Chapter Six: The Queen of Love and Beauty
Put on your hip boots, dear readers. Here it comes.
The tall man walked gracefully down the three steps into the Great Hall and looked around. Everything was festive for the Halloween Ball: pumpkins carved into amusing faces, with candles inside them, everywhere; festoons of little white ghosts, flapping and whispering, "Boo!" whenever anyone looked at them; the house bats performing synchronised flying manoeuvres overhead; great urns of yellow and orange chrysanthemums and flaming autumn leaves, and, of course, Hogwarts' famous floating candles, orange in honour of Samhain.
He looked up: the stars of Scorpio shone in the enchanted ceiling. Hogwarts' house ghosts reigned over the ceiling on Halloween; he could see them flying back and forth, some on spectral brooms, and one (the Bloody Baron, he supposed), driving a ghostly motorcar of ancient vintage, the Grey Lady in the passenger seat. It had been given him some years ago during a Halloween prank, and he refused to part with it.
The tables were decorated with jack o'lantern centrepieces, and laden with footed trays of nuts, candy, fruits and sugar skulls, bowls of shining red apples and baskets of cakes and pitchers of cider. Against one wall, an orchestra tuned up. The feast would appear on the tables as soon as the Headmaster spoke the blessing. Yes, he thought, Dumbledore's outdone himself this time.
He handed a House Elf his cloak and cane, brushed an invisible speck from his impeccable black jacket front, removed his gloves, shrank them into almost nothing and put them into a pocket. He tossed his head, and his long hair flowed down his back almost to his waist. He smirked; I still have it; I'll always have it. Look at them staring at me!"
In truth, people always stared at him. Why not? Was he not beautiful? He swaggered over to the Masters' Table and paid his respects to old Dumbledore, then circulated amongst the crowd, kissing ladies' hands and greeting colleagues and acquaintances. His son sat under the Slytherin banner, looking uncharacteristically subdued. Draco looked up and saw his father approaching, and an odd look crossed his face. Not the usual flash of fear, not this time. The corner of the boy's lip curled and he sneered.
Lucius Malfoy loomed over his seated son. "Well, my son, is that how you greet your father?"
Draco rose to his feet and bowed, then looked at his sire with a strangely expressionless face. "Welcome, sir," he said. Cool, polite and somehow menacing. What? This little shite, his own child, menacing?" Lucius returned the bow and waved his hand at his son. "Enjoy the ball, son." Draco sat down again.
The music began; some of the Masters chose partners and waltzed out onto the dancing-floor that had been created when the long student's tables had been placed crosswise, with a large space between them. Lucius nodded to Minerva McGonagall, dressed in what he supposed was her Halloween best (yet another hideous pointed hat, although no vulture on its peak; another dreadful, tatty green gown, doubtless a family heirloom worn by her great-great-grandmother and generations of other tasteless McGonagall witches since). He shook hands with Flitwick, and started across the floor to talk to Goyle Senior, who did not look over-enthused to see him. He was almost at the man's side when there was a hubbub at the stairs, and Lucius turned to look.
Oh, it was only that Mudblood female, Granger, with Potter and Weasley. Three Gryffindors. His lip twisted in disgust. Bad enough she had been allowed into the school at all; worse that she seemed to be an exemplary student; and worst, she had caused his son to owl home, in his most snivelling of tones, that she had insulted him in public.
He goggled. He stared.
If Colin Creevey had snapped a photo portrait of him at that moment and shown it to him, he would have ripped it to shreds with his bare hands, caused the camera to explode and then brained the amateur photographer with his silver-headed cane.
Still, it would have been lovely to have had a permanent record of that most sophisticated and urbane of aristocrats with his mouth hanging open, practically drooling on the floor. And that was in addition to the well-covered up but painfully evident male reaction to a half-giant-sized Queen of Love and Beauty entering the room.
He was big, but she was half again as tall as he. O gods, that fabulous hair, the colour of ripe corn, glossy as new corn silk! That red gold coronet: a princess! Those beautiful sky-blue eyes with their thick brown lashes and the winged blonde brows; that porcelain complexion! That incredible peaches and cream bosom, swelling delectably above the blue velvet scoop of her bodice… He had to have her. Oh, to bury his face in those soft hills! To revel in the luxurious fullness of that big, womanly body!
He strode to the beautiful half-giantess' side and took her hand as he knelt at her feet in a full court bow, his head bent, his platinum blond hair spilling over his shoulders. He kissed her hand, and then looked up at her, his silver-blue eyes shining.
"Princess, I am your slave," he purred. "Do with me what you will."
***
Hermione, Harry and Ron had all they could do to control themselves until they could get out of earshot by running into the Tea Parlour, just off the Great Hall. Ron bent almost double, holding his hands over his mouth; Harry's face was purple as he stifled snorts of laughter, and Hermione had already descended into gales of hysteria, tears running down her face. "Oh, gods!" Ron gasped, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. "What an ass!" Hermione was beyond speech; she was hiccupping helplessly. "Come on," said Harry. "We've got to get 'Mione some punch before she hiccups herself up to the ceiling." The boys seized Hermione's hands and towed her back into the Great Hall, in the direction of the punch table.
They saw Hagrid across the room, talking to some of the Ministers. As they watched, he bid them goodbye and started across the room in their direction. Then, he stopped in his tracks, and his face took on the appearance of a thunderstorm.
