CHAPTER FOUR

The castle was in an absolute uproar before breakfast had even been properly set on the table. It was only when a royal was anywhere in sight that the servants did what they were supposed to. Servants ran to and fro between stations to spread the joyous news instead of attending to their duties (for they detested Pansy passionately for her snobby and bossy attitude.)

By noon Pansy, in tears, was leaving the castle grounds, ushered by her livid, red-faced father. Draco stood near by with the royals that were shaking their heads and murmuring amongst themselves. All of them saw this as a scandal. None of them would have ever guessed that Pansy was a lesbian.

Draco watched with a poorly-disguised smirk of satisfaction. Even if the rest of his plan failed – hell, even if assassins murdered his father and sold Draco into sex slavery – he wouldn't have to marry Pansy. Please, give him a moment to bask in that reflection.

Meanwhile, Harry was within Draco's chambers, wrapped in the thick quilt and staring out of the window, despite the blonde's orders to stay away from it. He didn't want to risk Harry being seen, after all, since the only person who knew about Harry, other than himself, was Blaise.

Blaise had draped himself over Draco's couch, idly inspecting the sapphire on a ring that was hung around his neck from a silver chain, glinting in the sunlight that poured in from the open balcony and windows. He was ordered to keep an eye on the slave, to make sure he did everything Draco told him to (such as staying away from the windows), but at that moment he was pretending not to notice Harry.

Needless to say, the thick tension that haunted the air swamped the room. Oh, but I suppose it would be necessary to say. You wouldn't know the scene that had unfolded the moment Blaise was led into the room by his prince. The fact that a jealous Blaise was stuck in the same room with a wary Harry should be enough reason for such tension, though.

Draco left to watch Pansy's departing after giving his strict instructions. The moment the door shut with a snap, Blaise turned to Harry with an almost gentle smile. However, one should realize that Blaise was actually the serpent beneath the rose (a reference to Shakespeare's Macbeth, though Blaise would know nothing of that play.)

Though Harry didn't immediately realize Blaise had evil intentions beneath the smile, he hadn't forgotten the heated gazes Blaise threw at him for the entirety of the previous night. He hesitated before smiling back. It wasn't a kind smile he forced onto his face, either. It turned out to be sardonic, though Harry hadn't initially meant for it to come out that way.

There was a pause where it seemed cold air seeped into the room. As he trudged over to the far corner of the room to fetch his quilt, he was startled that Blaise had begun to speak to him – and civilly, at that.

"How are you?" was a large contrast to what he'd said last night ("But he's foul and ugly!")

"I'm good, thanks."

"Did you sleep well? Draco said he only let you sleep on the floor. Wasn't that uncomfortable and cold?"

Harry wrapped the old, stained quilt tightly around his shoulders but didn't answer.

Blaise smiled and draped himself over the couch, his blue eyes matching the intricate design on the soft fabric. The black silk he wore matched his body perfectly. There was no denying, especially in that particular outfit, that he was a very beautiful boy indeed. "I'm sorry if I was terribly rude last night. I don't know what came over me."

Harry accepted the apology politely.

"Come over here. What was your name again? I'm afraid Draco never told me."

That's because he never asked. "It's Harry."

"Just Harry? No last name?"

Of course he had a last name. He wasn't going to tell Blaise what it was, though, for fear that Blaise might have recognized it and reported it to Jr. Malfoy, who might report it to Sr. Malfoy, who would then execute Harry without a moment's hesitation. (Of course, the chances of that happening was zero to none.)

"Yeah, that's right."

"Come closer."

Harry did so, but not too closely. He stayed a good distance of measure away from the couch.

"Draco's right. When I take a really good look at you, you're not half-bad looking at all. In fact, I would say you look even slightly attractive. Sure, your tanned skin is the sign of a peasant, and your hair seems like it has a life of its own, but your eyes…"

Blaise paused and looked even closer.

