A/N: A lot of this chapter is completely made up as I've never been famous or good enough at anything to attend any sort of prizegiving other than the ones the teachers make you go to at school. But some parts are accurate. You can guess which ones!
This is Draco and Daisy's night – hope you enjoy it along with them.
Draco and Daisy's limo careened through the streets of London at breakneck pace, a.k.a a crawl, which seemed perfectly normal to Daisy and Will. But Draco was rather unused to being moved without moving, so he was rather relieved when the limo screeched (gently glided) to a halt on Bow Street and idled behind a dozen other limos, lining up to despatch the richly famous and famously rich onto the long red carpet that led into the BAFTAs venue: the Royal Opera House.
Daisy's huge eyes got impossibly bigger as the limo inched down the street. There was so much to see! And she didn't want to miss a single bit of her fairy-tale evening. Nose pressed up against the window glass, she boggled at the hordes of onlookers lining the street, restrained only by flimsy temporary fencing and Police officers in fluorescent vests. Phones clicked and flashed like crazy as the lookie-loos wasted their batteries taking photos of uniform-looking limousines with tinted windows that gave away absolutely no clues as to the gorgeousness of the occupants contained therein. Except for the certainty that they were, of course, gorgeous.
'Cor,' Daisy breathed on the window, fogging it up as their vehicle drew close to dramatically-lit neoclassical Opera House with its elegant, imposing Doric columns and enormous BAFTA banners fluttering in the chill night breeze. At its feet lay what seemed like miles of slightly damp (it was lightly raining) red carpet, trodden on by thousands of celebrities and their entourages over the years – and in a minute, she'd be treading on it, too. Omigod!
With her clutch clutched, wrap wrapped around her shoulders and her hand on the door handle, she was nanoseconds away from rocketing out of the limo and onto the carpet – before a cough interrupted her whirling thoughts.
'Aren't you forgetting someone?' Will asked dryly.
'Oh!' Daisy turned around, looking for her escort. He was seated not too far away (obviously), but he was staring at his fingers and forming words with his lips. That is to say, he looked rather odd.
Cautiously, Daisy slid along the car seat and looked at his fingers. They seemed perfectly normal to her. 'Draco,' she whispered, dropping character for a moment. 'You all right?'
Draco took a deep breath and let it out. He and Hermione (well, Hermione) devised a method to help him remember all the Troy-related bumf he was supposed to remember tonight. Each finger represented a section of Troy's life, or work – past, present and future – his family, his mates, his dog's name, the media networks present tonight, the names of people at the BAFTAs he was supposed to know – and the names of people at the BAFTAs he was not supposed to know. It was a hell of a lot of information to retain.
He and Hermione eventually chunked it down to ten sections, with a finger or thumb dedicated to each one. There wasn't anything written on his fingers, as Daisy could attest – and, of course, magic was strictly forbidden tonight. He had to rely on good, old-fashioned moxie.
Draco was, by default, a confident and arrogant (albeit lovable) prat. He'd successfully bull-shitted his way through more than a few questionable situations at home, at school and with indignant girls who thought he was their boyfriend just because he slept with them. Honestly! He thought distractedly. When Draco Junior takes over the reins, Draco Senior can't be held responsible for whatever crap comes tumbling out of his mouth.
But impersonating a famous actor at a famous awards ceremony – a Muggle ceremony, to boot? He must be stark, raving, barking mad.
He clenched his fists and shuddered.
Oh, hell, Will thought, alarmed. He pulled his first aid kit out from an inside tux pocket – a hip flask filled to the brim with the strongest whisky Scotland could legally manufacture without turning drinkers blind.
Impulsively, Daisy put her arms around Draco's waist. 'You'll be all right,' she said encouragingly. 'You're a dead ringer for Troy. Will will always be nearby to help you, and I'll never leave your side! Unless you have to go to the Gents, of course. Or I have to go to the Ladies. I believe in you, Draco Malfoy.'
Draco looked at the earnest young lady sitting by his side. If she believed in him...
