morning.

Potter had won again while making it look like nothing.

For the first time, I am seriously contemplating taking a sick day and not going into the Ministry tomorrow.

For someone who is notoriously shy of the public, and leads a very private life, Potter is well skilled at the art of conversation.

Our poker games now usually end around one in the morning. A rule I had to stipulate as I did indeed take that sick day off.

Potter easily agreed and our games usually commence from seven in the evening. It was a system that was working out well.

Count on Potter to change it. He'd owled me, saying to meet him at the bistro around six.

The only reason why I went was to attempt to figure out what he had planned.

I arrived to find out that he thought it would be nice if we had dinner before heading back to play our usual game.

I'm starting to wish Potter still had his glasses, if only to make it easier to know what he was thinking. He looked mildly upset about something, but it's quite obvious that he does not wish to discuss it. I have a suspicion that it is connected to Severus somehow.

We went back to the manor tonight and before we started playing, I decided to throw something new at him.

I told him to call me Lucius.

Potter gaped at me like I had grown a second head and additional limbs. Then he agreed in a somewhat surprised voice.

And then he proceeded to beat me again.

Tonight's game was a wand just waiting to backfire. The politics of pureblood social norms rankles Potter. It should not have been discussed, much less brought up, until he was aware of certain things.

Potter is very touchy about comments made in regards to… Muggleborns. I made an offhand comment about Muggleborns and the deplorable state of their education and he was rabid.

I suppose he might have interpreted it as a slight against him.

The delicate phrase of, "Muggle prejudices" is apparently highly offensive. Potter should count himself lucky I elected to not say, "Mudblood stupidity". We didn't even finish this game, as he was far too incensed.

It's quite obvious that I shall be having a very long talk with him at our next poker game.

He arrived around eight, an hour later than usual. Apparently he had an appointment of some sort. Tonight's game was much longer. And not much poker was played.

Potter and I finally addressed out the issue we've been tactfully avoiding for the past three weeks.

Potter's argument was that, regardless of birth, no one had a right to determine what someone else's place in society should be. People used birth as an excuse to use others.

My argument was that people use one another by nature in order to get something. The usage of birth was something that was purely collateral and inconsequential. The real thing that people looked for was power, in a myriad of forms.

Potter's counter argument was that power was a by-product of birth, which reinforced the excuse of using birth to use others.

I countered with the fact that birth simply determined how much power one would wield in, and probably throughout, life. Power was the by-product of an innate, biological social hierarchy, with the weakest at the bottom and the strongest at the top.

Potter had muttered something about Darwin and evolution, but that Muggle crackpot had just told Muggles what wizards had known for ages.

Potter didn't say anything for a moment. Then he said to stop calling him "Mr. Potter" and call him Harry. Then he wasted no time in launching into a rebuttal.

I lost yet again. But I do think I am now much closer to beating him.

I left very late again. I doubt the department will take much notice a second sick day in four months.

We've started having dinner before our poker games now. We have become regulars at the small bistro. The maitre'd is sharp and has quickly come to realise this. When we walk in at six, the table we first ate at, well Potter ate and I declined, is always there for us, regardless of how packed the establishment can become. Harry seemed distracted by something as we were seated, but I decided to not ask.

When we arrived back at the manor, it was still a pleasant evening outside. Harry suggested that we play poker outside if we could.

It didn't take much to have the house elves set up. We were playing a very leisurely game when he asked me something very amusing today.

He asked if he was now at the top of the "food chain", since he had killed the Dark Lord and was considered one of the most powerful wizards to date.

I could only look at him for a long moment. His name is written in history texts, he's named alongside Dumbledore, Grindelwald, the Dark Lord and even Merlin and Morgana le Fay.

And he has to ask me if he's considered the top of the "food chain".

Unbelievable.

I lost again. His high suit three of a kind beat my low of the same.

Harry arrived late for our poker game. Apparently he decided it was more convenient to take a day trip to Cordoba yesterday. He said it was better than staying in England and suffer through well wishers. He went to his place, dropped off his stuff and then Flooed into the manor.