"It's almost as if I never expected your eyes to be so green. It's a shame they're hidden away behind those foul glasses."

Harry flushed under the heaviness of the attention he was getting and looked away.

"Draco thinks you're rather attractive."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. He told me a lot last night, about what he thinks."

Before going to bed, Draco and Blaise had spent some time together, speaking in a language Harry couldn't understand. And intimately, at that. For the entirety of the conversation, Blaise was leaning against Draco, and from the corner of Harry's eye he could see Blaise flirtatiously twining a blonde strand of hair around his finger. Harry was almost positive that, hadn't he been there, their private talk would've led to – well, you know.

"Wouldn't you like to know what he thought? What his plan is for you?"

Harry's eyes flashed up. Blaise had been staring at him intensely. Harry knew already because – had Blaise somehow found out? No… impossible. There was no way he could have known that Harry had read Draco's journal. "No, that's all right. I can do without knowing."

"I almost feel sorry for you," Blaise smiled without acknowledging that Harry had said anything. "You've become a pawn in Draco's amusing game."

Harry merely raised his eyebrows in mock, "wow!" and shuffled away as a hint that he didn't want to listen to Blaise's heavily accented voice anymore. He gazed at the shelves and shelves of dark, leather-bound books. He noticed the journal – a small book with a golden cover – among volumes of epics.

"He's like that sometimes – an immature child," Blaise added as if in after thought. He was casually running his hand through his thick black curls. "But oh! He's so romantic and clever as well. I don't suppose you would know anything about him, since you've only just met him. And you peasants in the streets have all decided to make him and his father seem like tyrants, which they aren't. After all, they've fed and protected you and your families for generations. No, I don't suppose you would know the real him."

Harry's blood nearly boiled over at that proclamation, though no one would know that except the readers and me, the narrator. He kept his facial expression blank and composed. (I'm sorry that interrupting this story is becoming a fast habit of mine, but for your own benefit I thought you would like to know a little bit more about Harry's past. About why he would be so angry at such a proclamation, you understand. If you don't want to know, you may skip down to continue reading the story, though I'm not sure much of Harry's motives and intentions would make sense to you if you did.

But first! I have to tell you a little something about the Malfoy family. I'm sorry if it becomes slightly boring, for it deals with a political issue, but don't run away! I'll make it brief.

For generations upon generations, the Malfoy's have been Lords, serving the highest ruler of all the land. I'll give you three guesses as to who that highest ruler is.

As Lord, a Malfoy can and will do as he wishes with his peasants. There was once an entire massacre of chosen women and children for the Lord Malfoy's pleasure, though that must have been hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Overall, the Lord Malfoy's main job is to collect money, crop, and trade benefits from the peasants each year. The peasants work their asses off to pay in time, as I'm sure you can imagine. However, there are sometimes certain Lords, such as Lord Lucius Malfoy, who will collect and then have his royal guard steal from the peasants, killing anyone who defies. The killing usually goes on to any innocent bystander who was, "in the way," or raping any girl or boy who, "looked at the royal guard without respect."

Many peasants have tried to leave the Malfoy's in search of a better place, but could find none. For nearly every single province was under the rule of a Lord who served Voldemort, and therefore every single province was in the same situation as the one the peasants had just escaped, or was even worse. And Blaise had a point: it's a dangerous world outside of the protected walls of a province. Tribes of migrants are slaughtered by bandits and wild animals every day. But to stay within a province was no better, as I have just described. The common people were, essentially, trapped.

That's why the Order was created.

This rebellious organization is a lot bigger than the small group hidden away in Lord Malfoy's territory, I'll tell you that right off the bat. There are about three groups of rebels in each province under each Lord – yes, all 150 of them. And the Order is still building by the moment.

