If I were King of the Forest, Not queen, not duke, not prince.
My regal robes of the forest, would be satin, not cotton, not chintz.
I'd command each thing, be it fish or fowl.
With a woof and a woof and a royal growl - woof.
As I'd click my heel, all the trees would kneel.
And the mountains bow and the bulls kowtow.
And the sparrow would take wing - If I - If I - were King!

Each rabbit would show respect to me.
The chipmunks genuflect to me.
Though my tail would lash, I would show compash
For every underling!
If I - If I - were King!
Just King!

From the song, "If I Were King of the Forest" sung by the Cowardly Lion in "The Wizard of Oz"

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Chapter 12: King

On the morning of his coronation, Draco stood in front of his mirror, studying his reflection with a critical eye. Two resplendent sets of robes were laid out on his enormous bed, both heavy with elaborate beadwork and embroidery.

"What do you think?" he asked the mirror. "Black? Shall I go with the black? Or perhaps green . . . I could always go with green." He shook his head. "No, green is rather predictable, don't you think?"

"It's your Coronation Ball! I think His Majesty should really make a splash," gushed the mirror. "Try something different! Set a trend, my Lord."

"Yes, a trend . . . " Draco muttered as he stared hopelessly at his robes. "Perhaps I should have followed Dorfy's advice and hired a stylist."

It was still relatively early, at least as far as Draco was concerned. "Indecently early," he thought. "After all, it's almost ten thirty in the morning!" Eldorf had said that his days of the beloved lie-in were officially over and Draco figured he might as well get used to it. As he glanced into the reflection of the mirror he was startled to see Harry standing behind him with his arms folded. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the wanker was giving him that put-out look. Whirling to face him, Draco didn't bother hiding the look of annoyance on his face.

"Do come in, Potter. Oh wait . . . you've already invited yourself in! Really, you've no manners whatsoever." Draco waved a dismissive hand at Harry. "You are a bothersome creature," he snipped.

Harry just grinned at him briefly before nodding at the clothing. "If you'll spend half as much time tending to the government as you do in front of the mirror, you might make good of this situation."

Draco didn't miss a beat, as he reached for another set of robes. "You wouldn't understand as you are of average looks and intelligence. Listen carefully: To look good is to be good. I believe Plato said that."

"Actually I think it was Gilderoy Lockhart who said that and look what happened to him! Poncey and addled is no way to go through life, Malfoy."

Even Draco couldn't hide his amusement at that statement.

Draco discreetly sent a sideways glance in Harry's direction. In all honesty, their relationship had got to the point where the banter between them was just that . . . the verbal equivalent of tossing a Quaffle back and forth. Oh, they still sparred, but there was really no malice behind the words anymore and Draco was aware of a subtle shift that had been occurring for months now. Secretly, when Harry wasn't around, he found that he sort of missed the prat, not that he would tell anybody that . . . not even under threat of Cruciatus.

Shuddering under the weight of his fluffy thoughts, Draco abruptly changed the subject. "So? You came barging into my private chambers. Whatever do you want?"

Harry was looking at Malfoy with an exasperated glint in his eye. "I just had a distressing conversation with your newly appointed Vice Chancellor. Stefan told me all about your break in Royal Protocol and frankly I think it's a horrible idea. As the unfortunate person who is in charge of your security I must register my vehement protest. Reality Wireless is a very, very bad idea. We don't need a bunch of strangers coming in here and peeking into our, erm, I mean your private life. You're governing now, Malfoy. How do you expect to be taken seriously?"

Draco paused from his fashion perusal just long enough to stick his nose up at Harry. "How many times must I tell you, Potter? I'm not governing! The Prince of Avalon is a figurehead . . . just another pretty face to sell magazines. And Reality Wireless is the latest trend in mass entertainment! Luna Lovegood and her crew are going to be following me around on this, my big day . . . there will be thousands upon thousands around the world listening to me on the WWN."

