CHAPTER FIVE
"I heard she's the prettiest girl for millions of miles."
"Me too. Supposedly prettier than even Lady Bordeaux."
An incredulous look. "That's not possible! No one is prettier than Lady Bordeaux! She's the angel amongst mortals, a jewel amongst trash – "
"I know, fool, I know. But she is; that's what everyone's been saying."
"You know what I think?"
"No. I don't care, either – "
"I think she's a whore."
There was a moment of blank silence.
"I mean, think about it! Draco Malfoy has been known to 'fall in love,' with whores, right? At least, that's what he claims… that he's in love."
"Fredrick, the only thing I think is that you should shut that goddamned stupid trap of yours."
Ron nearly seconded that thought aloud.
"Well, he might have a point. Think about Blaise Zabini."
"Thank you, Violet!"
"Oh, I don't know if she's a whore," the Fat Lady's words fell to the dusty ground heavily. She was waving her fan and looking away from her small group of friends towards the sweltering oven, "but I can swear on my grandfather's grave that I've seen her somewhere before. If only I could place where…"
Ron cleared his throat as he waited edgily for the bread to finish baking, which really couldn't finish fast enough. It had taken every fiber to not honor Harry's title and explode with fury. Being forced to do Harry's last chores put him in a sour mood, and that was bad enough, but to hear strangers call his best friend a whore? That was starting to make his blood boil over.
At least he had gotten over the shock that Harry had to pretend to be a woman. The scene at headquarters where everyone first learned what was happening to Harry had been a sight to see indeed.
"Her blessings?"
"Yes. Both of you need – "
"Wait, wait. What the hell do you mean by, 'her blessings?'"
Hermione sighed impatiently as if she had to stop her important lecture and explain something simple to a child pulling at her sleeve. "She needs to do exactly as it implies: bless your and Draco's marriage. It's basically the formal way of giving her permission."
"I can't get that," he gaped at her. "How am I supposed to get that?"
"Well, if you'd let me explain instead of interrupting me every other second, you would already have that answered." She stacked her papers into one neat pile on the desk. "She wants to meet you. Draco saw this as the perfect opportunity to set up dinner with the three of you only. It's supposed to be a friendly engagement, but, well," she hesitated, "it's obviously going to turn into an interview of sorts. She wants to see if you're worthy of her son." All mothers, not only Narcissa Malfoy, have reputations for needing to protect their sons from the undeserving.
There was once a Lady Malfoy, if I remember correctly, that beheaded any undeserving girl who approached her son. She was the same Lady Malfoy that was nicknamed, 'The Widow,' for she killed her husband – poisoned him – when her son came of age to assume control. She would have been executed hadn't her son, the new Lord Malfoy, intervened. There were whispers in the streets that Narcissa Malfoy had so many similarities to the Widow that Lord Lucius Malfoy would be insane not to worry about his safety.
"So I'm basically being auditioned to see if I can play the part of the perfect bride. But no pressure, right?"
"Harry, I've already told you, you don't have to worry. In about a day, Draco will return with his father from their hunt. He already told me that he wants to dedicate the time after with you to prepare. I'll be there to help."
They were within Harry's stuffy but private chambers. Blaise was hovering in the background like a trained puppy that was disciplined harshly just the moment before, sulking as usual and idly braiding his hair, more to pass the time than to make himself more stylish.
Draco was off with Lord Malfoy on the traditional annual hunt that was supposed to be shared between son and father. It was an old joke in the Malfoy residence that Lord Malfoy and Draco wouldn't kill anything but themselves out of anger and resentment.
Indeed, Draco truly never killed anything on these hunts, which had Lord Malfoy yelling at his son – even when he was only seven years old. "A rabbit!" he would carry on angrily. "You could've killed a rabbit, at least!" (It was at times like these where Lady Malfoy would interfere and relieve her little boy of his father's unreasonable temper.)
Both men were expected back by early afternoon tomorrow, having left the previous morning before the sun had fully risen.
Harry's ruby red drapes were pulled back from the window, allowing the sunlight to pour into the room, which was a muddy puddle in comparison to Draco's ocean of a room. It was still a grand room, however, in comparison to – say – the cramped room he left behind in his headquarters, the one he was forced to share with the twins and Ron.
