Disclaimer: Harry and the others are not mine! even though I wish they are... I'll be bloody rich if they're mine :)

ch: okay, this is my first story so be nice and since english is not my first language, I have a lot of difficulties to write articulately so sometime the words are kinda weird... I need a beta reader and open to any helping criticism :)

enjoy!


A gentle breeze, bringing a faint scent of frangipani, his favorite, blew into his study room, awoke him from his deep sleep. Groggily, he rubbed his eye, trying hard to stifle his yawn and failed miserably. He flinched when he straigthened his back, apparently he fell asleep when doing his work last night and slept hunched to the table. He then threw his body back to the huge fluffy embroidered pillows which he had ignored when he was workng and lazily stared across the room.

His new study was huge; high arches on the ceiling, creme walls, high windows with intricate flowers and patterns on its panes, billowing velvet and satin curtains, the ivory colored marble might felt cold underneath him if not for the Persian rug that cover the area around the table. The sun shine warmed his face, it is not too shiny so it wouldn't be that late, he decided to lazy arounf a little.

Lazily he caressed the edge of the table. His work table was an old ebony tea table, the wood was petrified, he thinks, for it was so hard and dark it was almost black. Pillows with embroidered silken cloth scattered around the room the table, puffed everyday by the servants to make sure he's always comfortable. On the table though, pile of papers, books, scrolls, bottles of empty ink, every kind of mess he can possibly think of, formed a mound. Some crumbs of cookies, his unfinished supper and tea, surely the servants hadn't come today to clean his room.

Slightly annoyed, partly, because his work still piled up, he reached for a golden bell that was sitting nicely on the table. He rang three times; a signal for the main servant.

He yawned and unconsciously scratched his head. His long black hair was unruly, contrasted on how it used to look normally. Usually his hair was smooth and shiny. Boy, he must've worked his ass really hard last night. He now could feel how sore his back was, his silk robe felt uncomfortable on his skin, the golden sash around his slender waist felt too tight, and his legs were numb from sitting too long. He needed a good bath.

He soon heard footsteps coming to his room. The large door facing the hallway opened with a heavy sound. A plump man with flushed face enter the room hastily. His turban slightly tilted, his white muslin shirt wrinkled in some places, his breath heaving heavily. He quickly gained back his composure, tidying his brown short hair from his face, trying to get rid of the not visible dust on his shirt, and standing erect with a formal aura.

"Anything I can do for you, Master Harry?" said he formally with a way too deep voice.

Harry chuckled while seeing his friend attitude.

"My, my, Neville. You don't have to be so uptight around me!"

"I'm not uptight, Harry! Ah, I mean, my Lord! I am merely—"
"Shush! Neville, what's wrong with you? Surely... Snape hasn't been too hard on you, isn't he?"

Neville cast his eyes on the floor and started fidgeting the hem of his shirt. He bit his lower lip nervously.

"No, Harry… It's just… Being the head servant for you… I need to prove myself capable of this position, not just because you're my friend, you know. It's not fair for the others…" he said unsurely.

Harry's jade green eyes softened, he gave a weak smile towards his friend. Yeah, he did choose Neville because he's his close friend. But he also knew that Neville was capable of the position. Besides, he needed someone he could trust completely. No one can be so sure if their food wasn't poisoned, especially in this palace.

"Well, is there anything I can do for you, Harry?" asked Neville timidly.

It brings Harry back; he didn't realize that he spaced out.

"Yes, yes, actually I do… I don't know where to start though. What time is it now?"

"Ehm, it's almost noon, it's eleven fifteen…"

Harry's eyes grew big.

"What?! Why didn't you tell me sooner? You should've waked me up!"

He screamed, almost slipped when he scrambled his way through the pile of pillows.

"I'm sorry! You worked so late and you look really tired, I don't have the heart to wake you up!"

"Yeah, it's fine, just go prepare my clothes, I need to wash my face and change fast!" He said while hurrying towards the bathroom.

But before he reached the bathroom, a loud sound of a gong heard, signaling the arrival of the member of the royal family. He stopped dead on his track; this could not be a good sign. His main servant, Neville, hurriedly went aside and kneeled, didn't dare to see what will happen with his master. Harry tried his best to look presentable, at least. Smoothing his clothes and hair, tightening his golden embroidered sash, he cleared his throat and stood proudly waiting whomever whose footsteps echoed from the hall.

Then a beautiful young girl of sixteen came into view, her long auburn hair flowing beside her face which was flushed and wet with tears. She was covering her lips with the back of her hand, trying hard to stifle the sobs threatening to go out uncontrollably. Harry felt a painful pang in his chest. He never saw the girl without her usual attire, without her jewels, without her servants following her every steps, her sharp eyes, her superior air.

"Morgan… What—"

"Ha-ha-rry… Th-they, they..."

She tried hard to talk between her sobs and failed terribly, tears were streaming down her cheeks, Harry was frozen seeing her pitiful state. He couldn't move his body to approach her, couldn't move his arms to embrace her, and couldn't move his lips to utter soothing words. He knew what they both feared had come true. He stood there, looking so pallid and horrified, clenching his hands on the sides of his robe. He didn't want to hear it.

Morgan, seeing Harry didn't make any movement, flung herself to Harry and hugged him tightly, clinging to his arms for dear life. She put her head on Harry's shoulder, hiding her face from his searching eyes. Softly she whispered on Harry's ear, so soft he almost thought he only imagined it.

"Harry, they make it official. I'm engaged."

And Harry's world shattered.

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With one heavy swing, the man with the red attire fell hard on the floor. His opponent, wearing dark suit armor with green and silver attire, opened his helmet, his face flushed with anger and shone with victory. He glanced for a while on the other, who sprawled helplessly clearly confused before looking to the crowd and roared.