Draco smiled dreamily at himself in the mirror. "And Looney says I'm waaaay hotter than that Prince William bloke . . . he doesn't even have a formal title, you know. It's his dad who is the Prince of Whaling. As if that is a title to brag about . . . nasty business that whaling stuff."

Harry did a remarkable imitation of Uncle Severus' glower. "It's Wales, Malfoy. He is the Prince of Wales . . . and you are truly dead from the neck up."

Draco smiled an evil little smile. "That's just what I want everyone to think," he said in a pretentious tone. "Pretty cunning, don't you think?"

"I agree . . . you're doing a spectacular job of appearing as a complete knob."

Draco barely glanced at him as he flicked his wand, changing the colours on his robes. "I'm playing the game, Potter. All the while I manipulate and manipulate . . ."

Harry looked to heaven helplessly before giving Draco a measuring look. "I know you have plans, Malfoy," he said in exasperation. "Malfoys always have plans. Just do me a favor and enlighten me with them before you go half-arsed into some rubbish or another. You never think first about what you're doing, and then the next thing you know I have to . . ." Harry trailed off in horror. There were a couple of tense seconds before Draco gave a snide response.

"You were saying, Hermione?" he asked, making sure to infuse a healthy dose of irony into his tone.

Harry flushed to the roots of his messy hair. "Ah, bloody hell! I can't believe I'm lecturing you like a schoolmarm. Erm, not that Hermione is a schoolmarm . . . don't tell her I said that." He nervously slipped off his glasses, rubbing the lenses with the hem of his jumper before he sighed. "Sod it all Malfoy, just do whatever you want. If you die, well . . . it would be terribly sad and all, but I'm quite sure I'd manage fine. However, considering what I'm giving up to be your paid servant, you could at least listen to my advice."

"And that would be?"

"First, if you insist on allowing this Reality Wireless crew to fanny about the castle, limit those who have direct access to you. Luna's fine, but I don't completely trust her judgment with regard to her co-workers. She's a bit of a flake, you know." Draco clutched his chest and faked a look of surprise, while Harry pretended not to notice. "If you ignore my advice and die, then it will be your own bloody fault. And to address my, erm, potential grief over your potential demise, I think you should leave me something in your will . . . your antique snitch collection, for instance. It would certainly go a long way towards making me feel better . . . I hear it's worth a bundle".

Draco stared at him in astonishment before he started to laugh. "Great Graphorns, Potter! You've gone from sounding like Granger to sounding like me, which is scary, not to mention very disturbing." Harry blanched, which prompted Draco to add, "And you showed appalling taste by mentioning my death and all, but seeing as you're trying to profit from my earthly departure, I'm rather impressed."

Harry gave him a sly grin. "What can I say? I was almost sorted into Slytherin."

There had been very few things in his life that had stopped Draco Malfoy cold, and this revelation was one of them. He was quite properly incredulous and struggled to think of something to say. He finally settled for the tried and true, "No blooming way!"

Harry seemed to be relieved to be sharing this secret with him. "The only other person I ever told was Ron and that was years later," he said. "The Sorting Hat seemed to think I would do well in Slytherin."

"So why – "

"Did I pick Gryffindor? Because I just didn't feel that Slytherin was my true place. I don't think I would have fit in."

Draco just rolled his eyes. "Oh, I don't know, Potter. You nearly killed the Dark Lord before you were out of nappies. That kind of mysterious power fits right in with Slytherin. Still, it's just as well. I don't think that house would have been big enough for the both of us."

Harry nodded in agreement. "We probably would have killed each other, not to mention the fact that I thought that all Slytherins were evil. I didn't want to be evil or anything."

"How utterly predictable you were," murmured Draco. "However, had you been lucky enough to have been sorted into Slytherin, perhaps we would have been friends. Who knows?" Draco flushed slightly when he said this and couldn't quite meet Harry's eyes.

Harry thought about it for a moment. "I used to think that we could never have been friends because of your father . . . and the rotten things you'd done, but had I known that you were a spy for the Order, it probably would have changed things a great deal."