It just so happens that Harry's group is specialized in spying. The other two groups within the province… well, who knows what their specialty is? When I say the Order is secretive, I mean it's secretive. It has to be, to protect itself from traitors and the enemy. Not many people who join the Order know a lot about it, only that they are helping the common good of mankind and what their specific assignments are. Hell, Harry doesn't even know what the Order hopes to accomplish though I'll tell you now, the Order hopes to overthrow Voldemort and put Albus Dumbledore in his place. He just knows that it's an organization against Lord Malfoy. That's all the matters to him.

Why?

Well, as cliché as in sounds – oh, but it's absolutely tragic as well:

You see, Harry's father, James, was a spy for the Order, along with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. They were young and helplessly romantic with life, as men in their early 20's tend to be, and thought that they could save the world by helping the Order. This made them recklessly courageous. It was on a certain mission where all three of them were involved that Sirius was caught by the royal guard. Oh, James and Remus escaped all right, but they couldn't do anything to help Sirius. Their best friend and confidant was executed the next morning. I know I don't do the memory of Sirius any justice by simply summarizing what had happened to him.

James and Remus took a step back because of what happened to Sirius, analyzing their lives. By being members of the Order, they wished to save the world; but now, after being unable to even save their best friend they realized that saving the world was very complicated. They wouldn't be able to handle such a large responsibility.

What would they be able to handle? What did they want to become? Where did they want to go from there?

Remus decided that he wanted to continue working for the Order, but not only to avenge Sirius, but also because he didn't know what else to do with his life. He really had no choice anyway. In a moment I'll come to why.

James decided that he wanted to quit and settle down with Lily Evans, whom he had always known and loved since childhood. He wanted to marry her, have a child with her, and live peacefully – not risk his life every moment for spying for the Order. Don't think him cowardly for finally wanting to live his life.

However, there's only a one way ticket into the Order. Once you join, you can't quit. That helped to prevent traitors from leaving and trading information.

Now, Lily knew nothing about the Order. James was never allowed to tell her. She didn't understand why James suddenly wanted to leave the province one seemingly peaceful night, taking their sleeping, infant son with them. She didn't want to go. She loved James for his nature for wanting to have adventures, but suddenly leaving the province was taking things a bit too far in her eyes.

James, insistent and persuasive as ever, eventually got her to pack a few of their belongings – food that wouldn't rot immediately, clothing and shoes, etc. – to take to the carriage, but before they could make it outside a few members of the royal guard banged down the door. With a mother's instinct, Lily ran, hiding her sleeping baby carefully in a basket full of cloth. They were both arrested for treason, and no matter how much Remus begged to have both of them rescued, they were publicly executed the next morning.

Harry, still an infant, was taken from the basket by Remus, who gave Harry to Molly Weasley to be raised alongside her other children. Harry grew up with the knowledge that his parents were murdered because of the Malfoy family. The need for revenge clouded his mind at a young age. This is why he detests the Malfoy family so much. I apologize for not showing his hatred so much throughout the story thus far. It might've become repetitive, however – his hatred is so great, it would have consumed nearly ever thought he'd had to this point.

Remus never shared his suspicion with anyone that the Order gave away James so that he and Lily would be executed. After all, it was extremely risky for the Order to have a spy run away with his wife and child. But perhaps Remus was wrong; perhaps the royal guard figured out James was a spy on their own.

Yes, perhaps…

Previously, Harry and Blaise were in Draco's chambers, awaiting his return.)

"I caution you not to fall in love with him." Blaise meant Draco, of course.

"Why? Because he's already yours?" It slipped out before Harry could even process that he'd been thinking such a thing. Shouldn't he have said that it was highly unlikely that something like that would happen?

"Yes," Blaise laughed outright. "Yeah, that's one reason, but it's also because you can't trust someone like him, especially when he has your heart. He'll break it in a second, without reason besides wanting to see you fall apart. He's rather miserable, Draco Malfoy." Bitterness.

Harry didn't need Blaise to tell him that.

"And you know, once he's finished with you and his little game he won't need you anymore."

