CHAPTER NINE

"Draco."

"Hm."

"Get rid of Harry."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I think this is the fiftieth time we've gone over this, Blaise. I'm not getting rid of Harry. I need him for my plan."

"If you didn't need him, would you get rid of him?"

"Why should I?" Draco leered. "I could use him as my personal slave."

"What? But I'm your personal slave!"

"You can easily be replaced." Draco was, of course, teasing – in his own vicious, cruel little way – but Blaise seemed to take it personally nonetheless:

"What does he have that I don't?" Blaise glared.

Draco shrugged his shoulders, eyes drifting shut.

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "I can't bloody stand you! You're a pompous asshole, that's what you are. A careless, heartless, pompous asshole."

At this, Draco – eyes still shut – shoved Blaise away so roughly that he fell off of the edge of the bed with a dull clunk. "And you're an idiot."

He promptly jumped up and wrapped the tangled bed sheet around his naked waist. "That hurt, you bastard!"

"You never complained before."

Blaise flushed and pointedly ignored the statement. "He's dirty! I bet the last time he took a bath was weeks ago."

"Actually, he took one last night."

An accusing shine sparked in Blaise's eye. "And how do you know that?"

"Gods, first Hermione, and now you." He glanced over. "What? Are you going to accuse me of attempting to molest him too?"

"I wouldn't put it past you!"

"Okay, so I've taken what I've wanted in the past, but Harry is different."

"How so?"

"I haven't touched him."

"You want to, though!"

"Is that a crime?"

"Well… no… but Draco, Harry is a peasant!"

"Your point?"

"My point is that you're bringing yourself down to a pitiful, lowlife level by wanting a peasant – and an ugly one at that."

"Is that so?"

"Yes!"

When Blaise saw that his words hadn't affected the receiver, his scowled. "I suppose your father has reason to think you're pathetic," he muttered.

At that, Draco sat up and stared at Blaise so icily that he immediately turned his gaze decidedly away from Draco.

"Get. Out."

Blaise didn't even try to redeem himself. He bent over to get his clothing from the floor.

"NOW."

"I'm just – "

"Get the hell out of my room! NOW! Bastard!"

Draco grabbed his journal off of the nightstand and threw it after Blaise. It barely missed his head as he jumped down the three stairs, clothes nearly flying out of his hand. He escaped through the door, but before shutting it, he stuck his head through the narrow amount of room he left between the door and the doorframe. "You're such a goddamned asshole!" Draco grabbed a wine glass and hurled it at the door, which slammed shut before it could hit Blaise, thus making the glass explode with a crash. (A few corridors away, two servants looked up, startled at the crashing noise.) He opened the door again and stuck his head back in. "You're disgusting! You want a bloody peasant!"

And with that, he slammed the door shut.

"Wretched whore," he cursed. "I should throw you out onto the streets!"

There was a moment of heated silence before Draco muttered, "Goddamned whore."

A few seconds later, "Whore."

A few after that he added, "Hypocrite."

After one last, "Hypocritical whore," Draco was satisfied that Blaise had been called enough appropriate names; he laid back. And 'hypocrite' seemed to be the most fitting title of all; after all, before Draco 'kidnapped' Blaise from Pansy, he was just an ordinary indoor slave and of the same rank of a peasant. It was only because of Draco that he became a royal slave working in the Harems, and therefore gained a higher ranking… if that isn't confusing at all.

His mutterings continued for a while before he finally pushed himself away from the bed, naked as the day he was born, and sauntered over to where his journal and fallen. He carefully picked it up, cautious of the splinters of the shattered glass that were scattered over the floor. He leafed through the pages until he got to the page where he stopped before he turned his attentions to the impatient Blaise.

He returned to his bed, picked up the quill he used earlier, dipped it into ink, and paused.

There were so many thoughts racing through his head that he knew he wouldn't get a wink of sleep if he didn't write them down on paper. After a long moment of thought, he started to furiously scratch away.

…

The floor underneath the bed wasn't exactly what you would call comfortable, but Harry made sure to give Ron the best of the silk sheets and a couple of extra pillows for good measure. Both were afraid that a servant would burst in and find Ron if he slept anywhere else.

When he woke up the next morning, Ron was alone in the room. He stayed about, not really sure what was happening and where Harry had run off to, but he decided that he would be back soon enough – hopefully before the end of the night. He didn't want to face his mother if he stayed for another day. He could only imagine how she was acting now.

(In fact, at that very moment, Molly locked herself into her room to mourn for her lost son while Bill and Charlie, having returned hours ago, left to see if their little brother was in the line of prisoners waiting to be executed for that morning.)

Frankly, Harry left Ron suddenly because Hermione woke him up with a jolt. He instantly remembered Ron lying underneath his bed, as if his mind had been pondering on his unexpected presence all night while they slept, and nervously left the room with her as quickly as possible.