He looked rather embarrassed to say that.

Draco wanted to comment further, but thought better of it. Instead, he turned his back on Potter as he continued to trifle with his wardrobe choices. Settling an internal struggle he finally whirled to face Harry and said, "In the event of my early demise, I'll consider leaving you my antique snitch collection and I may throw in my entire collection of Kinky Quidditch Magazine, including the Slutty Seeker limited edition. It's in mint condition!"

He felt he was being quite generous.

"I'm touched," said Harry, managing to sound both sincere and sarcastic. He flopped down on an elegant chair and abruptly winced before reaching underneath to pull out a jewel-encrusted hairbrush. He raised an eyebrow at Draco, who arrogantly flipped his hair and muttered, "It was a gift from a fan." Harry shook his head in mock wonder.

Draco turned his attention back to his wardrobe choices. Picking one of the dress robes up, he walked over to a large armoire to deposit it before choosing another set of robes to inspect. Harry made his way over to Malfoy's night table, picking up a Prince of Avalon action figure that had been dueling with a box of tissues. The enchanted toy immediately whacked down hard on Harry's thumb with his little sword, causing him to curse and drop it on its head.

As mini-Draco shook his little fist at Harry, the dark-haired wizard gave Draco an accusing look. "In case you're confused, that's not really me, he's a prototype," said Draco defensively. "Although he seems a bit manic."

Harry shook his head and continued to walk around the room, picking up random jeweled boxes and opening them . . . pausing to sniff a bouquet of flowers on a table. Draco pretended to be indifferent but secretly he was wondering just what the hell Potter was really doing there. After a bit of an awkward silence Harry suddenly turned to him. "Don't you find this all a bit strange?" he asked, gesturing aimlessly around the bedroom.

Draco had a fair idea exactly what Potter was talking about, but feigned ignorance. "Which part?" he asked. "The part where you're hanging out with me in my bedroom? Or the part where I'm about to become a crowned prince?" He leaned back and crossed his arms to look at Harry contemplatively. "Of course, there's also the part where I'm going to marry your ex-girlfriend . . . so I suppose it's a toss-up."

Draco was pleased to see that Potter no longer winced or flinched when he mentioned Ginny. In fact, now that he thought about it, Harry hadn't outwardly reacted to Ginny or the mention of her in several months.

As if reading his mind, Harry remarked, "I'm alright with it all, Malfoy. About Ginny, I mean. I just want her to be happy, as boring at that sounds. And you seem to make her very happy. But with regard to marriage --"

"There are obstacles . . . yes I know," answered Draco quietly.

"Not the least of which is that you're a conceited bugger."

"Of course I'm conceited. I'm royalty! It's a job requirement. But I also know my limitations . . . few that they are, of course."

"Of course."

They chuckled together, rather awkwardly. "It will all work out, you'll see, Malfoy," said Harry.

Draco knew by his facial expression that Potter understood completely the obstacles he and Ginny faced with regard to marriage. Yet, with his playful ribbing, Harry still managed to make him feel better about the possibility of working things out. Malfoy felt that something had broken between them, and experienced an unfamiliar light feeling, something almost pleasant. He turned quickly away and picked up the dark blue robes, holding them in front of the mirror again, as he frowned.

"I took a survey once in a magazine," he remarked to no one in particular. "It was all about colouring and complexion . . . I favour 'winter colours', whatever the bloody feck that means." The mirror looked as puzzled as a piece of glass could possibly look, but Draco was too busy switching outfits in front of it to notice.

"Hmmm . . . what to wear, what to wear . . . too many colours, not enough time."

"What are you doing?" asked Harry in curiosity.

"I'm picking out my outfit for the Coronation Ball. I have to hurry as the Wireless crew will be here any minute."

Harry frowned at him. "Shouldn't you have done that weeks ago?"

"I suppose. I was trying to be spontaneous."

