Fairy Glamour

Author's note:

My, my, this is turning out to be a fairly popular fic! So many reviews!! I yield to public pressure and give you installment three of "Be Careful what you wish for" Where Ron discovers his plight…

Disclaimer:

Harry Potter, Harry Potter

Books for young and old

The rights to this series

I do not hold

So if you're reading and thinking

You could get the rights off me

You're sadly mistaken

I am extremely sorry

For they belong to JK Rowling

An author of great talent

And to buy the rights off her

A great amount must be spent…

And thus this disclaimer disclaims

And here this poem ends

Continue on and read the fic

Enjoy it all, my friends.

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Weird…

Ron rolled over in bed- or at least he thought he did. He was in a huge, deep, fluffy, warm bed-

So he was obviously dreaming

And that's what was weird- he was dreaming about sleeping, and who'd ever heard of that? I mean, he dreamt about many things- about falling, about running away, about making Harry sing an opera in polka dot knickerbockers with a cheese platter on his head, about girls… But never about sleeping.

And what was more, he felt awake… He could feel the sheets, the blankets, catch the smell... They smelt sort of familiar- they smelt... like… someone's house- that pervading odor you get when not in your own house- that smell that clung to people. This smell was familiar, it raised his hackles, it smelt like…

Draco?

He had to be dreaming, but as pleasant as the nice comfortable sanctum was he forced himself awake. There was something unnerving about dreaming about being in Draco's bed. 

He knuckled his eyes, kicking at the blankets and sitting up, blinking blearily.

The room was huge- so was the bed. The dresser, the wardrobe, the desk, the shelves and even the drawers were carved magnificently out of some rich, dark wood. Ron ran his hand along the bedside table, astounded. What sort of sorcery was this? It was like a palace. As he stared around in open mouthed wonder, his hand fell on a small, leather bound book on the side table he was so absently caressing. He frowned into the semi light, and fumbled for a wand, poking the bedside lamp on with it to illuminate the gold letters pressed into the cover

"The rise and fall of the Dark arts"

A schoolbook- he had this at home, a much more battered copy… That thought jerked his attention away again. Home? Where WAS he?  He looked up from the book and upwards at the echoing, high cathedral ceilings, a small, silver many branched candelabra hung like a glistening chandelier, the white candles dead.

He grinned suddenly- this was no dream… he could all to well see, hear and smell- he was too alert. What sort of magic had dropped him into this luxury? He swung his feet over the side of the bed.  Black green satin pajama pants met his eyes- he ran his hands over his knees, astounded- dressed richly as the room! WHAT a Christmas wish! He wriggled his toes in the thick deep emerald coloured carpets, and laughed to himself. What were Harry and Hermione going to say! He beamed at the thought of their jealous faces- why, everything he saw was luxurious! He flipped through the book, thrilling in the thick parchment pages, and glorious ink capitals- Hell, if this was a SCHOOLBOOK, what would the other books be like? What would…

His eyes fell on a word. He went cold.

"Voldermort"

Spelt out plain and clear- no book he had did that… He read on, the cold creeping up his limbs, luxury dimming in a fog, his surroundings shrinking as vanishing, the words on the page burning into his mind

"…Voldermort, in his great wisdom, then commenced a purging of the wizarding community that had never been seen before- for the first time in history, the half-breeds that had slowly been allowed to grow unchecked in our community- mudbloods, as the popular term goes, went through a thorough extermination. So great and wondrous the work of the Dark lord, that very few of these unwanted half breeds escaped his net."

Ron dropped the book quickly, as if it had burned his hands- and he stared at it in disgust. What was this? This little mar on this perfect Christmas gift?

Just then, the door opened, Ron leapt about a foot and turned to face it, heart pounding. The book had unnerved him.

He half expected to see his mother, or siblings to come running in, in wonder of their new surrounds. But no- as if reading those horrid lines in the book had opened some Pandora's Box on a nightmare, the very last person he expected or wanted strode in.

"Ah- Draco, I was just coming in to wake you- your mother and I have been up for some hours now- it is unusual for you to sleep so late in Christmas morning." Lucius said coldly, starting pointedly at the window, which was blocked off by thick deep green curtains.

Ron however, was riveted to the spot, his mouth hanging open.  His throat was dry, and his hands started shaking. Lucius Malfoy… Lucius… he though Ron... Ron was... his son? Draco? Lucius looked coldly at him, frowning at his lack of movement

"Don't sit there like a dolt, boy- open the curtains. Let some light in here."
Ron moved as if the life in him had been switched back on- his mind racing. The pale thin hands that shoved the curtains aside were certainly not his own. He obviously looked like Draco, or Lucius would have positively skinned him by now. And if Mr. Malfoy got a wind he had somehow, by some strange… nightmare- some evil magic- taken over his son's body… His stomach turned to lead.  He didn't doubt this evil family had some incredibly painful way of getting rid of him. And where was Draco? Imprisoned in this body somewhere as well? In Ron's own body, back at home?

His thoughts were interrupted by the heavy thwack of the snake head atop Lucius' cane on his shoulder. He fought the urge to both cry out and grab the wrist that held the cane as painfully as possible

 "Did I not TELL you to take care of this book?" Mr. Malfoy said coldly, his voice like a chip of ice to Ron's stomach. He was holding up the loathsome volume Ron had dropped "Did I not lend it to you on the condition you took care of it? And where do I find it? On the floor." His chin was wrenched around and he looked into a pair of very cold grey eyes "Do not let me catch you disregarding my orders again, Draco. You know what happens when I'm forced to take action."