The sentence hung. For some reason, Harry felt the need to become defensive. "He said he's going to set me free afterwards."

"Did he, really?" Blaise shrugged. "That seems out of character. I would think that he would simply behead you."

Blaise wasn't lying to scare Harry. No, it was indeed the truth, something that Harry hadn't thought of himself. And why wouldn't he? Why wouldn't Draco behead Harry when he was through with him? Though it might seem an act of extremity to an outsider, Draco had tyrant's blood in him; tyrants were well known for beheading people when they weren't needed. And didn't Draco threaten to have Harry killed twice already?

He didn't say anything. He merely walked over to the window, weighted down with thought of what Blaise had said.

The door opened eventually and Draco flounced in, highly pleased with himself. Locking the door behind him, he went to the couch and shoved Blaise's feet off to make space for himself.

"What're you doing by the window?" he snapped, though he didn't feel very angry at all. On the contrary, he was in good, high spirits. You know why.

Harry turned his head and looked at Draco. Draco looked back, an eyebrow raised.

"What's wrong with the slave?" Draco asked, glancing at the other. Blaise smiled and shrugged.

"Perhaps he's homesick?"

Blaise knew that wasn't the reason at all.

...

A week and three days later, the ball was scheduled to happen when the stars appeared in the night sky and the moon was luscious and full. As you can imagine, the streets were bustling excitedly earlier that day. Golden carriages made way up the cobblestone roads towards the castle. The only Lord's daughter for miles around who wasn't attending the magnificent ball was Pansy.

In short, it was just like the tale of Cinderella, minus the pumpkin carriages, Fairy Godmothers, and glass slippers.

During the time leading up to the ball, Harry hadn't seen much of his blonde host. He only saw him in the morning when he woke up and at night when Draco would return to the chambers. When that happened, they wouldn't speak much. A polite exchange of, "Good night," when Draco wasn't in a dreadful mood was the extent, really.

Despite what you might think, Harry didn't go crazy with boredom during the days while he was imprisoned within the room, and this was because he'd met Draco's tutor, a brilliant girl named Hermione Granger. She was added to the team without Harry knowing, and scared the hell out of him when she stormed into the room angrily the day after his and Blaise's little talk. He thought he'd been caught and would be executed for sure.

Hermione assured him rather snobbishly that this wasn't the case. No, not at all. In fact, she was ordered by Draco to help him instead of do her real job: tutor the blonde in the sciences, language arts, philosophies, etc. She was, as she'd put it, "upset that she'd been taken away from her work in order to help Draco play his childish game."

When she saw that Harry was offended by her attitude, she apologized for being – well –bitchy. She figured that if they had to work together, then they might as well get along.

And get along they did! Both found they shared a common interest: their hatred for Draco Malfoy.

Hermione claimed that she would have run away long ago, hadn't it been for the fact that she had nowhere to go. She and her people were enslaved when she was a toddler, and once she arrived at the castle, she'd spent years climbing the social ladder from slave to Lord's son's tutor. It hadn't been easy, and she didn't gain very many friends from doing so.

Day in, day out, Hermione taught Harry a proper lady's mannerisms. She taught him how to be graceful while sitting down at a table, how to smile politely whenever a man looked his way, and, most importantly, how to dance. She used Blaise as a model for this, and both boys were forced to swoop around the large room, gazing at each other as if they were in love. Hermione would force them to start the dance from the very beginning if they didn't.

Whenever Harry wasn't learning how to act like a proper lady or pretending to be in love with Blaise, he was reading Draco's epical volumes of stories, all of them rather similar to what you might consider works by Homer, Chaucer, Machiavelli, Marlowe, and William Shakespeare. He would glance up every now and then at Hermione, who was working at a near by desk, imprisoned in a fort created by walls of books and paper stained by black blotches of ink.

She was busy creating a fictional land run by a fictional government. Only a genius could do something like that, but… well, think about who we're talking about here.