"So, what're we going to do?"
"What do you mean?" Hermione glanced up at the restlessly pacing Harry from the desk, carpeted with piles of paper, which was quickly becoming her personal office.
"To prepare?"
"Oh, well, not too much… Firstly, I'm going to pretend to be – "
There was a sudden, violent pounding on the door. Harry faltered in his tracks. Hermione whirled around to stare. Blaise, startled, went forward from his shadows towards the door, shuddering from the constant hammering. Hermione, thinking fast, shoved Harry into the open closet so that he practically fell over himself and collided with the wall. She snapped the doors shut and hissed at him to shut up. Once he was successfully hidden, Blaise called out over the bashing:
"Who is it?" He didn't know how else to handle the situation.
"Just open the door! Damn you!" The pounding became more insistent, as if that was supposed to make the door open faster.
Would it look horribly suspicious? Blaise, Draco's infamous whore, and Hermione, Draco's controversial tutor, in the foreign princess's chambers, I mean. The door was about to be knocked down. Blaise didn't seem to think much about looking out of place; he swung it open.
There stood the lanky messenger, Justin, with horrible acne and flushed cheeks. "Blaise!" He wasn't at all surprised. "Lord Draco attacked Lord Malfoy!
Hermione appeared beside Blaise. "Draco attacked his father?"
"They had an argument… it happened so fast."
So it had. As the servants were roasting the previous night's game over a crackling fire that was spitting sparks for breakfast in the morning fog, Draco was summoned by his father to speak inside of the large, comfortable tent. Lord Malfoy's favored generals and advisors were sitting with him, guffawing and nattering, saying loudly, "Where's our breakfast!" Lord Malfoy didn't bother to make the conversation private. They were among friends and imbecile servants too brainless to understand the conversation in full.
This was as Justin, one of those imbecile servants, witnessed it:
Lord Malfoy told Draco point blank that he thought Lady Bordeaux would be a better choice. He didn't trust the secretive foreigners.
Draco told Lord Malfoy firmly that he loved the girl and would marry her. Lady Bordeaux? He refused to even consider marrying that wench.
No! He was to do as Lord Malfoy demanded. He was not to be a selfish child anymore. It was time that he grew up.
He would do as he, Draco Malfoy, wished. Not the wishes of his damned, hopeless father.
A slap across the face; Draco's head turned with impact. The bustle within the tent, already slowing with the furious shouts, came to a complete stop. A red mark was printed on the cheek, heated and patched pink from anger.
Not a second had passed before Draco grabbed a near by spear, innocently reclining nearby against a rock with many other spears, all of them sharpened the previous night. Lord Malfoy was lucky Draco wasn't wearing his rapier else the nearby guards wouldn't have had enough time to realize Draco's murderous intent and stop him.
It was easy enough to arrest the struggling boy, thin as twigs; he never did have any physical strength, only mental. He was brutally forced down to his knees as the guards asked if he should be executed immediately or should be given a public execution in the courtyard. Son or not, it was still treachery and betrayal of the province to attempt to murder the Lord Malfoy. But, to the guards' shock, their Lord laughed hollowly and muttered that he envied his son's unreasonably quick temper. He was ordered to be released.
Draco didn't seem surprised at his release at all. Instead, he said he would return to the castle immediately – a day sooner than expected. Be damned if you thought he cared that he was breaking generations upon generations of tradition.
Justin had, nearly killing his horse with the effort, raced back to the castle to tell everyone to prepare for an early arrival. Blaise would be expected to wait at the entrance along with Hermione and the guest, the foreign princess. It was better, in fact, that Blaise and Hermione were there, both promising to pass the news onto the temporarily absent princess.
"Why would he – Lucius Malfoy, I mean – do that?" Harry, who had been listening intently from the closet, asked Hermione as she grabbed a dress the second after Justin left.
"Do what? Blaise, get the make up."
"Release Draco."