That was all I really needed to know.

I'm not sure what it is that possesses people to go into minute detail about a trip they took to somewhere.

Harry felt the need to bring out the pictures he took to make his point clear when he was talking. I certainly don't recall asking to see the pictures. He was prattling on about the Moorish architecture and gardens. But it's quite hard to miss a photograph that has been thrust right under one's nose.

It was much easier to simply pay attention to him and engage him in a conversation. Apparently he's going to take a month long trip there, but he's not sure when precisely.

When he finally was finished talking about his trip, we turned out attention to the poker game.

The game was going well until he asked if I knew anything of Moorish wizards and if their influence extended farther than the Iberian peninsula before they were forced out by Catholic wizards in the fourteenth century.

Apparently, he learned quite a bit during the day in Cordoba.

He took my silence for a reply because he quickly replied that he still remembered our conversation about power and had started reading up on wizarding history more and how Muggle events impacted it. He said he was very curious about the power shifts and how they affected systems of rule.

Merlin, help me, Harry's turned into an amateur political history buff, and it's indirectly my fault.

I had to interrupt his rambling to tell that I didn't know, but I knew someone who undoubtedly did.

All he did was grin and thank me.

It's a mystery to me as to when it became easier to see the smile in his eyes as well.

We played until midnight tonight, Harry asking to end earlier because he was feeling tired from his trip. I gave him his birthday present before he left. He looked surprised when I handed it to him.

I simply told him it was one of Severus' books. One he forgot a year ago when he came to the manor. I know it happened to be one of his favourite books. I also happen to know that it would be much better off in Harry's hands than mouldering here.

Harry looked shocked then regained himself and said his thanks before leaving.

I think I have upset him somehow.

Harry has been driving me absolutely up the wall. He's developed this nasty habit of staring at me during the poker games when he thinks I am concentrating on my cards. And when I look up, he's staring intently at his cards. A bit too intently in my opinion.

And I'll watch him, waiting to catch him in the act of staring at me. Only, he keeps his eyes glued on his cards. The moment I look back down at mine, I can feel his gaze on me once more.

This has been going on ever since I gave him Severus' blasted copy of Sense and Sensibility and sent him that wretched book on Moorish wizards and the Inquisition. It's absolutely infuriating. And he's stopped wearing those deplorable clothes. When I arrive at his place, he is dressed neatly and in flattering clothes.

When I do attempt to make conversation, his tongue trips over itself and he stutters. Harry has never stuttered once since we've started playing poker in January.

And, as if that's not enough, he stares as well. Now, he slowly added on more accoutrements to the list of his nervous tics when we play poker now.

He keeps his eyes lowered and refuses to look me in the eye. He scrunches up his nose, as if to fight the urge to reach up and scratch it. He shifts and fidgets, as if he can't get comfortable. And that damnable habit of biting his lower lip; all the silly twit is doing is making them dry and flaky. Not a desirable condition for lips at all.

I told him that and he flushed red, right down past his shirt collar. A shirt collar that he elected to have unbuttoned down to just past his neck today, undoubtedly due to the fact we were playing on the terrace and it was still warm out. It left that small hollow at the juncture of neck and collarbone exposed. All that skin flushed red in embarrassment. He actually looked up at me, but it was through his lashes and only for a second. Great Merlin, I don't want to see green eyes looking coyly at me through lashes!

One would think he's a love besotted fool!

……………………

Oh dear Merlin.

Harry was very quiet when he arrived at the manor tonight. I could barely hear him murmuring to a house elf before he came into the drawing room. He took the seat opposite mine, staring pensively into the fire.

Today is the twentieth anniversary of his parent's death and his first defeat of the Dark Lord. And then there's the small fact that this day is now the anniversary of Severus' death. I wasn't expecting him to show up tonight at all.

Conversation would be very sparing tonight.

I asked if he would like a drink and he automatically asked for a scotch on the rocks. I fixed his drink as well as some wine for myself before bringing it over to him. The card appeared on the table between our chairs and that was when Harry finally looked up at me.