Here's the watered down version of what she came up with: Harry's supposed land and culture would be highly secretive. They would be terrified of outsiders, and any outsider that found them would be captured and killed as a sacrifice to their God. The commoners of this land wouldn't be allowed to leave, for fear that their God would kill them. That would be why no one's ever heard of them before. Apparently, Harry's father would hear about Voldemort and his growing empire from a spy. He would realize that if he didn't quickly join Voldemort in this rise, he would eventually be easily conquered. He would become interested in becoming a vassal of Voldemort, but wouldn't be able to leave the castle because of the God. Only someone of royal status would be allowed to conduct such affairs, however. So instead, he would send Harry, his daughter, to conduct the affairs; women would be considered extremely lowly in that land, and if Harry was killed his death would be considered a sacrifice to their God. Of course, Draco, who would have fallen in love with her/him by that time, would eagerly take over carrying out business with this foreign girl for his father. He would want to marry her out of love; but he would also come to the conclusion that he should marry Harry because that would automatically make Harry's land a vassal of Voldemort and bond the two powerful nations. It would be an arrangement in mutual arrangement for both sides.

If Lucius ever wanted to visit Harry's father, he would be denied. The land would be far too secretive to allow anyone else know where it was, ally or not.

Of course, all of this is hogwash. Draco was confident enough to know that his father was incompetent enough to believe every word of this lie.

"But why does Lucius want to bond to another powerful land so badly?" Harry pondered aloud.

Hermione looked up at the boy who was reading over her shoulder. "So that he can become more powerful, of course. It's obvious what he plans to do. He wants to become allies to all of the nations until he's eventually powerful enough to gather a large army and attack Voldemort. He wants to be the supreme Lord in Voldemort's place."

Harry filed this information into the back of his mind. When finally one of the others from the Order visited him, he would pass on this suspicion.

The night of the majestic ball, the courtyard was overflowing with golden carriages and ladies that seemed to be made of plastic.

"There's Lady Armistead," Hermione whispered to Harry as they both looked down from the window at an old, wrinkly woman with caked make-up who limped her way to the stairs where she was carried up by her servants. "And Lady Marla is coming also." She seemed to be the twin of Pansy, only twice as ugly. "Oh, my… it's Lady Bordeaux." The very girl who Draco suspected his father would want him to marry was, in a word, gorgeous. With blonde hair and stunning blue eyes, she was only fifteen, yet seemed like a woman. She acted like one too, and rather rudely at that. They watched her spit fire at one of her servants before striding up the stairs and into the castle.

"It's at midnight that you have to make your way down," Hermione said, pulling away from the window.

Harry kept taking off his glasses and wiping them clean, squinting at the floor. He knew he was going to make a complete fool of himself. Luckily, Ron and George and Fred wouldn't be there to see him in a dress. He did all he could to keep his masculinity dignified. He even went as far as flexing his muscles in a mirror that very morning to remind himself that that he was very manly indeed.

"Don't be so nervous, Harry," Hermione demanded in an assuring tone. "You only have to gracefully move into the ballroom and stand at the top of the stairs until Draco looks directly at you. When that happens, you need to curtsey exactly as I taught you …"

"I know, I know, Hermione. Then I have to walk down the stairs…"

"Gracefully."

"…and wait for him to come over and ask for a dance."

Harry swallowed as he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned around, the itchy, frilly dress nearly tangling up his feet and forced a smile onto his face, hoping to God it wasn't one of his sardonic versions.

Apparently, it was absolutely perfect.

Draco, dashing in his royal clothing, raised a fine eyebrow. He thought he would meet an ugly girl with a strong jaw and broad shoulders. Instead, he saw the slave who might've been mistaken for a gorgeous queen. Truthfully, his beauty, however false it was, competed with Lady Bordeaux's. The tanned skin was powdered to a beautiful complexion, the thick, black hair of the wig frothed around his face, and the green eyes managed to stand out even more when there were no glasses to hide them. The dress looked absolutely uncomfortable, but it did a good job of covering his muscles. It suited him nicely. He would have to later congratulate Blaise and Hermione on a job excellently done.