Suddenly they heard a commotion in the hallway. The doors to Draco's bedroom flew open and they were startled to see Stefan Harcourte, backing up into the room. "You all need to wait out in the hallway," he said to an unseen crush of humanity. "I must insist, no sound-amplifying wands in the bedroom. Miss Lovegood, if you'd be so kind as to set up the crew in the --" he glanced at Draco and stopped cold.

"My Lord! You're not even dressed!" he protested, oblivious to the sound of excited female squealing in the hallway. He turned his attention back to Luna & Co. "We'll be out in approximately ten minutes," he pleaded to the crowd. "Please! No shoving!"

Suddenly Stefan's face lit up, as he seemed to peer past the crowd. "Oh look, it's Lord Snape! Severus, if you'd be so kind to escort Miss Lovegood to the main floor library, they can set up there." Draco was just able to make out his uncle's magnificent scowl in the crowd as Stefan struggled to close the French doors. He paused to point his wand and chant a strong ward.

Turning, he looked at Draco with mild horror in his hazel eyes.

"I'm not sure I want to be your Counselor, if this is what I have to face," Stefan said, shaking his head. "Besides, you don't seem to take counsel well at all . . . I told you this Reality Wireless thing was a terrible idea. If you're not going to take my advice then perhaps you don't need me after all."

Harry patted Stefan on the back. "I know exactly how you feel," he said soothingly. "I suggest whiskey . . . it seems to work for me. Perhaps we should mutiny."

"Oh ha!" said Draco sarcastically, as he considered his Vice Chancellor. "Actually, I have every intention of following your advice, Stefan . . . just not today, that's all. And if you're concerned about Luna Lovegood, it's very easy. Have Severus give her and her crew an orientation tour of the castle. He'll absolutely loathe it, which of course makes it an even better idea."

Stefan looked at him with admiration. "You're a mean little bugger, your Majesty. It's rather awe-inspiring."

Draco just gave a delighted laugh. "Like I've said before: every dirty trick I ever learnt I learnt from my Uncle Severus. This is just my way of showing him what a good student I am. Of course, he'll probably get back at me before the day is over."

Stefan gave him a wide smile. "Very clever, my Lord. I can see that working with you is going to be rather interesting. So, is there anything else you require? I know we're both new to this and I'm still trying to figure out how I can best serve you."

Draco frowned down at his clothing. "Well Stefan, right now I'm in dire need of someone who can spiff up the old wardrobe. Despite the dozens and dozens of robes I own, I can't find a thing to wear to the Coronation Ball."

"Shouldn't you have—"

"I already asked that," finished Harry. "He wants to be spontaneous."

Stefan chucked. "Well, perhaps I can help." He inspected the two latest robes that Draco had laid out on his bed. "Let's see, let's see . . . hmmm. Neither seems quite right to me." He flicked his wand at the velvet midnight blue robes.

Everything about the robes transformed. The colour changed to a brilliant aquamarine and the fabric went from velvet to a glimmering satin. The robes were infused with complicated patterns of embroidery in silver stitching.

In short, they were breathtaking.

Draco squinted closer and saw that the silver-stitching pattern depicted serpentine dragons flowing across the fabric. He could well imagine how they'd shimmer under the faery lights at the Ball.

"Erm . . . I don't know. They might make me look like a bit of a ponce," he said as he fingered the shiny satin longingly. It was almost a lover's caress. Harry and Stefan exchanged amused glances as Draco murmured, "Of course, the colour is smashing with my hair. Perhaps we should add the name, "Royal Stylist" to your list of titles, Stefan. Although, it may cause some to openly question your sexuality."

The Vice Chancellor stepped back in pretended alarm. "I don't believe his Royal Highness should be indulging in such petty stereotypes," he laughed.

His good humour was infectious and Draco found himself grinning back. "No matter, Stefan," he said. "If there's one thing I've learnt, it's that everyone has his or her own unique talents, even Harry, here. If we pool our talents, we can get a lot accomplished. It's called . . . what's that word again, Potter?"

