CHAPTER TWO
"Where is he?"
"Molly, you're going to get a head full of gray hairs by tomorrow morning if you don't stop worrying," Arthur said from the table. If furniture could talk, the dinner table would have been complaining loudly about the pitchers of water and juice, plates of pork roast, turkey, ham, baked macaroni and cheese, liver, salad, cranberry sauce, and pot chicken stew although it should have been grateful since the loaves of bread were absent.
"Oh, I don't know, Dad," one of the twins said with a full mouth of ham.
"Yeah," the other continued. He swallowed. "He left in a depressed state, he did."
"Maybe he jumped off of the bridge?" the other twin suggested with widened eyes.
"FRED/GEORGE!" the others at the table yelled.
"Molly," Tonks said in a soothing voice. She pushed herself away from the table, padded softly over to the worrying woman, and rested a hand on Molly's shoulder. She started to guide Molly away from the window she was standing at, peering out of. He hand was rubbing the side of her throat nervously. "I'm sure Harry is fine."
"Yeah. Looking at that weather, I'm betting he just decided to stay the night in some shelter," Charlie nodded his head at the window. As he spoke, some of the dark, ominous clouds in the distance burst into a momentary light. "The storm did come out of nowhere, after all, and Harry might've figured that it would be safer to stay somewhere until it's passed. You should stop worrying."
Everyone nodded, smiling at Molly. She looked at all of their unwavering smiles and sighed, finally allowing herself to be seated by Tonks. "You're right. If not sooner, Harry will definitely be back before dawn."
The twins exchanged a glance that only they could read.
It was about seven hours since dawn had passed and the sun was high in the blue sky, as if to make up for the violent storm from the previous night. It was a broiling day. There were no merry grins in the market today, merely frustrated and sweating faces. All of the men of the Weasley family, Remus, and Kingsley were out in the streets, searching desperately and consulting strangers about the tall teenage boy with tanned skin, unruly black hair, bright green eyes, and round glasses.
It was quite a while before any of them heard anything but, "I haven't seen him," and saw anything except for shaking heads. Ron, however, was highly excited and relieved finally when someone started nodding their head.
"Yes, if it's the same kid then I saw him this morning," the stranger said after Ron had finished his description, chewing on the end of a blade of grass. He was clutching a dead chicken in his hand, and when he lifted to point his hand yonder, white feathers flew everywhere. "He was before the public court this morning. I believe… no, no, I'm quite sure... He was ordered to become a slave to the Malfoy family. He should've been executed, though… That's what everyone thought." He looked disappointed for a moment, as if he'd lost a bet on a chariot race. "Now, if you'll excuse me this chicken must be delivered promptly..."
Ron's first reaction: damned bastard! You're acting as if you wanted Harry to be killed! (Forgetting that the damned bastard helped Ron and was the only one to even give him information on Harry.)
Ron's second reaction: public court? Oh nutcrackers; he did try to jump off of the bridge... Someone must've caught him before he could.
Ron's third reaction: but no, that can't be right… he was ordered to become a slave! That's one of the harshest punishments there are! Becoming a slave is meant only for murderers, war criminals, abusers, thieves...
Ron's fourth reaction: wait… did he say the MALFOY family?! THE Malfoy family, the very royal line that we're trying to destroy?
Ron's fifth reaction: ...Bloody hell.
"Bloody hell," Harry muttered from the line.
"Haven't I already told you to be quiet!" one of the guards barked, clouting Harry over the head with his fist that was as hard as iron.
Harry grimaced and glared at the guard. He wanted to rub his head, but his hands were shackled behind his back – as were all of the prisoners'. They were in a line in the center of the courtyard of – yes; you guessed it – Lucius Malfoy's castle. The courtyard's wall must've been at least twenty feet tall. Trees and plants lined the wall, and there were servants tending to them with vigor and expertise. There were a few curious servants that were watching the line of prisoners and even a few royals walking around, chin reaching for the skies. They didn't even look at the line of prisoners, and when they did, it was to eye them as if they were horse dung that was in the middle of their path.
Suddenly, the prisoner in front of Harry was being escorted down a path that led to slave quarters that were connected to the courtyard and Harry was being pushed forward towards a tiny desk with a squat man sitting behind it, short legs dangling from the seat. He glanced up from his long list of paper that overflowed from the desk and onto the stoned floor, his fluffy quill poised and ready, black ink dripping off of it and staining the parchment below it. He did a double take. He squinted at Harry. Motioned to the guard to turn Harry around. He shook his head so that white wig started to slide off of his head. He pushed the wig back into place with his puffy hands.
