Title: Glass and Diamonds
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and I'm just an amateur writing my first fanfic here (wish me luck). The kingdom of Viribintra does not embody U.K. and is only based on the Harry Potter universe and my own imagination. I know the usual kingdom name in Drarry Cinderella parodies is "Hogwarts" or "Hogsmeade" but I want to use something different. "Glass and Diamonds" is Part I of the "Glass and Prophecies Trilogy" (don't expect too much from it UwU). I used Google Translate for Latin words so expect a bit of inaccuracy here.
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Content Notes: The story gets darker so warnings will be put at the start of some chapters. Curse words may or may not be censored so… please bear with me as we read and write along.
Rating: T
Summary: In a world where Muggles and wizards interact openly, Harry Dursley hates magic and constantly proves it to his family to earn their love. Prince Draco of Viribintra wants nothing more than a breath of life, and finds it in the form of a stubborn beauty, struggling to hide his wounds. What appears to be a promising fairytale full of pumpkins and glass slippers takes a nasty turn when the past starts to haunt the present. Old curses emerge and old prophecies arise. "Happily ever after" is a fading pipedream, beaten by the blight of reality. Harry and Draco must fight the walls and destinies that separate them to prove that their love isn't just glass and diamonds.

And now without further ado, "Once upon a time…"

"Audito clamore…" sang a haunting voice like molten glass.

"O virorum noctuas!" came the reply of a distant tenor—just as trembling, just as desperate.

The shiver of his voice shattered her. "C-certe ego me…"

Vowing to stand by her, he joined her in hopeless chorus: "…paulisper audies."

"Mortem trahit propius

Mortem trahit propius!"

A quivering pause resonated before the song repeated itself.

"Audito clamore o virorum noctuas
Certo ego me paulisper audies
Mortem trahit propius
Mortem trahit propius"

The chanting resonated like choirs in a tunnel, endless and despondent. An ominous gust of stuttering darkness carried the words:

"Velox, salvum me..."

And the song vanished to a hush.

Chapter 1 –– Not a Fairytale Prince

The remaining echoes mimicked large Dementors, razing every last solace in the palace. Weeks of joyous wanderings, casual conversations, and petty political debates were smothered by that music. It happened at midnight on certain days. Sometimes, it would start at three in the morning, and would gradually end at dawn. Sometimes, it would prowl in the darkest of hours, on winter days without a sun.

This time… it happened in broad daylight.

A group of politicians stood motionless, bills forgotten and words buried deep in the sands of dread. The servants who froze when the song began held their mops with frosted knuckles. Even the king's dogs who chased a Kneazle stood still, holding back an inevitable whimper.

The only person who seemed unperturbed was a striking young man with a bored expression. In the politest drawl he could muster, he asked, "Can I go now?"

The cold gray eyes he inherited pierced him with a single glance. King Lucius closed the book he was reading and held back a sigh. "Still no answers," he thought. The song was taunting them and his son is as helpful as a pesky Fwooper. He had the same pale hair and complexion as his father with a darker pink on his cheeks. The young man who stood before him restrained a groan as he corrected himself. "I mean, may I go now?"

"This is not the time for jokes, Draco."

"I'm not joking, Father, I'm asking for permission to leave."

"You are escaping your responsibilities through Quidditch." He spoke the word as though it's a grease-covered toad in his mouth. "The first ball is in three weeks and the preparations are encumbered by this ludicrous music. The least you could do is provide a useful contribution other than standing there like a Petrified statue."

Before Draco could retort, Queen Narcissa levitated a piece of parchment with a quill hovering above it. "Here, why don't you suggest some decorations for the balls? They are for you after all."

"Very well." He raised an eyebrow at the quivering quill before derisively dictating, "The first ball would have icicles and falling snow, creating a semblance to winter in the start of summer." His father gave him a questioning look as he went on. "The next one would have dancing leprechauns on the nobles' heads." The quill stopped writing as his mother shot him a disapproving glare. "And the last one would look absolutely stunning with a live dragon to replace me."

"It's settled then," the king dryly stated. "The first ball would have a winter theme and you must wear your ice blue robes."