'Thanks, sweetheart,' he murmured, giving her a quick hug. He held out an arm to Will, who, rather than participate in a group hug, handed Draco the hip flask. He sniffed the contents appreciatively and took a healthy slug. It burned a most satisfactory trail to his gut.
He felt better.
'Are we ready, then?' Will asked with forced cheer.
'Yes, sir!' Daisy beamed.
'All right, then. Showtime in five seconds. No more Draco Malfoy, hello Troy Fendalton!' With that, Will rapped the window, and the chauffeur opened the door.
If Draco thought the din and clamour outside was loud while he was still inside the limo, it immediately ratchetted up to almost eardrum-shattering decibel levels when his blonde head exited the vehicle. Supressing his instinct to grab his absent wand and smite the evil, loathsome creatures that surely were responsible for this harpy-like hell, he grinned and waved at the heaving hordes of mostly female teenage girls who were screaming Troy's name at the top of their lungs. He turned back to the limo to help Daisy alight.
Daisy took a deep breath, smiled and stepped onto the red carpet at long last. Waving enthusiastically at everyone she could find, even the technical staff, she accepted Draco's proffered elbow as they began their promenade down the carpet.
'Sign some autographs,' muttered Will from just behind them.
Next to her, Daisy felt Draco's bicep tense. Poor thing, he must be so nervous. Fancy not remembering what an autograph is!
'Come on,' she smiled and steered Draco to the side of the carpet where some very patient fans, who'd been camped out since before dawn, went bananas at the sight of the object of their daily and nightly lust heading over.
A forest of hands clutching pens and paper were thrust at him, accompanied by a chorus of screaming 'omigods' and 'Troy, Troy, over here! TROY!' and 'I can't believe it's Troy omigod I'm gonna wet myself!' (there weren't any toilets nearby, unfortunately).
Daisy whispered that he had to sign his name on the scraps of paper. By which she meant Troy's name. Which led to Draco's first panic of night – he'd never seen Troy's signature before.
Oh, well. Going for broke, he took the first pen and paper, signed a large, dashing 'T' and followed it with a scribble of illegible letters. He ended with 'xx' and handed the paper back to its owner with smile and 'There you go, love.'
She promptly took one look at the signed paper and promptly screamed 'OMIGOD OMIGOD OMIGOD!' while jumping up and down like a kangaroo that was channelling a two-year-old child on an energetic tantrum. Her friends crowded around her, ogling the paper, touching the pen where Draco's fingers held it, and then joined in on the OMIGOD Kangaroo Dance.
Trying not to look alarmed at this most undignified display of Muggle custom, Draco glanced down at Daisy with a quirked eyebrow. She grinned back and gave him a thumbs-up.
Shrugging genially, he reached for the next bit of flapping paper, saying 'All right, love?' to its hysterical owner.
Next was posing for photographs in the media area, against a backdrop with the names of the ceremony's sponsors splattered across it. Daisy proudly posed with Draco, playing the adoring, wide-eyed fan to perfection, while Draco did his best to remember how Troy best liked to pose for still shots.
'How's single life treating you, Troy?' asked a reporter from one of the glossy gossip magazines.
Draco treated her to a knicker-dropping smile and said 'It's been a great time to step back and really think about my future path, career-wise and personally.'
'Are you looking for that special someone yet?'
Draco's lips curved into a most inappropriate smile, thinking of Hermione. 'Not really. But when she comes into my life, I'll know.'
A reporter from one of the newspapers called out to Daisy: 'Enjoying your evening, love?'
Daisy beamed and clasped her hands together. 'It's the best night of my entire life!'
The cynical, hackneyed journos laughed indulgently. 'Any messages for friends and family back home?' a TV reporter asked. 'Just speak into that camera over there.'
Squeezing Draco's hand before letting it go, Daisy skipped over to where the reporter showed her to stand and stared earnestly into the camera. 'Hermione, Mr and Mrs Granger, thank you so much for all your help in making tonight possible!' she beamed. 'And also Troy's agent for arranging it all. And to my fellow students at John Abernathy School for Girls, especially Felicity, Allegra and Margot, who thought I was lying when I said I was going to the BAFTAs with Troy Fendalton, you can all stick it up your' –
A hand lightly clamped over her mouth, and Draco's face appeared in the camera's vision. 'That's enough potty mouth from you, young lady,' he mock-chided, then he easily picked the surprised girl up and hoisted her over his shoulder.