"The boy is too scrawny to be in the fields, yet too rough to be in the brothels," he said in a snobbishly squeaky voice. "Yet someone accused for thievery should most definitely not work within the castle."
Harry snarled. "I didn't steal anything – "Clout, grimace, "Shut up!"
"And defiant, too." The squat man shook his head. "He would have been more use to us if he were executed."
Harry would have liked to reply, "I would have rather been executed," but his head was aching and, with an insolent glare at the guard, he couldn't take another hit.
"Very well. He'll work in the kitchens, but make sure someone keeps an eye on him at all times. Next!"
Oh, the cruelty of Lucius Malfoy shocked even Harry at times.
"Are you listening?" Nod.
Surely he wouldn't have to worry. Surely his comrades would learn that he was within Malfoy's castle and rescue him.
"Do you understand?" Nod.
And even if they couldn't, he would eventually find a way out. He had to. In fact, it was that moment that Harry decided he couldn't wait for them to come to his rescue. He would escape as soon as possible.
"What are you waiting for?" someone hissed into his ear.
Harry blinked. He was within the broiling kitchens, holding platters of boiled fish, cooked to perfection. The people in front of him had started walking, and the people behind him were impatient. With a grunt, Harry started after the people in front of him, jogging slightly to catch up. His white shirt felt like it was giving off steam. His black breeches were uncomfortably tight and left little to no space for his privates. He knew the twins would be cackling if they ever saw Harry dressed like that.
He walked through the swinging doors and into the fancy dining hall, chandelier hanging dangerously over the long table with white cloth. There were many empty seats, yet the table managed to be spaced out nearly equally with the occupants. At one end of the table was Lucius Malfoy who was in a deep conversation with the hairy man at the other end of the table, someone Harry didn't recognize. Five seats beside Lucius was Narcissa Malfoy, and directly across from her was Draco Malfoy. Narcissa was smiling pleasantly, and Draco was glaring at his empty plate. There was another girl five seats beside Draco who was blushing and glancing at him every once in a while.
Harry didn't bother to keep the intense hatred out of his green eyes that burned like a demonic fire. What he wouldn't give to simply chuck the platter of food at Lucius Malfoy's face…
As he stopped beside Draco Malfoy, he put down the platter heavily, ignoring the fact that he was supposed to place it down elegantly and gently. He ignored the stares the royals sent at him, and further ignored the glares of the other servants. On impulse, as he backed away, he let his hand collide into a glass of wine, knocking it over and into Draco's lap. Draco gasped and pushed him away from the table, standing and having the glass fall to the floor and shatter. The wine was still dripping off of the stained white cloth that Draco was clothed in. Narcissa stood up and called for one of the servants. Lucius laughed nervously and sent a heated glare at Harry, who wasn't attempting to keep a small smile off of his face. The hairy man shifted in his seat and seemed impatient while the girl blushed and stood, seeming to think this as an opportunity to cling to Draco Malfoy.
Someone grabbed Harry's arm and started to tug him away painfully, yet the smile lingered. Within the kitchens, he was yelled at by the chef and nearly all of his peers. Even the squat man from earlier came in to make angry comments on Harry's defiance and demand that Harry be lashed until the smile came off of his face (it took nearly twenty lashes, mind you.)
Even after getting a verbal and physical lashing, Harry's smile lingered. He could only imagine everyone's faces, especially Ron's, when he would tell them that he spilled expensive wine into Draco Malfoy's lap.
And, staring up at the twenty foot wall in the darkness of the night, Harry was determined to see the looks on their faces that very night.
Draco was still in a furious mood because of the incompetent slave from dinner. It hadn't helped that his father had sealed Draco's future while he was changing in his bedroom. If all went as planned, Draco would marry Pansy by the end of the month, when he turned eighteen.
"Your marriage bring the two nations together," Lucius told him for the zillionth time. "It will make my nation stronger. Stop being so selfish."
How was he being selfish by thinking about his welfare (for surely he would go crazy if he spent enough time with the beast)? Pansy truly was a rather revolting girl. They'd gone to the same academy together when they were younger.
(There was a particular incident that would be good to note. The mentioned academy allowed only students of considerable wealth and royal blood to enroll, so it might not be too necessary for me to say that there weren't many students enrolled to the academy at all. In fact, young Draco Malfoy had the same five classmates from a young age to the age he was then: fourteen, though he definitely preferred to think of himself as fifteen, seeing how he was turning fifteen in less than a week.
