Draco leveled his gaze at Daphne, "Well, as it's apparent I'm not interested in chasing you, she seems to think I don't want a skirt at all, as it were," he drawled low. "Currently, she thinks I fancy," he stopped, unable to continue. The thought made him furious, and perhaps a bit ill. He'd seen two wizards kissing once, and it hadn't made him physically ill, but he'd found himself judging them on whether they were doing right by their families.
That was it, wasn't it? Something shifted in him and he understood his discomfort. A bit on the side was one thing, but to accuse him of not being willing to do what was required, expected? He would never. Not that he wanted to be with a man anyway.
"However, yes, there are many benefits to this gala. Why else would I have one?" He smirked, enjoying the banter. Daphne made him feel at ease in a way he never had around Pansy. Though the accusations of her sister nagged at him. She was perfect in so many ways, but she was just a confidante, a friend, the closest he'd ever had. It wasn't a slight against her allure. There could be no argument when it came to that, but there was something else. Something he couldn't name.
"Especially one wherein I invited the Wizengamot, half the Ministry and," he glanced around quickly, "various pseudo-celebrities like Potter and Granger."