"Isn't it obvious? Take off your clothes – Oh, stop blushing as if I've never seen a man in his underpants before. Draco is too valuable to his plan to have him arrested. He needs his son so that his province will be bonded to another powerful one through marriage. Of course, all of this means that we'll be depending solely on Lady Malfoy's blessings…"
Harry winced as Hermione laced up the bodice. Hermione was terse in her actions. She was obviously working her brain. It was unwise to interrupt her while she was thinking, so Harry remained silent until Blaise placed the wig on his head as if it were a crown. He was quickly getting over having to wear dresses, and the powder that made him hack and cough wasn't so bad, that was true enough, but he would never be used to the scratchy wigs that frothed around his face.
"Come; we'll be your escorts," Hermione opened the door. "Be quick. He'll be arriving any minute."
Blaise said something miniscule about Harry needing to buy a slave or two for himself as they hurriedly but gracefully rushed down the corridors, and Harry absentmindedly responded, but he was truly pondering what Hermione had said. He didn't need her brains to figure out why Lady Malfoy's blessings had become all the more necessary. If she approved of Harry – hell, if she loved him and didn't want her son to marry anyone but Harry – well, then at least they would have a chance to accomplish their plan. Both Lady Malfoy and Draco Malfoy's cunning and subtle tantrum throwing might've been too much for Lord Malfoy to handle. He might've eventually give in if his wife was on his son's side. But if Lady Malfoy dislikes Harry… Draco's plan would be ruined and Harry wouldn't be useful anymore. Blaise's words flooded his thoughts.
No pressure? HA.
(Now, I didn't want to interrupt before because of the rapid plot movement, but now I must ask you… Did I ever mention why Hermione being Draco's tutor is controversial? Just in case I didn't or you happened to forget, here's why: it's because she was previously a citizen of lands conquered by Voldemort. She and her clan became slaves and were sent to the Malfoy province as gifts. Please don't roll your eyes. The entire tale is actually quite serious and tragic, but that's a story meant to be told at another time.
Now, being a slave is probably bad enough, but a female slave from a foreign land? Even at the young age of ten, she understood what her future would become if she didn't think and act fast. While her peers sobbed about the past and quickly became new unwilling additions to the guards' harems, she hid in the kitchens and worked hard without shedding a single tear until she was positive that a harem woman wasn't what she was destined to become.
She quickly befriended the right people within a year's span, and with a series of lucky events and smart tactics, she slowly but surely rose from a lowly slave girl, likely to become pregnant or dead by the time she became thirteen, to the Lord's advisor's scholar's genius assistant. She just happened to be lecturing her master, the scholar, on the importance of trading outside of provinces when one of the Lord's advisors, the scholar's master, wandered by the open door and stopped to listen.
But Gods! The girl was surely a genius and nothing less. He stole her from his scholar and took her straight to the Lord Malfoy, where she and the Lord sat down for an evening on comfortable couches and debated politics well into the night. Oh, sure, the Lord's audience claimed he won easily, but behind their hands they whispered that she was the winner by far.
And she was ordered to become Draco Malfoy's tutor. Hopefully she would be able to teach the boy how to think like a genius.
But why was this so controversial? Well, because not even three years ago, she was nothing but a ten-year-old slave girl, property of Lord Malfoy. She still was, technically! Imagine… a bloody slave girl tutoring Lord Malfoy's son. Surely something was wrong with that picture.
At first, Draco certainly thought so and wondered if his father had hit his head while out hunting, but he quickly learned why his father made the decision.
At this point, Hermione, Blaise, and Harry – dressed as the foreign princes of course – went down into the courtyard to wait for Draco's return.)
It was hot in the courtyard. Harry was sure that if he took off his shoes, the bottoms of his feet would scald on the surface of the stone floor. It didn't help at all that the dress felt like it was created to protect a lady from the freezing air of winter. Choking from the heat, he looked around for shade. Surely he could convince Hermione to allow them to stand somewhere cooler. After all, it wouldn't be very becoming if Draco returned to the love of his life, whom would be sweating like a man.
The courtyard was as silent as a graveyard at night, despite the large crowds of royals standing around, being fanned by their servants – of course, everyone knew what happened already. Most were shocked into silence.