Being as spoiled as ever, Draco Malfoy expected so many expensive gifts on his birthday that, if the gifts were all sold, and the profit given to charity, the problem of poverty would be solved – perhaps forever. However, there was only one gift that Draco wanted above all else: the loss of his virginity to another boy, more specifically; he had loss his virginity to girls ages ago.
In this particular story, Draco Malfoy was indeed as Lucius later claimed: selfish. Here's how:
Draco Malfoy had never seen such a beautiful boy. The thick, black hair, the large blue eyes, the full, luscious lips; he craved the thin waist, and even more so the slender neck. He wondered what the boy's skin felt like, he wondered what the boy's skin tasted like. Draco had long ago decided that it was this boy he wanted to lose his virginity to and who Draco would have lose his virginity to him. As I'm sure you know Draco Malfoy made sure he always got what he wanted. Sometimes, it was easy for him… but at times like these, it was very difficult indeed. For this boy was none other than Pansy Parkinson's personal indoor slave. One might think that Draco would think himself above a mere slave and not even consider sharing his bed with such lowly vermin, but the slave's beauty was so undeniably fierce that there were no such thoughts in Draco's mind.
How could Draco Malfoy possibly get this boy when the boy was locked within Pansy's rooms? It might've seemed impossible to an average teenager, and so they would have given up without hesitation.
Draco still had three days until his birthday, however, and wanted to spend his birth-night in bed with the lover in his dreams. As said, Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted.
He had already started working on his plan; Draco Malfoy was a genius when it came to creating and executing plans.
Everyone for miles and even farther knew that Pansy was absolutely smitten with the blonde; she idolized him, worshipped him, and when she was alone, would kiss her pillow and pretend that it was him. She also disgusted Draco as a human was disgusted by their own feces. She would be a useful pawn, however, and Draco was determined to get what he wanted.
He got to work immediately and approached Pansy and the only other female classmate of his. They were in the large courtyard, of course, sitting on their regular bench under the large tree that provided shade and bloomed sweet-smelling flowers. They had been giggling, and both were shocked when they realized that Draco had stopped beside them. A blush crept onto Pansy's face.
"Good day," he smiled, pleasantly enough. No one would have been able to guess that it took every muscle fiber in his face to force the smile.
Pansy didn't – couldn't – say anything. Instead, she swallowed and looked at him in awe as if she were looking at Heracles. Her friend, Millicent, grinned obnoxiously and said, "Hello," in a teasingly flirtatious tone. Pansy sent her a look that, apparently, only women or very close friends were able to interpret. The next moment, Millicent stood, looking downcast, and walked away with a pitiful explanation that her fish needed to be fed pitiful because the girl kept no fish.
"Would you like to go for a walk?" Draco asked.
Pansy nodded and stood instantly. She linked her elbow around Draco's and, having gotten over the shyness and stolen her tongue back from the cat, said, "Draco, we never spend anymore time together."
"We are now," Draco said with a small smirk. "I've been hideously busy, but now I have a break from my responsibilities; and I decided I wanted to spend every second of my break with you."
To say that she was surprised would be an understatement. "I thought you told me that you wanted nothing to do with me."
Draco nearly hesitated, but said smoothly, "I've come to my senses. I actually wanted to speak with you today to apologize and – " he feigned embarrassment, hesitation, "and ask if you would be… well, if you would like to have dinner with me tonight."
He finished lamely, yes, but he supposed that only lame people would truly be interested in Pansy Parkinson.
Pansy said yes instantly it was her reflex to take whatever was being offered immediately, but she was dazed, to say the least. It was only yesterday that Draco had acted like she was a slug he had stepped on, and simply would not come off of the bottom of his foot.
After spending an allegedly cheerful night together, Pansy advertised to anyone who would listen that she and Draco were officially together. She wasn't lying, either. For while they were bent over their exquisite banquet of quail, soups, bread, fresh salads, many desserts, and white wine, Draco had indeed confessed he felt an intense emotion for the girl. He admitted the truth: that he hadn't expected to feel so strongly about Pansy after spending the day with her letting these feelings be interpreted as however one might want to interpret them. He said softly that he perhaps even wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. By the end of the night, Pansy had given Draco the key to her rooms and smiled and waved off Draco's polite excuse that he hadn't expected Pansy to accept his emotions so openly and therefore hadn't brought a key to exchange.
Indeed, he hadn't expected her to give him her key so quickly. He completed his first mission within the first night. However, he decided to wait until his birth-night to have his fun, though that didn't stop him from entering and observing before then.