"What's the matter with him?" whispered Harry. Hermione followed Hagrid's gaze: Helgarda was talking to Lucius Malfoy, who was offering her his arm and gesturing to the gardens. As they watched, the couple walked out of the glass doors and could be seen strolling through the rose bushes.
The three Gryffindors hastened over to Hagrid, who was muttering into his beard and shifting from one foot to the other. "Hagrid, what is it?" asked Harry.
He glared down at the boy. "Did yer see him? Did yer see that disgustin' fop, down on his knee, bowin' an' scrapin' and flappin' 'is eyelashes at her?"
He growled ominously. "If he lays a finger of 'is frickin' hand on her…"
Hermione pounced on his arm, and between herself and the two boys, they dragged him over to a table on which stood punch bowls filled with red cranberry punch, pitchers of cider and butterbeer and tiered serving plates of savouries.
"Hagrid, don't worry, if Malfoy steps out of line, she'll just knock him on his bum," snickered Ron, handing Hermione a cup of cranberry punch.
"Yes, you saw how - Hic! she handled his little prat, didn't you? Now, just trust her," Hermione said soothingly. She took several large swallows of the tart-sweet punch. "She's going to be your companion for dinner, isn't she?"
Hagrid nodded. He looked as if he would burst into tears. "She's so wonderful," he said softly. "Once in yer life, an angel comes along; she's my angel." A big tear rolled down his cheek and trickled into his beard.
"Now, Hagrid," Harry said, patting the half-giant on the back, "don't be sad. If she doesn't' come back in a few minutes, you can always go out there and toss Malfoy to the giant squid."
Hagrid brightened considerably. "Or into the Whompin' Willow!"
Hermione pulled Ron's sleeve. "Ron—"
"Oh, yes, Hagrid, we didn't want to forget. You left your medicine somewhere; we wanted to bring it back to you," and he handed Hagrid the phial of blue potion liquid. Absently, Hagrid tucked it into the pouch he always had about him, threaded into a loop of his belt.
***
"I'm flattered, sir, but I must tell you that it just won't work." Helgarda sat down on a bench and looked at the handsome man next to her. She had just spent a quarter of an hour walking in the gardens with Lucius Malfoy, listening to him prattle on about his wealth, his business, his high position with the Ministry of Magic, whatever that was, and how smitten he was with her.
After swearing his fealty to her, vowing to defend her in battle, drape her with gold and jewels and fight for her honour, he had the grace to blush as he told her he had fallen deeply in love with her, and wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and make love to her.
"What do you mean, girl, it won't work? It always works; that's the way of a man and a maid. I assure you, my dear, it will be a most pleasurable experience; you will learn the ways of love from a master."
"I'm so sorry to be the first to tell you this," Helgarda said, "but there's a size difference here. You would be most unhappy with me, and I with you."
"Sweet lady, I love big women! My dearest Princess, I must say that I am, er, of most generous proportions myself, and I've had no complaints about being too small – ever. You shall be delighted, I promise, with the evidence of my passion for you."
Helgarda sighed. "I'll show you why it won't work," she said. She held out her hand and touched the tip of her forefinger to the tip of her thumb. She showed him the resulting circle. "Do you see that? Now, give me your hand."
She took his thumb, his thickest finger, and put the circle of her fingers over it. He looked at her. "Like that?" he breathed. He paled.
"Yes, like that. That's what we would have to contend with, and it wouldn't be of much satisfaction to either of us."
Lucius knelt up next to her and kissed her gently. "Mmmm," she said. "You are a most excellent kisser."
He smirked. "So I've been told before," he said. 'I shall not press you, darling Princess. I respect your wishes. However, I must remind you that I am a Wizard; one of the most powerful in the entire Wizarding World, and there is always an answer to be found, if one cares enough to pursue it. And," he said, looking into her eyes and then modestly lowering his long blond eyelashes, "I do care enough." He kissed her hand. "May I call on you tomorrow evening? If you have never seen the view of Hogwarts' magnificent lake from the top of the Astronomy Tower, I would be honoured to show it to you."
"That would be lovely!" The chimes sounded for dinner; Lucius offered Helgarda his arm, and they walked back into the Great Hall.
Hagrid glowered. He turned to Vector: "It's about time he brought her in!"
Vector waved his hands dismissively: "Don't worry about it, Hagrid! He's only a little pipsqueak to her, and she's just being polite to everyone. Now, don't you want to escort her to the Masters' Table for dinner?"
Hagrid drew himself up, and approached the half-giantess and Malfoy. He smiled politely. "Evenin', yer worship," he said to Lucius. "I'm to take Miss Helgarda to the guests' seat of honour at the Masters' table. Have a nice dinner, you."
Lucius bowed stiffly. "Hagrid," he said. He went over to the guests' table and found a seat next to Crabbe. He smiled to himself: he had one day – one day—to solve his, er, problem.
Helgarda smiled to herself. Malfoy was a dreamer, a fool to think that they could be lovers! Yes, she did indeed know the way of men and maids. Still, he would have been shamed and unmanned if she had agreed to take him to her bed. He's very handsome, and quite a good kisser, she admitted to herself, but when I finally do decide to lie with a man, I'd want to be filled! Well, everyone gets their weird in the end, and so shall he. She tucked her arm through Hagrid's, giggled when he blushed, and together they went over to the Masters' table.