"The Lady wants to have breakfast with you," she said as they walked down the winding stairs of the tower, seemingly not detecting Harry's strange behavior. "Blaise is bringing a dining dress from the Harem – "

"Another one? I already have ten dresses!"

"Harry, you have to remember: you are a Lady, and a Lady always has more than only ten dresses."

Harry didn't reply. He knew Hermione was only joking around, but – whether she meant to or not – she was also speaking the truth. He was man, yet he had the status of a Lady. Maybe Ron was right last night. Maybe he really did change somewhere in between the peasant clothes and the lace and frills. (As if his life as the foreign princess needed to become more complicated.)

"You know, the weirdest thing happened yesterday," she added, almost as if it was a second thought.

"Oh, yeah? What?"

"Before we started getting ready for dinner, I met this slave."

Harry almost tripped over his own feet.

"But the thing is, I don't think he really was a slave, you know? It was just the way he held himself. He was… strange. And he had the reddest hair I've ever seen!"

Harry forced a smile. "Well, there are a lot of – er – weirdoes in this place, yeah?"

She smirked, as if wanting to note that he was one of them, but she didn't say anything.

When they got to the chambers, Draco was already dressed semi-formally and standing impatiently at the balcony doors. "What took you so long?"

"Long? It barely took ten minutes to go get Harry."

"Where's Blaise?" Harry glanced around and about.

"I didn't send for him," Draco muttered. "I had Rufus deliver the dress." He nodded his head in the direction of the bed, where it was displayed. "I told him that I wanted to deliver it to you personally… as a gift of sorts."

"You had a fight, didn't you? With Blaise?" Hermione crossed her arms. "What about?"

Harry started towards the dress, but paused and turned around when Draco said his name.

"Me? You fought about me?"

Draco nodded indifferently. "Blaise is jealous."

"Of what?" he scoffed. "I mean," Harry continued to the bed and picked up the dress, scowling at it. "If he would rather wear these blasted things in my place, then please – let him!"

Hermione smiled and walked up the three stairs towards the bed. "He might not look as good as you do in them," she teased. "Come on, take off the slave clothes."

Harry sat down on the bed and pulled off his shirt. "Er – can't you turn around?"

Hermione sighed exasperatedly and turned around, just in time to catch Draco's intense stare at Harry. He looked away almost immediately and turned back to walk to his desk. "I'm going to the dining hall."

"Without me?" Harry stood up; Hermione was starting to help him into the dress.

"Oh, blast it all, I forgot the wig!" she hissed before Draco could reply. "I'll have to go back to your room to get it."

"No!" Harry cried out.

Draco and Hermione blinked at him.

"I mean – er – " he glanced about. "Can't I go with you? I know where I left the wig – it's in the closet."

"No point in both of you going," Draco said with a raised eyebrow. "I'll stay here and wait with you," he said to Harry.

Hermione stared at him suspiciously. "No, I don't think that would be a very good idea."

"Why not?" Draco smirked, though his gaze that turned to her was steely.

"Because you need to go to the hall early enough to prevent Pansy from being a guest. Isn't that why you wanted to leave so quickly?"

He didn't answer immediately. "Yes."

"Then go," Hermione said as she laced up the green dress in the back.

Draco threw an easy glance at Harry before sauntering out of the door; which was strange to Harry, because he could practically feel Draco's animosity radiating off of him.

(Really, you readers and I should agree with Draco when he thought that Hermione was a bit out of line to prevent him from staying in his own room. He wasn't thinking about touching Harry; only waiting for him, honest to the Gods!

Of course, because Hermione thoroughly and completely felt that Draco would try to harass Harry, she didn't – under any circumstances – want the two alone. It wasn't that she thought Harry was weak and in need of protection, but more that Draco Malfoy was notorious for having his way with whomever he fancied. Draco made the mistake of admitting to Blaise that he found Harry attractive, who then of course told Hermione, who couldn't help but keep an eye on the blonde and Harry.

Imagine how suspicious she must've been when Blaise let it slip that Harry and Draco spent a night together. Alone. Even though Harry had his own personal, private chambers.

See, this is what Hermione thought happened that night:

Blaise, even though he wanted to stay, was dismissed by Draco, leaving Harry and Draco alone.

Harry was getting comfortable in the small corner; he wasn't really tired, even though he earlier told Hermione that he was – hell no, it was way too early to be sleepy – but it wasn't as if he had a pile of "What To Do" lists, especially since Draco barely let him do anything.

The floor was hard and cold. It smelled moldy when his face was pressed up directly next to it.

"Harry," Draco called over. Harry sat up in a split second, shocked that his name was being called. When he realized that it was only Draco (who else would it be?) he pressed his lips tightly together and pretended to be bothered.