'Sorry to leave, but we've places to be!' Draco called out cheerfully, and marched off into the Opera House amidst a chorus of hearty laughter and camera flashes, all capturing Daisy's wide-eyed expression, down to the perfectly-shaped 'O' of her surprised mouth.
Will, holding Daisy's clutch and wrap (not needed for photos) strolled behind, looking speculative.
Draco honestly thought Daisy's eyes couldn't get any bigger, but he was wrong.
Once they were inside the plush theatre and escorted to their near-stage seats by a deferential usher, she boggled at the expensive tote bags that were placed on their seats.
'SWAG!' she cried joyfully, to the amusement nearby actors who had teenagers of their own. Including the ones who hadn't officially acknowledged they had children of any age.
'All nominees receive a goodie bag from the sponsors,' Will murmured to Draco as they took their seats, watching Daisy, who'd already hauled the gifts out of the bag, laid them on her lap and was busy discussing one of the items with her neighbour, the nominee for Best Actress in a Supporting Role.
Draco peeked inside his own bag. In it, he discovered a miniature BAFTA trophy, a posh pen, bottles of champagne, wine and sparkling water, perfume, exquisite chocolates, expensive notepaper and some sort of odd gadget that did Merlin knew what, but it was named 'Nespresso.' It came with some little sealed capsule thingees that might as well be moon rocks for all the use they were to him.
Whatever. He'd take the bag home to Hermione and she could sort out what they could use and what they couldn't.
Stowing the bag under his seat, Draco recalled the last thing Will said. He leaned over to Will and whispered 'Er, nominee?'
Will's hands gripped the seat's armrests. 'You've been nominated for Best Supporting Actor in your last feature, The Colour of His Coat,' he hissed. 'The one where you played an assistant to a top British Intelligence investigator who was trying to expose the person who was supplying top secret information to the IRA, only it turned out it was you all along.'
Ah, right. Draco watched that movie, along with all the other productions Troy had a role in, with Hermione at the Grangers.' He wasn't overly impressed by it, to be honest, but Hermione and Jean were sniffling into their handkerchiefs at the end. His character was after revenge in retaliation for the death of his secret Irish lover, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. All that info was on finger number 3.
'Got it,' Draco murmured. 'I'm not going to win, though, right?' he asked hopefully.
Will shrugged. 'You could. No-one knows who the winners are except the head honchos at the British Academy of Film and Television Arts. Plus the auditors backstage.'
Draco nodded sagely and sent up a silent prayer to Merlin. I know I've been a bad lad, he prayed, but do you think you could look the other way and let some other actor win tonight? I'd really appreciate it, ta.
Long, interminable hours later (or so it felt to Draco, who was certain his shapely golden arse had permanently flattened into a pancake) the nominees for Best Actor in a Supporting Role were read out by a luscious female celebrity whose breasts seemed to defy gravity.
'This is it!' Daisy whispered excitedly, who'd crossed all of her fingers and had appropriated Draco's nearest hand to cross all the fingers on his one.
Therefore, as the camera panned to 'Troy,' the audience laughed and cooed at the sight of Troy wincing as Daisy determinedly tried to macramé his digits with just her thumbs, since her own fingers were all crossed. She eyed up his other hand, so Draco surrendered to the inevitable and handed it over.
The audience hushed as the airy-breasted celebrity stepped to the side to let her male companion read out the winner's name.
'And the winner of the BAFTA for Best Actor in a Supporting Role is...' - he opened the envelope and fished the card out - ...'Troy Fendalton!'
The theatre burst into applause as the camera swooped back to Troy, looking genuinely shocked for a moment, then slightly ill, before recovering into a smile of bashful acknowledgement.
'Omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod you won! You won!' Daisy shrieked, pulling Draco to his feet, wrapping her arms around his waist and starting up the Kangaroo Fandango. Around them, people laughed at her infectious enthusiasm and women went 'Aww...' with their hands on their hearts, and wondered if they could convince their latest husband/lover/both to locate an undocumented immigrant to surrogate a baby girl for them who would grow into the beautiful young lady with the infectious laugh that was hugging Troy Fendalton so tight it was a miracle he hadn't run out of air.
'All right, Daisy,' Will grinned, ecstatic (Troy will be beating studio offers back with a stick after this!) 'let Troy go so he can collect his BAFTA.'
Oh, cripes, the bloody BAFTA, Draco thought. 'Can Daisy come with me?' he asked hopefully.
'YES!' from Daisy.
'NO!' from Will.
Sighing, Daisy flopped back into her seat and the world (or those who were watching) watched Troy head up to the stage, collect his trophy, shake hands with the male celeb and air-kiss the female celeb (he would have actually kissed her cheek, but her boobs were too large for him to get anywhere near her face).
All too soon, Draco found himself standing at a noise amplifier Hermione called a microfone, staring out at a sea of celebrities with arses perched on plush red seats, smiling so brightly they dazzled Draco's eyesight. All waiting for him to say something.
Finger number three, finger number three.
Oh, hell. He couldn't remember what was on finger number three!
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit...
He coughed lightly. 'Thank you all for the warm reception,' he began. 'Although I will understand if most of the applause was for my best fan and companion, Daisy, who's made this magical evening an experience I will never, ever forget.' He winked at Daisy, who sighed with dramatic happiness and collapsed back onto her seat. The audience laughed again.
'I know it's customary to thank my co-stars, cast and crew who worked on this extraordinary film' – here he paused, and bit his lip pensively – 'and while I am forever grateful to them, I'd like to take a moment instead to remember all the men, women and children who were killed, or lost family members, to a terrible, violent conflict we euphemistically refer to as The Troubles.'
The audience was silent. Cameras zoomed in on glittering celebs looking solemn and nodding sadly.
'The Colour of his Coat only featured a tiny sector of an unspeakable conflict that practically happened on our doorstep, but in years to come, I hope it will help future generations understand what it was like to live through war when, hopefully, all they will ever know is peace. Thank you.'
Draco briefly acknowledged the wildly-clapping audience and strode off the stage, too caught up in silently thanking Andrew Granger and what he told Draco about his recollection of that time to see celebs standing up in ovation en masse.
There was barely a dry eye in the house. Aside from the ladies who just had full face-lifts. But they were crying inside, honestly.
Much to Draco's well-hidden chagrin, the end of the ceremony did not mean the end of the evening. As an awards winner, he had to be 'seen' at one of the major sponsors' after parties.
Thankfully, because of Daisy, they wouldn't stay too long, since she had to go home at a reasonable hour.
'That's not fair!' Daisy sulked. But not for long. For once more, she was transported to another magical world where the best and brightest and famous and hippest and richest hob-nobbed shoulder to shoulder with each other, pretending to eat tiny slivers of food and enthusiastically quaffing quantities of champagne or the sponsor's product, which happened to be a high-end vodka.
At the venue's glitzy central bar, Daisy gaped at the dizzying range of vodka-related alcoholic drinks on display before a bartender asked her what'll it be.
Will opened his mouth to instruct the bartender to get Daisy a lemonade, but Daisy was quicker. 'A cosmopolitan, please!' she said brightly.
'Wait!' Will gasped before the bartender dashed off. Turning to Daisy, he lectured 'Young lady, you are not of legal drinking age. And I will be damned if I'll be responsible for photos of you splashed across tomorrow's tabloids, absolutely legless.'
Daisy conjured up her best pout, but to no avail. She turned to the bartender. 'Can you make a cosmopolitan that tastes the same without the alcohol?' she asked hopefully.
'Nah, love, sorry.'
'Just the lemonade please,' Will said firmly.
'Can I have a glass of champagne instead?'
Will sighed. 'No.'