Draco rolled his eyes at that. Of course he should've known. As punishment for his idle treatment for such an important occasion, his father would force him to wear despicable old robes. Not that they're rags, but they're old-fashioned and scratchy, particularly the lace. "All right then," he conceded. "The second night would have constellations instead of leprechauns. That should keep the pure-bloods happy."

"And the third?" his mother asked as the quill wrote that down.

"You decide."

"But it's your birthday."

"It's just another ball. What difference does it make?"

"Your future, Draco," his mother answered. Her eyes were softer as she said, "I know it's difficult for you, but you must understand that this is for our kingdom. We already discussed that you need a wife and we've postponed all our efforts for your sake, but now that your Father's results have come––"

"I know, I know," Draco said, suppressing an agony in his chest. The burden pressed like a fist with silver rings, sharp and numbing with pain. He fought to keep his face a mirror to his parents, void of expression, a wall without tapestries of fear and distress. "He still has time, doesn't he? And you can't expect me to be king before he dies."

"I'm afraid he won't have long," the queen said, reaching out to squeeze her husband's hand.

He squeezed back before saying, "I have as much as necessary to settle my affairs and be with all of you, but you must prepare for whatever happens, Draco, and I fear you might not have enough."

"I've trained hard enough," he replied, almost clenching his fist. "What else do you expect of me?"

"A wife who's strong enough to fit my shoes will do," his mother said. "And I will guide her in every step of the way, just as I would with you, Draco. I don't want you to rule alone."

"Thanks, Mother," he nodded, knowing her advice is the only one he'd accept once his father's gone. He wouldn't always trust the king's advisors. And speaking of them, they approached the library with echoing steps in the hall before coming to a muffled halt on the carpet.

"You called for us, Your Majesties?" the oldest one said, bowing low with the other two. He had a beard of silken snow and would've passed off as someone trustworthy were it not for the fact that Draco saw his beard as a silvery web of lies. Moving on from Mr. Spider Beard––ahem, Lord Dumbledore––the next one was more disconcerting. There's always a snake around his shoulders, and his face looked younger than a man in his seventies. If Draco hadn't known Lord Riddle, he'd think he's in his late twenties. The youngest is a hooked nose Potions Master, the only one Draco thought he could trust… temporarily though, as he's not sure where his loyalties lie. Lord Snape is more complicated than alchemy and no one can disagree.

Draco knew why his father chose them. They had fearsome political power and knowledge, and it would be best if they keep them at their side rather than make them their enemies. He suspected they knew but didn't say anything as the power they held as the king's advisors had its benefits. Of course, his father knew better than to bend to some of their requests, but now that Draco would replace him, he wasn't sure if he'd succeed in avoiding their manipulation. He would have to rely on his mother's guidance, but he needed to learn how to stand on his own.

With a sigh that brought him back to the moment, Draco turned to his father who said, "Very well, Draco, you may go. I'd like to speak with my advisors about an important matter."

He nodded, knowing his father hadn't told them yet about his foreseeable death. He wondered how they'd react, but he had to take this opportunity to get away from there and play Quidditch with his friends. Walking out of the library, he finally faced the sunlit hall. If anyone saw him, they'd think he's a veela or an angel of the sun, casually reflecting light through his white gold hair and fair skin. They wouldn't care what's inside of him, and he preferred it that way.

He had to admit, but not out loud, that he wasn't only running from his duties. He was running from his pain, his inevitable loss, and an irrational sense of grief he wishes to ignore. He hasn't lost his father yet. He's still there! Why bother crying now when he could simply enjoy life as though nothing happened?

He stopped in the midst of the empty hall, unable to take another step.

Something did happen. He can't deny that. His father found a cursed ring when he was young and the Healers prevented it from seriously affecting him. The incident was forgotten until that song… that damned song came along and ruined everything by somehow reviving the old curse. The pale mark around his finger becomes darker every time the song is heard. He knew that once it turns black, the full curse would strike and take away his life.

Draco shook his head and walked onward, forcing himself to think about his Nimbus Two Thousand and One. It's a frivolous thought, but it would certainly distract him.

"There you are!" Fred hollered from the field. "We wondered when you'd show up."

Crabbe, one of his gentlemen-in-waiting lumbered forward, presenting his broom like a precious sword, with Goyle hovering behind and putting away his broomstick servicing kit.