"What?"

"Come over here."

Harry took a second or two before getting to his feet and ambling over, down the three stairs, pass the sofa, and to the desk that was beside the shelves of epics.

"What?" he asked when he arrived next to Draco.

He was sitting on his chair and unsubtly eyed Harry. "Are you comfortable?

Harry blanched. "What?"

Draco nodded his head over to the corner. "Are you comfortable sleeping there?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "You made me get up and walk all the way over here just so that you could ask me that?"

"Just answer the question."

"No, I'm not."

"You can sleep on the sofa, if you like."

"Really?" Harry's eyes brightened slightly. The sofa wasn't big, but it wasn't cold, hard, or moldy either.

"Hell, you can even sleep on the bed if you want to. It's big enough for two, don't you think?"

"Well, sure." Harry glanced over at the bed. "I guess. Thanks." He stood there for a moment, almost suspiciously – he knew that Draco wasn't one to share his things or his space – but he looked away with a curious quirk of his eyebrow after a moment.

He started to back away before turning completely, walking to his corner, gathering his sheet and pillow, and climbing onto the bed. He looked back at Draco to make sure that he hadn't misunderstood Draco in anyway, only to pause. Draco was simply sitting there, staring at him. It was slightly unnerving, so Harry quickly looked away and settled into the bed.

He glanced over his shoulder. Draco was still staring.

Harry cleared his throat and turned his head away. Draco probably just spaced out. After all, how many times had Harry spaced out while looking at someone and then been accused of staring?

Conveniently enough, Draco became tired, took out all of the lights, and slid into the bed soon afterwards. Harry was hugging the very edge of the bed, not wanting to disturb Draco's space and start an argument.

"You'll end up rolling off of the bed if you stay so close to the edge," Draco said with a smirk. "You can come closer."

"All right," Harry agreed and shifted over ever so slightly.

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

"You sleep with clothes on?"

That was enough Harry to bolt straight up into the sitting position. "Well, of course."

"It's a pretty warm evening," Draco rose a questioning eyebrow as Harry looked down at him, sheets only covering his waist and leaving his pale chest naked for all to see, though only Harry was there to see it. "Oh, don't tell me you're embarrassed," he smirked. "I'm not Hermione, Harry. You can undress in front of me. Unless you have something to hide…"

"No, what would I be hiding?"

"Then you're scared," Draco concluded.

"I am not!"

He shrugged. "Yet you still haven't undressed."

Harry hesitated. Then he threw the sheets off and climbed out of the bed, focused completely on showing the blonde that he was no coward. Draco hid his smirk.

I'm sure you can imagine where the rest of the night led – in Hermione's paranoid and twisted imagination, anyway. All Draco would have to do is accuse Harry of being afraid, and he could have what he wanted at anytime during the night. Hermione didn't know Harry extremely well, but she was able to understand that Harry's pride and dignity was very important to him. If she realized this, then she was sure Draco had also. She could only picture Draco using this fact to his advantage.

And, as you know, this is what really happened:

Nothing.

They spoke, read, and went to sleep. Nothing happened, and all Draco was guilty of was having perverted thoughts that he easily subdued. Hermione had the mindset of, 'guilty until proven innocent,' however, and her version of the night they spent alone was ever fresh on the edge of her mind.

Please excuse the minor interruption. Harry and Hermione are in Draco's chambers, Hermione having shown some of her suspicion by not allowing Draco to stay alone in the room with Harry, thus making Draco infuriated. Hermione is on the verge of leaving to Harry's chambers – where, of course, Ron is hiding.)

"What was that all about?" Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione, who shook her head and tied the white ribbon around his waist.

"Wait here. I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Okay. And it's in the closet!" he called after her, hoping that she wouldn't check under the bed and that Ron overslept like he usually did. After a few minutes, he decided that Ron most likely had overslept and that there was no point in worrying.

He sat down on the bed. "What was that all about?" he repeated aloud to the walls, who – of course – ignored him. Was Hermione afraid of him being left alone with Draco because she thought he'd – what was the phrase she used last night? – 'take advantage of him?'

What did she think he was? Some pitiful, teary eyed girl that needed to be rescued before she was raped? He could take care of himself! If Draco ever tried to do anything, he would simply punch him in the nose.

Harry looked at the desk, where Draco had been before he left, and a memory slipped past him – the familiar sight of the blonde sitting at his desk, reading or writing in his journal while Harry was –

Wait! The journal! The information! The mission!

Harry jumped off of the bed and scrambled over to the journal, careful not to trip on the hemming of the dress. The journal was picked off the desk immediately and leafed through. Harry slipped into the chair, smoothing the dress down like Hermione taught him to, and stared at the entries.