"Teamwork," said Harry dryly.

"Oh yes . . . teamwork. I need to write that down."

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The wizards and witches of the British Isles hadn't seen a coronation for over three centuries and to say that this was a momentous occasion was like saying a Veela was nothing but a pretty witch. The air fairly hummed with excitement as Draco made his way to Camlann Castle. The cobblestone road was lined with people waving white flowers that had been imported from all over the Isles: there were orchids and lilies-of-the-valley from England, stephanotis from Scotland, carnations from Northern Ireland and the Isle of Man, with additional orchids from Wales.

And Draco Malfoy, The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-The-Center-Of-Attention, couldn't help but feel that all was as it should be. In fact, he probably would have been enjoying the adoration of the people a bit more, if it hadn't been for the fact that he was currently clutching for dear life onto the neck of a magnificent Common Welsh Green.

At least he thought she was magnificent. He wasn't sure, as he'd kept his eyes closed for much of his ride.

"If I'd known the ceremony included a wild ride on the back of a very disagreeable dragon, I would have reconsidered," thought Draco. The thought was followed by a wave of nausea as the dragon made a deep swoop towards the crowd. She opened her very large mouth and let out a long, fiery breath. "I don't suppose that screaming in terror during my coronation would make a good first impression on my subjects."

Draco was all for pomp and circumstance, but this was truly going above and beyond. It was no coincidence that Eldorf had failed to mention the traditional dragon ride until two days before the Coronation. Draco had accused the little blighter of purposely keeping that bit of information from him until the last possible moment. The tiny wizard had looked him straight in the eye and said that handling a "two-day hissy" was better than having to hear his Lordship whine for two months.

"Why, oh why do you insist upon making me ride giant, smelly, deranged flying Creatures of Death? Are you trying to kill me?" Draco had screamed at Eldorf. But now, looking back upon it, maybe Dorfy the Diminutive was right when he'd urged his Lordship to "just sit back and enjoy the ride."

Draco could hear the roar of the crowd as they plummeted close to the pathway that led to the castle. He became entranced by the whooshing sound of the dragon's wings and the way her iridescent scales rippled during flight. The most disconcerting thing was that he felt like he was holding on by the barest of threads, yet that made it all the more exhilarating. It was as if her life force was connecting to the center of his soul and he suddenly perceived the oddest mixture of both pride and humility.

"When I cling to her I feel powerful and fragile at the same time. Maybe that's why riding a dragon to the Coronation is a tradition . . . I may be the Prince, but I'm still just a man like any other man."

He looked down and saw the expressions of enthusiasm and regard on the faces of the people, and it struck him how absurd it all was . . .

"Fuck me," he mused. "I haven't even done anything yet and they love me. This is so weird!" For a boy who'd known little in the way of love or affection during his childhood, all this adulation was rather unnerving.

Of course, it immediately went straight to his head.

"Hey! This is actually pretty fun," he thought jubilantly. He felt the wind whipping through his hair and suddenly experienced a surge of adrenaline. It prompted him to playfully strike a pose for the crowd as they yelled out their blessings.

Draco wanted to throw his head back and laugh with glee. "Oooooh! Look at me! Look at me! I'm flying on a dragon! I'm the Prince of the Wooooooorld! Wouldn't Severus just shit if he heard what I'm thinking right now? WOOOOOOOOT!"

He turned his head to beam at the crowd. They were chanting his name, which caused him to give a jaunty wave. The answering clamor was ear splitting and Draco couldn't believe that everyone was truly as excited as they appeared.

"Maybe Dorfy is paying them."

As the dragon flew low over the cobblestone road, the people began passionately showering him with flowers and he swore he saw the grinning face of a Weasley twin, right before a viciously thrown lily poked him in the left eye.