The boy had been scrubbing the tiles, arse pushed high into the air, when Pansy and Draco walked in, hand in hand. Later, when they were leaving, the boy was on his break and was trying to cool down by the fountains of naked frolicking children spitting water, wearing only a skimpy cloth around his waist, not leaving much for the imagination. His skin was glinting from sweat and he was panting slightly; who could blame him? Even the fair Draco was flushed from the heat of the day though the heat might not have only been the cause of his redness. The second day, for what seemed like hours Draco was unashamedly gazing at the oblivious boy as he went about his business; if the boy had known that Draco would be there, he might've put on more clothing.
The third night, Draco's birthday, Pansy said that she was going to take Draco out. The destination was his choice. Draco chose the plaza; it was an extraordinary street, lined with shops and had a grand theater in the center. To get to the plaza would take two hours; the shows usually took just as long; and then to get back would take another two hours, and undoubtably Pansy would want to take a walk after that. If Draco were to go, they would spend their entire afternoon and night out together. If Draco did not go, he would have approximately five to six hours to himself having also estimated the amount of time Pansy would stand around, waiting for him.
They decided they would meet at the theater's entrance, since Draco allegedly had some business to take care of first. "But worry not, my love," he assured her. "I will see you at the theater, and we'll have a night together that will make memories."
The very night Draco had spoken of, he spent driving himself in between the boy's legs who was howling loud enough to wake the dead. They had so many rounds that they were still going when it was getting close to the time of Pansy's return; and after that, Draco took the boy back to his own rooms to continue the experimenting and pleasuring.
The very next day, he outright looked at Pansy as if she were nothing more than scum when she asked why he was not at the theater, and she wailed and cried and latched onto him after finding the truth that he did not love her anymore. She would not believe it, she would not accept it; she still held onto Draco's sweet words.
So now you might understand Draco and Pansy's relationship to a higher degree; at least, better than if I were to simply tell you, "Draco disliked Pansy although Pansy loved Draco." You might also see the extent of Draco's selfishness and insensitivity. Back to the scene from before: Draco had been contemplating his relationship with Pansy, and the dreadful fact that he might have to marry her.)
The thought of her bearing his children made him want to castrate himself. All right, perhaps not go to such extreme measures, but he did have to do something about it – and fast.
He couldn't think within his chambers, and so he decided to take a walk around the castle. He didn't have a plan formulated even as he was reaching the courtyard, his final destination before returning to the castle, and finally his bedchambers. He had ideas, such as running away, or claiming he was ill, but knew that none would get him out of this nightmarish marriage.
With a sigh, he landed on the final step and paused, feeling as if he was trying to deal with his midlife crisis. Maybe it WAS his midlife crisis. After all, take a look at who he was about to MARRY –
What was that?
There, in the shadows.
It seemed to be a person that was trying to climb a tree.
Draco stalked over silently, keeping his eyes on the figure all the while. The person was getting rather far up the tree, and suddenly Draco realized what he was trying to do. He wanted to climb up the tree so that he could climb over the wall. He was trying to escape.
Draco smirked.
"Good evening," he called out.
The rustling suddenly stopped, and not a moment later there was the sound of something scraping against bark. A second later, the body fell from the tree and landed on the ground heavily, directly in front of Draco.
For a moment, Draco thought the person might've been dead. The tree was tall, after all, and the person had been rather high when he'd fallen to the stoned floor. He groaned, however, and started to push himself off of the ground.
The unruly black hair, tanned skin, green eyes – glasses that were on the ground and cracked…
Draco nearly snarled. It was the incompetent slave from earlier that very evening.
"I ought to have you put to death," the blonde said bitterly. He didn't think so only because he'd caught the slave trying to escape; but also because it was this slave's fault that he'd left the dining room, thus leaving his father free to make decisions for his future.
The slave had stopped searching the ground for his glasses as he recognized the vicious voice. In the most sardonic tone he could muster, he said, "Death, sir, is preferred to working for you, sir."
But goodness, there had never been a more defiant slave! Draco's glare grew darker as he watched the slave find his glasses, put them on, and stand up to face him. He was almost grateful that he was marrying Pansy, now. Imagine if he had to marry this disobedient, this insolent –
And that's when it happened. That's when Draco's plan, his rescue from his midlife crisis, stole him away from the fiery depths of the end of life as he knew it.
AN: Tell me what you thought! … Please? I'll accept anything… flaming, compliments, ideas… I'm sorry if there were a lot of typos. I've been possessed by the typo demon. xx