"Got held back," he replied as he took his broom, gesturing with a mock-bow. "His Royal Highness, you know."

"Okay, princess," George snickered as Draco rolled his eyes. Trust Count Weasley's twins to make fun of his title.

"Any news about the song?" Blaise asked with his broom on his shoulders.

"As usual, none."

"You sure about that?" he raised an eyebrow. "People are saying that something's going to happen next time. The Arithmancers are counting and the 43rd time should be deadly."

A knot twisted in Draco's stomach. He tried to brush it off and thought instead of how Blaise got that information. But of course he'd know. His mother leapt from one politician to another, leaving quite a number of titles and disappearances in her wake. Blaise's status constantly changes from the son of a baron to the current earl's son. Thankfully, his mother settled with the position of a duchess and Blaise was more than happy to get a stable, if not shaken, reputation. With all the experience he'd had and all the people he met with his mother's different positions, he's bound to get the best gossip before they even spread.

"That's creepy, mate," the youngest Weasley son said. Ron's taller than all of them and still managed to look tall while sitting. "I normally can't sleep every time it plays, but now I can't escape it in my waking hours."

"Just forget it," Pansy huffed as she slammed the Quaffle with her hand. If Lady Parkinson saw such an action like that, she'd ground her for a week. "We might as well play before the end of the world."

"Right, you got the players?" Draco said as he clutched his broom.

"Yep," Fred gestured toward the others. "Over here we have Neville, one of the Aurors' son," a round boy with dark blonde hair smiled shyly, "Dean, I believe he's one of the barons'," a lad with dark skin and curly black hair nodded, "Seamus, Lord Finnigan's," a good-natured chap with sandy hair beamed at him, "of course you know Ginny, our baby sister––"

"Shut it, Fred," she punched him on the shoulder as she held back a grin.

He chuckled as he went on. "Right, not so little anymore. Then there's Theo, he finally got out of his manor to socialize," a teen with dark hair and a somber expression inclined his head, "and… we have one final player."

Draco looked around and realized there were only thirteen of them––not enough to make two teams.

"Behold!" Fred yelled as he waved majestically at an empty spot behind Ron. "The invisible Seeker! He's fast, he's tiny, and he's a Snitch on a broom! I give you… the mighty NO ONE!"

They all laughed at his antics as Draco almost snorted. "All right, I get it Fred, we're missing one player. Are you sure you can't find anyone?"

"All the other nobles are grown-up and busy, and Lee's with his family on vacation," George told him. "We're the only prats out here. You think we can do with no Seeker for Gryffindor?"

"I can be Seeker," Ginny offered. "We'll just have to do with one less Chaser."

"Fair enough," Draco said. "Everyone know their roles already?"

"Yeah, we talked about it while you're gone," Fred replied. "George and I are Beaters. Same with Crabbe and Goyle. Ron and Theo are the Keepers and the rest are Chasers."

"This way, Gryffindors!" George called out and half of them followed him. Draco noted that Dean, Neville, and Seamus are their Chasers which meant that Slytherin would only have two: Blaise and Pansy.

"All right, go Gryffindor!" Dean shouted from the other side of the field as he punched the air. "Whoo!"

"Let's go, cobras!" Pansy yelled.

"I prefer pythons," Blaise said.

"Slytherin! Slytherin!" Crabbe boomed as he raised his bat.

"Everyone ready?" Draco asked as he knelt in front of the Quidditch chest and equipment that were made for him. The wood was polished ebony with gilded edges and an interior lined with velvet. He released the Bludgers before rubbing his favorite Snitch for luck and watched it fly away. He turned back to his friends and said, "Pansy?"

"Got it!" She tossed the Quaffle to him. He placed the red ball on the in-built launcher in the chest and heard a satisfying click before he jogged back to his team.

"All set?" George called out.

"Ready!"

"Mount your brooms, fair cobras and griffins!" Fred formally declared.

"Great, now we're slithering cobras," Blaise muttered with a barely concealed grin.

"Three, two, one––GO!"