With a sudden dramatic arc to her body, the dragon pulled up and landed right before the gates of Camlann Castle. Draco was extremely proud of the fact that he didn't go tumbling over the head of the beast, thus negating the need to say, "I meant to do that." Looking down, he saw Charlie Weasley handling the jittery dragon, trailed by both Potter and Stefan Harcourte.

Giving a last brash wave to the crowd, Draco gracefully slid down the creature's back before hopping off. Eldorf of Gwynedd was present to greet him and together they walked through the gates of the castle courtyard. Hundreds of people stepped in behind them as the large group made its way to an area where the Coronation was to be held.

Draco watched with secret amusement when both Stefan and Harry bowed low as he pranced past them to enter the castle grounds. Harry had paused long enough to meet his eye and give him a smirk and a wink, and Draco found himself emotionally moved by this friendly gesture. As he advanced toward the altar, he could see Ginny standing next to Hermione and his heart gave a little leap.

Ginny was holding Baby Arddun and it was all he could do to keep from running over and covering them both with sloppy kisses.

"Steady there, ol' boy," he thought to himself. "You must keep up decorum at all costs."

There was a rhyme and a reason to everything he was doing. It had taken Draco months to learn the symbolic meaning behind the clothing and the ornaments and even the Royal Oath. Everything that he was about to experience had occurred with all previous coronations.

It made him feel closer to his ancestors, somehow . . . to those Malfoys who'd served as Kings and Princes throughout the generations. Each of them had worn the same mantle, had carried the same sceptre and had given the same Oath.

And each of them had worn the same Royal Crown.

In fact, according to Eldorf, the first Kings of Britain were actually presented to the Druid priests for coronation while completely naked. It was supposedly symbolic of a monarch coming before his people in purity and humility.

To Draco, not only did it sound profoundly undignified, but also given that the ceremony was held outdoors in October, it sounded exceedingly frigid. And there was no way in hell he was going to pass his first moments as Monarch presenting his frozen and shrunken manly parts to his people, let alone to Harry Potter.

He'd never get any respect after that.

Luckily, the Coronation Ceremony had evolved to where clothing was no longer optional. Draco had chosen to go before the altar dressed in unadorned hunter green robes of thick, rich silk.

"I hope Creevy is in proper position because I want him to get a good picture of me for the cover of the Daily Prophet. I'm going to look wicked harsh before this is all over."

He walked with studied concentration to the Royal Shield, which lay on the ground in the centre of the courtyard. It was made of iron and heavily ornamented with the logo of The Malfoy and various war motifs. Standing atop it, Draco heard Harry mutter a Feather-light Spell before he and Stefan lifted the shield upon their shoulders. Draco stood, arms folded as he balanced himself on the shield while Stefan and Harry moved slowly towards the altar.

"Whoa, I can see much better from up here."

Unfortunately, the only view he had was the tops of people's heads, although he did get a nice glimpse down the bodice of Ginny's robes, making it all worthwhile. He suppressed the urge to magically shrink himself and dive down the cleavage of her dress.

"No distractions, no distractions," he chanted to himself.

Harry and Stefan carried him in a wide circle around the courtyard, laying the shield to rest directly before Albus Dumbledore. The Headmaster looked very dignified in his velvet robes of deep crimson and he smiled beatifically at the soon- to- be Prince. He bowed to Draco, which was his cue to walk over to Uncle Severus, standing to Dumbledore's right.

Severus had spent the better part of two weeks brewing the special oil that was to be used to anoint him. It was a variation of the unction that had been used to anoint the Muggle kings, but of course the wizard version was infused with various spells and magical potion ingredients, all designed to lend him certain attributes that would be useful to a new leader. Orris was added in order to instill love for his people. Galangal was placed for strength of mind and body. Sage was given for wisdom, Myrrh for protection and power. There had to be another half dozen ingredients, all brewed at different temperatures and added at only the precise moments.

Severus, of course, gave great attention to detail. They'd even agreed to omit the Lemongrass, which was supposed to help sharpen psychic powers. Unfortunately, it also had the property of repelling snakes and it would have been a sacrilege to anoint the Prince of Slytherin with such an herb.