He bowed, never once tearing his grey eyes away from the fascinating green ones. It seemed the entire ballroom stilled. Never had anyone once seen Draco Malfoy bow, let alone bow to a lady – a complete stranger. To a Malfoy, bowing was a form of subduing your high ranking status to a lower one. Nobody, in their eyes, was worthy of this.

Harry knew this as much as the jealous ladies surrounding him. He put on an air of surprise and honor of being privileged and curtsied gracefully until he practically touched the marble floor, infinite with elaborate patterns. The dress puffed up all around him. He finally stood, struggling to do this as slowly as Hermione had taught him.

Draco extended a pale hand that seemed to be trembling slightly. He was as nervous as Harry was. Harry allowed his palm to gently touch the prince's. As he was being guided through the mass of ladies that parted like the Red Sea, he kept his head held high. He could feel conviction emanating from these girl's eyes. They seemed angrier than Blaise was on the first night.

They danced, of course. I can't quite say that either messed up or made a mistake that jeopardized the overall plan, except that Harry became lost in the waltz, far beneath the grand chandelier of thousands of glowing candles.

Draco was obviously an excellent dancer, and was kindly patient with Harry as they moved across the dance floor. Nervousness ebbed away. There was still a large distraction, however. In motion, Harry could feel the hundreds of curious, angry, and jealous eyes. It took him a few moments to take Hermione's strong advice: to stare only into Draco's eyes.

And finally their waltz ended perfectly. There was a scattered polite applause. Flushed from the effort, Draco led Harry off of the dance floor to an alcove beneath the staircase, whispering into his ear an order to stay where he was. He was going to his mother, who was watching the ball from a private balcony, to declare his avid love for this stranger.

Now, just to keep this real, Harry realized that yes, he was foolish during the waltz to suddenly become entranced. It made no sense, after all. This was the son of the man who had his parents killed. He was literally dancing with the enemy. Perhaps it was the stress that made him act and think so strangely. Maybe it really was homesickness.

Later that night he was lying down on a bed that felt as gentle and soft as the clouds above. He was in a private room, the place Hermione told him he would stay until further notice. Apparently, Draco's mother wanted him (or, as she thought, her) to stay. She wanted to meet the love of Draco's life, just as her son predicted she would.

This news didn't bring his spirits down, though it made him nervous. No, he was actually rather content. He smiled to himself as he thought about catching sight of Tonks in the open crowd minutes after Draco left him beneath the staircase.

She wandered over, dressed like a princess, and pretended to be politely curious. Harry tried to hide his embarrassment, and knew that Tonks wasn't so cruel as to tease him and tell the others. After making sure no one was listening, they spoke:

"How did you know it was me?"

"You're the only person I've ever met that has such brilliant colored eyes. If you have any news, say it now." She had to be brief because she couldn't risk being there for too long.

Harry told Tonks what Draco's plans were for him and what Hermione's suspicions were. Tonks couldn't express any reaction other than a smile, for fear that someone was watching.

"I hope to meet you again sometime soon," she said and kissed the air above Harry's cheek before moving on to mingle with others for a few minutes. Harry knew he wouldn't see her again for the rest of the night.

Laying there in bed, he struggled to be content with a simple memory. He didn't want to slip into a depressed state over his homesickness. He would never survive if he did that.

AN: I am SO sorry. I know some people have been complaining about the delays. I'm trying to fix that. I don't even have a good excuse. I rushed this chapter a bit so that it wouldn't be finished in three months. It didn't really come out as I would've liked. In fact, I think this chapter sucked. I'm working on making the next chapter a lot more interesting, though.