"Next!!" he demanded.

"…the hell, Draco! What is wrong with you?" screamed the red-haired man on the floor.

"What's wrong with me? There's nothing wrong with me. I am perfectly fine, Ronald. Apparently you're too weak for me." Draco cast his eyes down upon his friend whose face now matched his red hair.

"Nu-uuh!!! You're in an awfully bad mood today, you jerk! That last shove wasn't necessary!! You do it on purpose!"

"Shut up, Ronald. You're just rambling nonsense, giving me a freaking headache..." Draco said ignoring his friend and started walking away through the scared crowd.

"Nonsense?!" Ron actually squeaked, jumped on his feet and followed the blond boy. "Nonsense?! What the—Are you still pissed with your dad for betrothing you to the Slytherin girl?"

The blonde's ear twitched, he spun on his heel to face Ron. "That, is none of your business, weasel. I am merely annoyed by his decision not to include me in the decision process." He said coldly, easily towering the red head.

"Of course he won't let you decide who you're going to marry; you've been screwing almost every pretty thing in the whole town! Heck, the whole kingdom! How can he let you pick who's going to be the next queen, huh? Bloody git..."

Draco huffed and walked towards the castle, completely ignoring the red-head's rambling about how important is the marriage between Gryffindor and Slytherin. He had heard almost the exact same thing from his father.

As he went across the grassy field of the castle yard, leaving the red head to vent his anger elsewhere, passing the tall poplar bushes, the memories of last night's talk came in full force, angered him again.

He actually didn't mind at all about having to marry a woman he never knew, it was merely a duty for ones who was born aristocrat. He also didn't care about not being in the decision process, it was just an excuse to shut Ron up.

He was mad to see his father cowered over someone.

His father, the King, scared. So scared that he whispered the news to his son, completely stripped from his stoic mask and wears his emotion on his sleeves that his son could see his fear. He told him that the time has come; the Slytherin king had ordered him to send his son to Slytherin so the King can inspect him if he was fit for his daughter who turned 16 in the summer.

He made it clear that this will affect his decision as to keep the Malfoy as the royal family of Gryffindor or not. Draco was mad at his father for this; he was pissed, royally pissed.

How can a ruthless man like his father, who did not even blink when he saw his closest friend killed in front of his eyes, who teach his only son a lesson until he's black and blue, who ruled the land with iron hand, cowered over a man who was almost as real as a myth?

He had learned the history that the Malfoy were from Slytherin. They were the war generals, the king's advisors, the ministers, the rich high class socials of Slytherin. And then Slytherin declared war against Gryffindor, they won and the Malfoy were appointed as the new ruler of Gryffindor.

It's been centuries since the Malfoy rule Gryffindor, and the kingdom is prosper and happy under their rules so nobody objects. The people never think that the ruler were once their enemy, they didn't care as long as they're happy with their life.

They all forget that the Malfoys are from Slytherin for it's been generations. Even all Malfoys think themselves as a Gryffindor.

Well, actually it's only the three of them now. For some reason, the family almost lost its ability to produce an offspring that is capable to continue the family name. And as far as he know, there's only one boy born in the family each generation, just enough to continue the name. Legend said it was a spell from the Slytherin king so there will be no fight over the Gryffindor throne.

But it was centuries ago! They almost never make any contact with Slytherin whatsoever. Their kingdom was far away, it was across the Forbidden Land, the ancient land of the fairies, giants, centaurs, and all the mythical creatures. The land from which all that is magic and dark came from, the land with no ruler.

But the tale of Slytherin is very popular in Gryffindor. Of a magical kingdom over the mountain, where everything was beautiful; the palaces with golden minarets, the rivers scented with flower, the floating buildings, and the most important, the immortal king. They said it's been the same king that rule Slytherin since the Great War. Draco didn't believe it.

No one he knows ever see the Slytherin king themselves except maybe his father. His father had been to Slytherin once when he was young, still a prince but older than Draco's age right now. It's rather unusual for The King to summon the Malfoy, especially a very young prince.

His father was only in his early twenties, inexperienced and curious. From the people who knew his father back then, Draco learned that his father was rather soft and kind. They said he was always smiling and pleasant; preferred books, poetries, music, and art for politics; a loving and compassionate man. And Slyherin had changed him. Draco thought they're out of their mind.

They insisted it's true. They said his father changed when he got back from Slytherin. He was what he is now. The smile was lost, he was cold and uncaring, he loathed the things he used to love, he was indifferent, and he brought a wife.

They said the only reminiscence of his father old self is when he set his eyes upon his wife. One can see the love and a strong protectiveness in his eyes. How he carefully caressed is mother, as if scared that his touch would hurt her. How he whispered gently to her, how he reserved the rare smile only for her. The fact that his mother was a pureblood Slytherin didn't bother them, as long as she was here, they can always see the old prince live in the now cold hearted king.

Draco knew his father love his mother that much.

Draco went inside the castle, scaring the servants with his famous glare. He was going to his room to change for the armor was so loud when he walked, it gave him headache.

But when he was heading to his part of the castle, he caught in the garden in his mother's wing, a sight of his mother walking side by side with the messenger from Slytherin, the one who came mysteriously in the middle of the night on an old horse alone, the arrogant and pompous man who dared to bellow for the king to come at once, the man who now walking too close with his mother, too close.

Draco wanted to kill that man.

So what do you guys think? This is my first fic… I have a bigger picture in mind which I'll post as soon as I can andI didn't have a beta reader, so can anyone please help me , thx! plz review XD