"I may be Prince and Country first, but Slytherin runs a very close second."

Severus artfully withdrew the stopper from the bottle and bowing his head, he presented the unction to Draco. The spicy smell of the oil curled in the air and golden sparks shot from the bottle, forming a halo around the soon-to-be- Prince. Draco gathered the vial in both hands and lifted it towards the sky in a symbolic gesture. As he brought the bottle down, he caught a whiff of the exotic herbs.

Immediately his eyes began to water and his nose started itching. And then to his horror, his face began to scrunch up.

"Oh shit! I know that smell!" he thought frantically. "It's some type of pepper and I'm allergic—"

Before he could finish that thought, he caught a glimpse of his Uncle Severus' face. The dark man's scowl was like thunder during the worst rainstorm imaginable. Draco didn't need to read his uncle's mind to know what the old bat was thinking. Severus' eyes narrowed and he bared his sharp teeth at his future King.

The nostril flair was a nice touch, too.

"Sneeze and you die," said the look. Miraculously, Draco found that the itchy feeling up his nose had completely fled in terror. He looked at his uncle in gratitude. Only Severus Snape could frighten a sneeze right back up one's nasal passages. He was truly a gift sometimes.

The Potions Master just raised a knowing eyebrow and smirked.

Relieved, Draco carried the bottle to Dumbledore and knelt before him. The Headmaster began to chant an ancient spell and Draco bowed low with this head to the ground. Dumbledore took large dabs of the oil and anointed Draco's shoulders and as the younger wizard rose to sit up, the Headmaster continued anointing him, first in the crooks of his elbows, then on his palms, between his breasts and finally on his head. Draco felt swirls of energy opening up throughout the length of his spinal column.

"What an extraordinary sensation," he thought. " I feel like I have a case of the whirlies. So is this what a prince is supposed to feel like?"

He didn't have much time to think about it because he had to fully concentrate on the ceremony. To Draco, it was really like a well-choreographed ballroom dance . . . only without the sequins and feathers, thankfully. He remembered that after the anointment with Dumbledore, he was supposed to step forward upon the Coronation Stone and face the crowd.

Harry and Stefan moved up, each with an article of the Raiment of Avalon. Stefan had the Royal Mantle; a very long cloak made of thickly lined purple velvet. It was trimmed in white ermine and the back of the cloak held the Crest of the Avalon, which consistedof two brilliant green dragons, each forming half of a circle. The dragons had their mouths wide open, and the breath of fire was depicted with splendid rubies and citrines. At the center of the dragons there was a sprig of mistletoe displayed and a representation of Draco's wand, both forming "x". Stefan put it around Draco's shoulders before clasping it.

"Cor blimey, but this thing is heavy! Why didn't anyone warn me how heavy it is?"

While he struggled not to crumple, Harry stepped forward, holding the Royal Sceptre. Draco had never even so much as touched it before now. It consisted of a seven sided, long piece of green fluorite, encased in a jeweled base.

And most famously, a very large, luminous pear-shaped diamond was magically perched upon the tip of the sceptre. This diamond was known as The Star of Merlin and legend had it that Merlin himself conjured it from the flames of the Battle of Celidon Coit; right after King Arthur had secured victory. And while that sounded heroic and romantic, there were other more important things on Draco's mind.

"How much weight am I carrying here? Two, maybe three stones?"

He was so distracted he almost missed the actual coronation, or The Grand Finale, as he liked to call it. Dumbledore walked over to a large glass case that housed the royal crown, which was also known as St. Dewi's Crown. It was made of solid gold and set with 444 precious stones, including another large pear-shaped diamond to match the one in the sceptre. Draco eyed it with trepidation before Albus placed on his head. It was even heavier than it looked, if that was possible.

"Gulping Gargoyles! Between the weight of my massive intelligence and this crown, it's too much! I'm getting a bloody migraine!"