Disappointment instantly settled to the bottom of his stomach. As he scanned through the pages, there wasn't much written in the journal – only Draco's blatant hatred for Pansy, a lot about his intense studies, and "his father's idiocy growing…"

He stopped at the last entry and scanned through it, but started at the beginning again when Draco mentioned Harry and Blaise's name:

Blaise is as annoying as ever. He's green with envy, but I'll never understand why he's so jealous of Harry. Harry is attractive – in a sort of rugged way, I suppose – but Blaise will always be more beautiful than him. His eyes might not be as stunning as Harry's, but his skin is softer, his hair smoother… Either way, a jealous Blaise is like a hungry tiger. I don't know what he's capable of, but while he's angry and jealous I'll have to keep him away. I'll just exclude him from this project and send him back to the Harems. Rufus can do all of the little errands Blaise ran, but there's no point in involving him with Harry and Hermione now.

Lucius will need to be convinced that Harry is the perfect bride as soon as possible. When I speak to my mother about kicking Parkinson the hell out of my home, I'll bring him up. Hermione will also need to be spoken to. I'm almost sure that we can convince him that Harry will be the perfect bride, but the man is such a stubborn imbecile… I can't help but doubt that he'll immediately agree. It'll take some work, of course. I'm sure Harry can play the part of the perfect bride very well if he wanted to, however, so I'm not very worried when it comes to him.

Ah, and back to Harry once again. It's almost as if I can't escape thinking about him. Every time I glance in the direction of the corner he used to sleep in, I'm almost surprised that he isn't sitting there in his pile of sheets and pillows. I want to invite him back – just to talk, of course – but Hermione won't ever let him come. Blaise keeps asking me to get rid of him, and how I obviously can't… but what will I do after I marry him?

Will I have him executed for something he didn't do? Should I set him free? Or could I even reveal to all that everything was a sham and let my father take his wrath out on Harry? I was always bent on simply revealing him and letting my father execute him, but, to be frank, that seems the most inhumane and barbaric of all. I don't know. I suppose things will fall into place –

At that, Harry snapped the journal shut.

Remember, Draco promised Harry freedom after Harry did everything for Draco – that was really the main thing that kept him going, no matter how embarrassing the circumstances were! That and the thought of finally being able to return to headquarters after being set free. So it's perfectly understandable, of course, that a sort of hatred for Draco flooded Harry at that point; he sat there, flushed with rage at being betrayed.

Draco promised him freedom; so then why the hell was Draco thinking and writing that he didn't know what to do with Harry after they got married? Why was he writing about execution, and only considering (instead of deciding) that he would set Harry free afterwards?

Blaise was right after all. It was such a long time ago when he said that Draco would probably behead Harry when he was through with using him.

Harry, clouded with anger, barely registered that he was supposed to continue reading in case important information was mentioned. Everything he had preached to Ron about – you know, about how important responsibilities were – was thrown out of the window as anger at being deceived consumed his every thought.

"Harry?"

Hermione shut the door. "What're you doing?"

Harry didn't hide his glare and said shortly, "Nothing."

"What's wrong?" she asked as she moved closer and held up the wig to put it on his head.

Coldly, "Nothing."

"Here, I'll take your glasses – "

"No."

"What?"

He flinched away, ripped the wig off of his head, and threw it at the floor. "I'm not going."

"Harry? What's wrong?"

"Nothing! I already told you!"

He looked utterly ridiculous: unbelievably fuming and irate, he was trying to untie the bow, but his arms couldn't get into the correct angle. Hermione pulled at it and it tumbled down to the floor. She started to unlace the dress.

"Would you like me to tell Draco and Lady Malfoy that you're not feeling well?"

It took a moment for Harry to nod his head.

"All right," she smiled as she finished unlacing it. "And you know, you can always tell me what's bothering you…"

He nodded.

She smiled reassuringly and, a moment later, was gone. Harry was in a fog as he redressed in his male clothes. He didn't leave, however, and go back to his room, never mind the fact that he was in the bastard's room. He was afraid that if he went back to Ron, he might really agree to leave and forget about the Order and the mission.

He spent nearly an hour of calming himself down and giving himself a pep talk (he could survive, everyone else at headquarters would rescue him if Draco actually decided to have him executed… you know, that sort of thing.)

It was stupid of him anyway, he realized, to ever trust a tyrant like Malfoy.

AN: Thank you so much for all of the reviews! I feel special.  Um… Yeah… As you can see, I'm slowly but surely getting to the blessed Harry/Draco part. Someone even mentioned that it seemed that there was almost zero to none emotion between the two. I'm sorry it took so long, but with this particular pair in this particular story, I deemed development necessary. And I'm also sorry that updating is taking so long! Updating this story actually depends on whether my phone line is working or not – and it wasn't working for a long time.