Ron wondered with a suppressed shudder what that meant, but he nodded anyway, as much as one could with a vice like grip on your chin.

"Really, I don't know what's come over you boy. I haven't had to reprimand you for a slip up like this for almost a year- and here I was thinking you had progressed." He stared into Ron's eyes, and Ron began to get a creepy feeling Mr. Malfoy could see him hiding behind his son's eyes. However, he let go with a little toss and started walking out, laying the book on the dresser.
"Attire yourself well, Draco- the family will be here in a few hours- I suggest the sable lined cloak- we may hold Christmas lunch in the sunroom- and it shall be a little colder- as you know."

He swept from the room and left.

Ron rubbed his chin. This was going to be difficult to pull off. He sank to the side of the bed, trembling uncontrollably. Somehow, some weird, freaky how, he was Draco- or at least looked like him, he was trapped in this mansion with Draco's evil family and no idea how he'd got here. He rubbed his forearms, swallowing hard. He remembered in a distant echo how that very last night he'd been picturing Christmas here in the Malfoy mansion- but that had been a sort of joke, something that could never happen.

"But it has happened Ron, and just think- you get that wish after all, all you have to do is play along." He suddenly grinned. A rich meal, expensive gifts… a huge house… maybe this wasn't so bad after all! He stood up, full of new resolve.

He went to the wardrobe and threw it open. Then stopped, aghast. Rows upon rows of clothing, all as rich and luxurious as the last, all black and dark in colour. WHAT was he supposed to choose? Well, sable cloak, Lucius had mentioned a sable cloak. He walked from one end to the other- and found, about the middle, where all the cloaks hung. Seven in total, and they were only the fur lined ones. Now sable…. Sable was black… three of the seven had black fur, all different, so which one was sable?

He took out all three and neatened the bedspread, putting them on top. Now, to find an outfit- casual formal, he thought.

Looking through the wardrobe was rather enjoyable, there were coats and cloaks, shirts, robes… it was great fun. However, it wasn't helping. He went to the drawers and pulled them out one by one- the underwear draw was shut quickly
"Like I wanna see Draco's jocks…" Ron muttered, pulling the next one out. "What the hell are you going to do, Ron Weasly- This stuff all looks formal- look at the git's jeans- look like they've never been worn." He sighed and rested his head on his hands, which were crossed on the drawer open in front.
"Haven't decided? We've been waiting!"
Ron looked up at Narcissa Malfoy, who was standing in the door with a decidedly annoyed look on her face She had slipped in so quietly. With a pursed lip and a scowl, she grabbed one of the cloaks, most likely the one Ron wanted.
"Put the others back- what else have you picked out? Really! You should be long dressed by now!" She rifled through the wardrobe and draws, throwing random things on the bed, before she whirled on him, about to say something. Her eyes narrowed as the reprimand died on her lips. She grabbed his chin in much the same way as Lucius had

"You're not yourself." She moved his face this way and that, her eyes searching. Ron felt his stomach lurch. Her cold hand went to his forehead and her eyes bore into his. He tried to look blank, but his heart was in his throat.

After what seemed like an eternity, she let go, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed.

"You'll probably need a tonic- I DID tell you not to go around the marble floors in bare feet, but you WILL insist. Now get dressed and join us in the lounge." She snapped and shut one of the wardrobe doors with a disdainful push, and left.

The eye of the storm, Ron thought miserably. HOW was he going to pull this off?  The resolve of earlier died in his breast. Already both Malfoy parents had sensed something wrong. HE didn't know al the things that evil little Malfoy knew- what happened if the family asked questions?
He wandered sadly up to a mirror and pawed at the face he saw in the reflection, pale and pointed, the hair actually slightly out of place for a change. He could see where the Malfoy's thought him ill, his face was a little paler then he was used to seeing on Draco, and the expression totally out of place. It was fascinating...  his expression was printed there, like the two of them had melded. He tore his eyes away quickly, not wanting to see anymore.

He then started to dress, hoping for a distraction in clothing. Trouser on very quickly and with great difficulty seeing it was hard to do this with closed eyes- he really didn't want the image of Draco in the buff seared into his memory. However, after he put on the silvery black shirt, he lingered a little; the clothes were so fine, so luxurious. The coat was thick and soft, old, beautifully cut, long and lined with deep green- the black gloves were leather, and so very rich and warm, lined on the cuffs with silvery fur, the sable cloak has a solid silver clasp, he admired the effect in the mirror, picturing himself instead of Draco in the outfit.

But the dream slowly faded and the horror of the situation sunk in. He was alone, in his hated enemy's body, in his house with a brood of dark wizards and no idea how to act. He slung the other wardrobe door shut.
"Well Ron Weasly, only one thing to do- keep going… And get out of here as soon as I can…"
He promised himself, straightening up. Playing the part of Draco shouldn't be hard- all he had to do was act slimy and arrogant… He threw open the bedroom door and was faced with a long, carpeted balcony, doors along the side and two staircases, a grand floor below.

"Bloody hell… where's the Lounge?!" He said, looking one way, then the next….

And so we leave Ron for this installment. Tune in next chapter, sports fans, to find out how Draco is doing, surrounded by Weaslys who hate his guts and in a house he'd rather eat a month old kitchen sponge then spend time in.