Chapter One:Time to Grow up

The dim bedroom was flooded with light as the maid pulled the drapes open, making the young girl in the bed sigh as she came to terms with the fact she'd have to get up. Her eyes opened wide and she flew upright scaring the wits out of her maidservant in the middle of preparing her clothes for the day.

"Is everything alright Milady?" The young serving woman was shy, most probably moulded that way due to the scary results of the Duchess' temper.

"Yes! I couldn't believe I had forgotten that today is my birthday! Sara, I'm nine today -!" She broke off at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Mindful of the lecture she would get if caught talking to the staff in a familiar fashion one more time she cleared her throat, eyes cast downward. " Is my attire ready for breakfast yet? It would most certainly not do for one to be late on such a special day." All decorum restored, she pushed aside her comforter and stepped behind the dressing screen, signalling Sara to come aid her with her dress.

Jasmine was the elder daughter of the Duchess of York. Living on an estate named Hay Manor, Jasmine was formally known as the Lady Jasmine of Hay. Amongst the serving staff she was more popular as the mischief of Hay, not the poised young lady she was supposed to be.

Just yesterday she had been subjected to an entire day of etiquette lessons. This was apparently due to the birthday banquet being held tonight in her honour. Jasmine more believed it was due to being found in the stables having a hay fight with the ostler's son.

She shuddered in dread, wishing with all her heart that she could be in the future already, past all the lessons. To be a grown up already - who didn't get treated horribly and punished for having fun. She was so scared and dreading that night that her head started to ache.

At the same time her dressing table started to tremble. The box of hairpins that Sara was using to pin her hair up rattled and skittered across the polished surface. Snapping back into focus at the distraction she looked sharply at the maid in the mirror.

"What was that?" her voice shaking as she demanded to know what had happened.

"I don't know milady. Mayhap one of the boys set something off in the gardens?" She shook her head at the assumed mischief and continued to quickly dress Jasmine's hair for breakfast.

Jasmine was quiet for the majority of the day, trying to not fidget and talk very much so as to not aggravate her mother the Duchess. Her mother had been watching her like a hawk all day to make sure that she didn't act up. If she made a mistake tonight she could embarrass the family and land herself in serious trouble.

All through her final fitting at the tailors and overseeing the staff set up the Dining Hall Jasmine let no word pass her mouth unless it had been carefully thought through and was in direct response to a question.

Jasmine was starting to feel like it would never end, unable to help herself she'd started unconsciously started fiddling with the lace lining her fan and twitching her toes in her slippers.

Eventually, her mother was satisfied with the work that the servants were doing and deemed them able to finish without supervision, she summoned her personal maid. She arrived momentarily with Sara in tow. Dismissed, they hurried for Jasmine's bedroom to start the arduous process of dressing for the banquet.

Stripped down to her silken shift, Sarah started curling Jasmine's hair with a set of curling tongs that had been set in the fire earlier. She was very careful to try not to burn her, but she still winced as Sara apologised at every slip. With the door to Jasmine's chambers firmly shut, Sara felt comfortable to quietly relay the house's gossip about the staff and the various gentry expected to make an appearance tonight. Normally this would soothe Jasmine but tonight it only made her far more nervous. Her mother was out to impress the highborn gentlemen of society in order to remarry after her husband's death over a year previously. Any slip-up on Jasmine's behalf was interpreted as an attempt to foil her chances and to make life difficult for her.

All too soon Sara had finished her hair and was lightly applying cosmetics before taking her behind the dressing screen to help her on with her dress.

Looking at her reflection afterwards she had to say she was pleased with what she saw. Her hair was perfectly placed and shiny with a black velvet bow holding the majority back. Her dress was an emerald green that matched her big, bright eyes and it had a black sash. The black lace lined the hems and she fervently hoped she wouldn't fiddle with it.

Giving her reflection a small, nervous smile, she hurried off downstairs to help her mother greet the guests.

By the time it got to the pre-dinner drinks she was a nervous wreck. She'd fumbled on one or two names while greeting guests and was sure to receive a long lesson memorising the members of society the next day. She was currently migrating from group to group receiving well wishes for her birthday and thanking her mother's guests for coming. Unfortunately her mother's friend the Duke of Rumfeld, a horrible smelly man who leered at all the women he came across called her over and started to draw her in to conversation.