He asked me only that our last game would be precisely at twelve fifty and only last for ten minutes. It was a bit surprising, but I agreed to that readily.

Harry seemed slightly nervous, but he displayed none of his tics. There was no staring at me, no scrunching of his nose and no biting his lower lip. But as the time drew neared to the appointed time, he seemed to tense, as if he couldn't stand it. I was wondering what had him acting so, when he glanced at the clock. He folded his cards and looked at me.

Then he said we would play one ten minute game with a prize for the winner. The prize would be a kiss.

No wonder Harry was nervous. He was expecting some horrible reaction. I do believe I disappointed him by simply watching him for a moment. It's true that I know he harbours feelings for me, and I am not adverse to the idea but there is a part of me that is not entirely sure.

There is one of two motivations behind this. He genuinely thought that I stood a chance of beating him now. Or he knew he would beat me anyway. Either way, he still got a kiss out of it, which is what he was clearly aiming for.

It was a decidedly Slytherin move, one that I silently applauded.

I agreed to his conditions. Harry shuffled and dealt out the new cards quickly. For ten minutes, there was nothing but the sound of the cards jabbering away as they gave their advice. Once the clock chimed one, we laid down our cards. There was nothing but silence for ten minutes and then we laid down our cards.

We both had four of a kind, much to our combined surprise.

However, Harry's four kings won out over my four jacks.

Harry wasted no time rising from his seat and walking over to my chair. He only said that he wanted his kiss right that moment.

That was it, nothing else.

It wasn't even a full and proper kiss, just a light and teasing one that spoke of many promises. But it tasted of scotch and Harry smelt of youth and fervent desire. His hand was warm as it cupped my face and a sharp lurch made my stomach churn.

He drew back and watched me for a moment before he said that I didn't have to come next week if I didn't want to.

Then he left.

Now, I don't know if I will or not.

I didn't go to Harry's to play poker the week before. I was particularly vicious on Thursday.

How did it happen that I would come to miss Harry's company? It was only one week.

I went this week. And we played our usual game. Only, I demanded the same of him this time; the winner gets a kiss. Harry had looked at me in momentary surprise and then nodded his head.

I lost by two cards. Harry's straight of a queen, jack, ten, nine and eight to mine of a ten, nine, eight, seven and six.

He looked at me a bit nervously and I simply crooked a finger.

There was no trace of nervousness when he kissed me moments later.

I left late again.

We've been dancing around one another for the past month. It's not uncommon for us to play for kisses now. They've gone from light and tame to hard, torrid and all that comes with that. And it's not uncommon for us to now only play half as many games as we used to.

I sent him a book on Moorish wizarding architecture for Christmas.

I was coming down the main steps when he appeared in the front foyer with a smile. Apparently he wanted to thank me in person for the gift. He'd loved it and had started reading it. This had startled his friend, who were surprised that he would even get something from me in the first place.

Harry followed me into the drawing room and made himself comfortable. I fixed his drink and brought it over and he took it from me, holding my hand for a moment. He looked at me intently before he reluctantly let it go. He looked at me as if he wanted to say something. I have a fairly good idea of what.

As I sat down and shuffled the cards, I looked at him and asked if he wanted more than our normal stakes, dependant on my winning hand. Harry looked at my shyly and nodded his head in agreement. Then he sat up as I dealt the cards, determination on his face.

We both know what we were playing for in this game. There would be an inevitable victor and loser, but it would still be win-win for both of us.

I had a royal flush, high suit.

Harry had a high straight.

I won.

Harry left late.

Harry starts his potions apprenticeship on the fourteenth and he's decided to simply stay at the manor for the week so as to not have to Floo back and forth. I think he's simply making the most of the time he has now before he has to juggle his schedule again.

We did play poker in the drawing room, but after a few games ended in my chair or on the floor, his newest idea is to play poker in bed while nude. I said he was simply impatient. He says it might make it more interesting.

Considering the number of games we neglect to finish, I would have to agree with him.