As Harry glanced around, he flushed when he realized that many of the royals, the women in particular, were staring at him. Was he standing incorrectly? He glanced at Hermione to make sure that there wasn't something he forgot to do, but she wasn't paying him any mind.
They waited in the heat and silence for what seemed like ages before finally the sound of a hoarse trumpet sounded. Draco was finally approaching the castle.
There was a stirring ripple across the courtyard. Many people started to move to the side, many started to bow, and of course Harry didn't notice. He was too busy staring at his toes, wishing that Draco would hurry up because it was damned stifling, hoping to the GODS that he truly didn't forget something important –
There was a pair of eyes on him, he could just feel it. He looked up. And standing before him was Lady Narcissa Malfoy, dressed so magnificently that Harry felt like he was wearing rags. Harry wondered how Lady Malfoy was surviving if he felt like he was dying of heat.
She offered him a gracious smile and curtsied to him, which he nearly tripped over himself to return.
And the moment was over as quickly as it begun. She turned to stare at the entrance, which Draco was expected to burst through any second. Had this been a modern day Earth, you can be damned sure that the following headline would be in the papers the next day: Lady Malfoy formally addresses The Foreign Princess! The article: the scandalous foreign princess was formally addressed by Lady Malfoy earlier yesterday afternoon. Doctors so-and-so that has a degree in such-and-such believe that this was a psychological method used by Lady Malfoy to threaten and intimidate the foreign princess, who indeed looked as if she was trembling like a leaf – in her absolutely stunning dress covered with silvery ribbons, I might add; though it was nothing in comparison to Lady Malfoy's gorgeous while, silk gown that covered the floor all around her. The two waited beside each other in the center of the courtyard, cleared completely of the lesser royals, as if they were in the center of a ballroom and people had circled around them to watch their waltz.
Finally! The long-awaited son, Draco Malfoy, cantered into the courtyard followed by his small train, as if he were invading his own home.
He jumped off of his bravura white horse and glared around, as if daring anyone to scold him for trying to murder his father and breaking a tradition older than the castle itself. And as he glared around, he caught sight of the two most important women in his life: his mother and his first true love.
Standing a few paces apart the two ladies waited, as if to see who he would choose to go to first. His mother, who was impatiently waiting for her son to return from the hunt to the point that she was near tears, held her head high with pride; and the girl stared at the ground and pulled at the frills on her dress nervously.
He walked straight up to the younger girl, nearly completely disregarding his mother, and embraced her. The gasps, though audible, were hushed. Draco pretended not to notice and guided his bride-to-be out of the hot courtyard and into the shaded comfort of the castle.
His mother, a true queen of sorts, merely smiled and followed her son inside slowly and gracefully.
What did some of the royals have to say about this? (Note that the article has long since finished, and a good thing too because if any of the royals were caught insulting the Lord and Lady Malfoy's son they would – well – let's just say they would disappear.)
"I don't believe it," Lady Maximila, a woman that seemed to be recovering from a horrible flux said, clearly astounded. "There must be something wrong with that boy."
"First, he breaks the tradition," Lord Jameson roared to his friends as quietly as possible, his pointy beard trembling with the outrage of it all.
"Next, he attempted to kill his father. His own father! He's bloody lucky he wasn't executed, that much I can say." Lady Regada shook her head as the gossiping friends that surrounded her nodded their heads in agreement.
"Now, he completely ignores his mother! I don't believe it! I – I – " Lady Dunderhill looked like she was about to collapse from disbelief. Or spontaneously combust. Either one, personally, I wouldn't quite mind, and neither would anyone else in the castle.
Oh, but be rest assured. Nothing was wrong with Lord Draco Malfoy. In fact, he knew exactly what he was doing.
TBC…
AN: Thanks so much for the reviews! I'm glad no one thinks the style is annoying.
As for one of the two questions that were asked, you're right. I didn't even think about Tonks being able to get into the ball, her being a commoner and everyone else being Lords' daughters. If it helps any, I guess I could explain it away with her being part of a secret organization. She could've gotten a secret identity and pretended to be a Lord's daughter… or something.
And for the second question, I'm really sorry. I never really thought anyone would mind drag, since the story itself is really silly. Shows the naivety of me, I guess. Didn't mean to offend. ;;;