The serving staff were wandering the guests allowing them to take champagne flutes from the trays and accepting empty ones back. One passed by Jasmine with a glass of plain apple juice, which he nodded encouragingly at.

Distracted by the elderly lady next to her, asking about what literature she was interested in, she missed the glass and instead knocked a champagne flute causing a domino effect. Naturally all the glasses fell on the Duke of Rumfeld.

Jasmine froze like a fox lined up by a rifle. Looking across the room she saw the look on her mother's face. It was livid; she was turning purple with rage. As soon as Jasmine was able to regain her motor skills she started running.

She made it out the front doors, tears blurring her vision as she descended the steps and angled towards the stables. Almost tripping she found her way into and empty stall full of hay and curled up into a ball sobbing.

Safely curled up she again wished she wasn't there, wished she could be past all this. Maybe be an adult instead but no matter what she just wanted to wake up and she would have passed it by.

The walls started shaking, hay drifted down from the loft above. She didn't notice, she didn't want to be there, she was wishing so hard, imagining it were true. Eventually she realised that the noise around her had changed distinctly. She also found that she was very cold and wet, which was confusing, it wasn't winter yet was it?

She looked down at herself in excitement hoping that if her dream to get away did come true then maybe she had become an adult! But she'd had no luck. Jumping up off the ground, she realised that she had no idea where she was. A happy bubble of excitement welled up inside of her and burst with energy as she realised she was nowhere near home. Jumping and laughing she started skipping down the path, wet from melting snow.

THWAK!

A cold wet feeling dripped down her collar. She spun around to find a cheeky, blonde, pale-faced boy peeking around from behind a tree.

That was it - this was war…

The war of snowballs went on till they were both soaked with melted snow and panting with exhaustion. The blond haired boy hid behind his tree to catch his breath, he hadn't come across such a good snow-fight in a long while, all the boys his father deemed appropriate for him to play with were boring.

Hearing a noise, he looked up to find a small pale hand stuck in his face.

"Truce?" The girls startling emerald eyes were twinkling with amusement at his shock. Looking at her with a calculating expression, he smirked and took her hand.

"Of course!" with that he pulled her into a snowdrift that was next to him. As he went to let go of her hand he found himself pulled in right after her!

"Well that wasn't very polite was it? and just look where it got you!" she laughed softly at the expression on his face. He looked positively scandalised. Standing up and brushing herself off she looked down at him disapprovingly. "Besides, that is absolutely no way to treat a lady!" her hands were on her hips in a very annoyed way.

"You? A lady?" He scoffed, "well that's no way to treat a gentleman! Let alone someone you don't know from a bar of soap. Ha! You're probably no more than a cleaning lady." As soon as he'd said that, he wished he could reach out and snatch the words back. He barely saw her fist flying at his nose till it connected, leaving his eyes watering and a rather high pitched yelp escaping his lips.

"I wouldn't go calling the Lady of Hay, future Duchess of York a cleaning girl thankyou! And who might you be to have the audacity to walk about questioning the blood of nobles?"

The young boy raised his head, looking her over with glistening eyes. "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Say, are you going to a dress up party or something? Your clothes are very old fashioned." He cringed when he realised she might get insulted by what he said.

Confusion passed over her face.

"What do you mean? These are the latest fashions from London, I was fitted at the tailors just today!" A black London Cabbie drove past honking its horn at a dog running across the road, "oh my! What on earth was that?"

"Um, that's a car? What year are you from? Sheesh don't tell me you're a crazy muggle!" the last part he mumbled under his breath, not daring another assault from the girl.

"Same year as everybody else around here! 1784 you silly boy! But I don't know how on earth that carriage just moved without a horse!" Draco's jaw dropped at her statement. He was starting to think she wasn't crazy and that this may just be a case for the ministry. Problem was, would they listen to a nine year old? Even if he were a Malfoy?

"Um, the year isn't 1784. it's 1995. I think I should take you to the ministry to sort all this out." He watched as her face turned pale and her eyes widened in shock.

"Oh dear!" She gasped as she fainted.