'What about half a glass, then? And I'll promise to stick to lemonade for the rest of the night without complaining?'
Lord preserve me, Will wailed to himself. 'All right. Half a glass. And not a drop more.'
He watched the smiling bartender fill half a glass of champers for Daisy. Teenage girls are not to be trifled with, he thought in awe.
Sitting at a small table with their food and nibbles, Draco pleasantly greeted all the right people who passed by in a steady stream, helped along by Daisy who, from time to time, would stare at the visitor in awe and say to Draco 'Omigod, it's so-and-so, who starred with you [insert movie name here]!'
Draco was seriously considering adopting her.
A middle-aged couple who were sitting across the tiny table looked and Draco and Daisy indulgently. Eventually, the lady leaned over and said to Daisy in an American accent 'I love your hair, darling. Who styled it?'
Daisy glanced at her pinky-blonde locks and shrugged. 'Well, I did, mostly.'
'And such a lovely necklace, too!' she marvelled.
Daisy grinned and hugged Draco. 'That was from Troy,' she said.
The lady's delicate eyebrow raised. 'He gave you a plat' – but she finished her sentence on a cough after Troy looked alarmed and drew a finger hurriedly across his neck, out of Daisy's view.
Daisy looked concerned. 'Are you all right, miss?' she asked. 'Would you like some water?'
After the lady demurred, the man said 'We were wondering, my dear, if you had any acting experience?'
'Well,' she shrugged, the same time as Draco and Will both said 'Yes!' quite emphatically.
'Do you have an agent?' the man asked.
Will procured a business card out of nowhere and smoothly handed it to the gentleman. 'I'm responsible for this young lady,' he said with an emphatic nod. Since it wasn't really a lie.
Both Draco and Daisy watched this exchange with wide eyes.
'Ah! Excellent,' said the gentleman. 'My business partner and I' – he indicated the lady sitting next to him – 'are looking to produce a period feature TV series about an independent young lady who finds the customs of the day too restricting, and longs for adventure. And we both thought that young Daisy here looks exactly like the type of girl we're looking to cast in the lead role.'
For once, Daisy was too shocked to omigod.
'Sounds very interesting,' Will mused, morphing into business mode. 'Does that sound interesting, Daisy?'
Silent Daisy could only nod, her eyes like saucers.
'Excellent,' Will smiled, and settled down to talk turkey on behalf of his newest client.
Leaving Daisy safely under Will's supervision (his newest source of income MUST be protected at all costs), Draco stretched and headed off to the Gents, thankfully only having to stop a couple of times to briefly chit-chat with some of Troy's co-stars.
Once relieved, he exited the conveniences but in his weary state, got his lefts and rights mixed up and eventually found himself in an anonymous-looking corridor. No traffic in sight, but down the end, he could hear the chatter and clanging and hissing that went with a busy commercial kitchen.
Wrong way, dumbass, he grizzled to himself, sighed, spun around and –
- walked smack into another person. Who he swore wasn't there a second ago.
Stepping back and murmuring his apologies, he made to step around the lady, but she put a restraining hand on his arm.
'Troy,' she purred, looking up at him from under her enormously long fake eyelashes, 'surely you weren't going to run away without saying hello to me?' She lifted her head up to him, glossy bubble lips pursed for a kiss.
Draco blinked, and quickly skimmed over the woman's features. Posh voice, long, straight blonde hair, eyes so violet they must be fake somehow, lips that looked pumped so full of gods-knows-what it looked like a baboon's arse, svelte figure, round, perky bum and large breasts, all poured into a slinky black sequinned dress that proudly advertised each and every feature.
Oh, hell, Draco groaned to himself. Merlin, if I ever find you in the next world, I'm gonna kill you!
It was Sage Gibbs-Everett, famous Brit movie star. Finger number eight.
And Troy's ex.
A/N: Will Draco be tested? Will Draco pass the test? Will Daisy be the next Oscar-winning British export to take Hollywood by storm? Stay tuned for another chapter of this soap opera I fondly call 'Treacherous Affairs Part Two.'