It was more than Draco could stand. He felt himself toppling and was visualizing the most graceful way to crash to the ground. Perhaps if he pretended like he was having a violent seizure, nobody would notice the enormous crown flying off his head and rolling across the altar.

As he started to list toward the starboard side he felt Potter discreetly nudging him upright. Unfortunately he nudged a little too hard and Draco found himself teetering to the other side. It was touch and go for a few seconds, but luckily Stefan seemed to be better at this sort of thing and with one shove, Draco soon found himself standing straight, crown perched somewhat precariously on his head.

"Behold!" Dumbledore called out. "Our Monarch and His Royal Highness Prince Draco of Avalon! Honoured Malfoy, Titular Head & Chosen Chief, Loyal Arthurian Warbands, Battlechieftain of the Council of British Druid Orders, Bard of the Free Gorsedd of Caer Abiri, Honoured Member of Whitestone, Priest of Merlin & The Horned God, Fellowship of Isis . . .

"Hold on a minute! I'm a priest?"

" . . . Noble Order of Tara, Member of the British Council of Traditional Witchcraft . . . "

During this droning recitation Draco could see Harry's head begin to drop and even Severus looked to be falling asleep.

"We're losing 'em here," he thought frantically. "On with it! On with it!"

Dumbledore observed the look of panic on Draco's face and in an obvious effort to relieve the situation he murmured, "And so forth and so on."

Draco sighed with relief.

Turning towards the crowd, he lifted his wand to the sky and recited the Sacred and Imperial Oath in a clear voice:

"I pledge to protect Women and Children at risk,

To defend the Brothers & Sisters of our twinned faiths,

To fight corruption in high places, no matter the cost,

To reform, that which was broken, the fellowship between the Ancient Houses and all others,

To do naught, save in the Noble virtues of Truth, of Honour and of Justice."

Lowering his wand, he silently looked upon the solemn faces of the people. He was filled with a great love for everyone and everything. He was at peace. He felt powerful and wise. He felt full of hope.

"I feel taller . . ." he thought, before remembering that he was standing on the top of the Coronation Stone.

Stepping down, Draco walked across the courtyard in full regalia, past the wizards and witches who'd witnessed the ceremony, past the dozens and dozens of flowers and giant quartz crystals arrayed around the periphery. Everywhere he walked, the people bowed low in reverence. He reached the edge of the crowd before turning his intense gaze upon his subjects.

It was his first few moments as the Prince of Avalon. All eyes were upon him and he could see the awe on the faces of his people. He knew that this was the time to set the tone for his rule. The time for profundities was now.

Giving the assembly a proud and haughty look, he spoke his first words as Monarch:

"LET'S PARTY!" he yelled before sprinting towards the castle. "DRINKS ARE ON HARRY POTTER!"

Draco was able to catch a glimpse of Uncle Severus right before he reached the magnificent doors to the main entrance of Camlann Castle. The Potions Master was pinching the bridge of his nose as Dumbledore patted his back in consolation.

He could read his uncle's lips. "Almost," he'd said to Dumbledore. "Almost."

The "F" word may have been in there somewhere, but Draco wasn't sure.

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A/N: I apologize about the delay in updating, but real life takes a toll. I will try to do better! I also had a case of writer's block. It's not that I couldn't think of what to write, but rather how to write it. The story is pretty much completed in my head, but there are so many elements to it that sometimes it just paralyzes me. I have to decide which thread of the story to pick up and when to pick it up. It gets complicated.

Also someone was asking me about how I come up with the names of characters in this story. What can I say? I peruse Internet sites that list Latin names or Saint names or Welsh names and pick the most ridiculous or the most beautiful names I can find. However the name Eldorf is on no list . . . I just made that one up!

The next chapter will deal with the Coronation Ball. There will be lots of intrigue and new developments. And maybe some romance, too! (wink wink)

Thanks to my beta, Elizabeth! I couldn't do this without her.