All thirteen players kicked off the ground in a flash. The launcher sensed their movement and released the Quaffle. Dean caught and passed it on to Seamus. He threw it at Neville who dropped it, securing the ball for Blaise. He rushed past the Bludger George sent him and hurled the Quaffle at a goal. Ron kicked it away from a hoop as Pansy caught it. She tried to throw it back but Dean managed to steal it. He dodged a Bludger from Goyle and threw it at Seamus. He swiveled past Blaise and pitched it to the opposite goals. Theo knocked it out of its path and watched it plunge toward Blaise. He grabbed the Quaffle and passed it to Pansy midway through the field. She fiercely darted past the others with her eyes on the hoops. Ron readied himself as he circled them. Then, in a matter of seconds, she passed it to Blaise who stole Ron's attention, spotted the hurtling Bludger in his direction and dodged, quickly returning his focus on Blaise and realized he didn't have the Quaffle. The red ball zoomed past him as Pansy scored their first goal.

"Ten points to Slytherin!" Fred shouted objectively.

Pansy whooped as Dean caught the Quaffle and zoomed to the other side.

Draco directed his attention back to finding the Snitch. Ginny's already scouring the field like an eagle, so he took his place above them all to search for it. Minutes passed and his team scored again before Dean got the Quaffle past Theo. A scream rang out and he saw Neville hanging on one of the palace gargoyles, causing the game to pause as Gryffindors flew down to rescue him.

Once the game resumed (Neville refused to join), the two teams had equal players, and when Seamus scored, the two became tied. The two Seekers continued to hunt for a golden glint until a gleam caught Draco's eye. He pounced on it like a waiting serpent, zooming past the others in pursuit. A whoosh told him that Ginny's right behind him and he willed his broom to go faster. As they closed in on the Snitch, it skyrocketed and the two tore after it. It zigzagged and flew in circles until in a split second, it decided to do the unexpected:

It flew out of the field.

Draco and Ginny watched in horror as the Snitch flew past the walls and gates toward the city.

Ginny swore out loud. "That's not good." She glanced behind her. "Should we tell the others or will you Summon it back?"

"I can't, it's enchanted to resist Accio," Draco said, hearing the cogs in his head. On the one hand, he could let it go and tell the team they'd have to cancel the game. On the other hand… he could risk going out of the palace. The idea filled his mind like Felix Felicis. "I'm going after it."

"What?" Ginny frowned at him. "But I thought you're not allowed to leave the gates."

He innocently looked at her. "How come?"

"You tell me."

"All right, let's see. I have a reputation to uphold, a stunning profile," Ginny rolled her eyes at him, "people would recognize me, I'd do something reckless,,," he casually counted with his fingers. "I don't know, they sound like a good reason for me to go out there."

"You're asking for trouble."

"I am trouble!"

"How unoriginal."

"Unless if you want to join me."

Ginny turned to shout at their friends. "Hey arseheads, we're leaving the palace to catch the Snitch!"

"What?!" That made all of them freeze with Dean clutching the Quaffle as a Bludger passed him.

"Don't come for us until we get back!"

"Should we keep playing?" Dean asked in confusion.

"Shouldn't we tell your parents?" Blaise asked pointedly.

"Ginny shouted the news so they'll hear about it eventually," Fred told them.

"Try borrowing another Snitch," George suggested. "Madam Hooch has one, maybe we could ask her."

"But that's Draco's favorite ball," Blaise said with a mocking tone. "His precious, golden ball."

"Oh…" Fred said with rising eyebrows. "Like all those prince and princesses in fairytales?"

Draco groaned. "Guys…"

"Yeah, try following the ball, Draco, maybe you'll find a good prince to kiss."

They all broke into laughter as Draco glared at them. "Oh, tremendously funny, really witty, trying to make a fairytale out of me just because I'm a prince."

"Sorry," Fred chortled as he calmed down. "Fair point, though."

"You should get your ball back, Draco," Ginny grinned. "I'm staying right here."

"Tell you what, we'll cover for you," Blaise said. "You get your Snitch back, and we'll declare the game a tie due to the circumstances."

"Or we could keep scoring with the Quaffle," Pansy shrugged.

"That's an idea," he nodded. "And Draco, if you ever meet someone special, you have got to tell us about him."

"Or her I hope," Draco told his sniggering friends before shaking his head. "See you later, I suppose."

"Good luck, Romeo!"

"Au revoir, Prince Charming!"

He shot away from them and soared past the clumps of trees to the outskirts of the palace.