CHAPTER TEN

"Why didn't you come yesterday?"

"I wasn't feeling well."

"Oh, yes? My mother was greatly disappointed."

"Is that so?"

"Quite. I must say, I was also – "

"Don't you have to go to Hermione's? You know, so that she can teach you stuff?"

Draco sighed and looked out of Harry's window in the way that a child might because he was deprived of playing outside because of rain. Harry was dressed in his drab, male slave clothes, Draco in his royal attire. Draco earlier asked why Harry wasn't wearing the more comfortable clothes he'd been given, but Harry said that he would prefer to wear something that belonged to him – and it wasn't quite what he'd said that almost hurt Draco's feelings, but really the way he'd said it.

A nearly forgotten book lounged on the bed; Harry had been reading before Draco interrupted him by knocking on the door. Harry only opened the door because he thought that it was Hermione; now he regretted not asking who it was first.

"Parkinson is still in the castle," Draco said practically airily. "My mother wouldn't let me throw her out."

"How sad."

Harry's cold and bored tones seemed to bounce off of a shield surrounding Draco, though the effort of holding up the shield was wearing him down. He moved away from the window and sat down on the edge of Harry's bed. "Indeed. And Blaise is still angry at me."

Harry didn't bother to reply. His hand slid over to the book and he picked it up, scanning the pages to find where he left off.

"Hermione isn't very happy with me either," Draco continued, trying to ignore the fact that he was being ignored. "In fact, if she knew I was here with you, I doubt that I would escape her wrath without some sort of lashing, whether it be verbal or physical – "

"Why are you here?" Harry interrupted.

Draco shrugged. "I didn't feel like being with Hermione, and Blaise is in the Harems right now. Where else am I to go?"

"Anywhere but here."

"And besides Hermione, Blaise, and Pansy, it seems that you're rather upset with me too. Why is that?"

Harry didn't reply.

"I don't think I've done anything to you," Draco said broodingly.

"Besides keeping me and my family in poverty for generations?" Harry threw a glare with no warning at Draco, who caught it with surprise.

"Harry, I haven't kept you and your family in poverty. My father has, yes, and my grandfather, and my great grandfather, but not me."

"You will when you're Lord."

Draco genuinely laughed at Harry and his stupidity. "I will never be Lord, thanks to you. Or don't you remember?"

Harry flushed and turned away. He'd forgotten exactly why Draco wanted him, a male, to be the next Lady Malfoy: to help prevent Draco from succeeding his father.

"I suppose I'll leave now," Draco sighed and stood. "I would get more conversation out of a corpse if I tried."

At that, he stood up and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him; leaving Harry to vaguely wonder exactly why Draco didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps. Then he decided that he didn't care either way, because Draco was still a Malfoy.

Suddenly, the door opened again and Draco stuck his blond head back into the room. "Oh, and I don't care how sick you claim to be; tomorrow morning, you will have breakfast with me, my mother, and Lucius." At that, he left and shut the door behind him.

…

I think it's pretty safe to say that Lucius Malfoy thinks of himself as a God. He loves to think of himself as the grand master, cunning and clever. He is superior to all other humans, in his opinion. Even as a young child, he dreamed of himself as supreme Lord of all the land. He's conceited in the same sense that astronomers in our world thought that the Earth was the center of the universe; that is, he thinks that all things move around him, the core of power.

However, just as it turned out that the Earth actually moved around another source of power, it turns out that Lucius Malfoy revolves around another source as well: his wife, Narcissa Malfoy.

You see, Lucius Malfoy is a mere mortal – a man similar to any other man – no matter how much he would despise to admit such a fact.

And all men certainly have weak points.

Lord Malfoy's weak point is what he revolves around. He's oblivious and blind to the fact that he's deeply in love with the woman. Seeing that she's the Lady of Manipulation, she uses this to her advantage. She's a puppet master, he is her doll, and she has him tied up in strings. She can easily pull her little pinky and have Lord Malfoy do whatever it is she wants him to do. He'll never admit that he's so wrapped up – no, never in a million years. And, frankly, that's part of what helps Lady Malfoy: for a man in denial will never be able to acknowledge what is happening and so will never be able to act against it.

Therefore, it was only natural that, if Draco ever wanted anything from his father, he would turn to his mother and ask for help. This situation in which Draco needed Lucius's blessings for his and Harry's marriage was no different.

"That's the only way," Hermione confirmed Draco's plans after he had come to her, asking for advice. "I don't think anything else could really convince him, and even this might take a while to work."

"Of course. The man is too stubborn," he said bitterly. He added as an after thought, "Is there anyway to make sure that Parkinson isn't invited tomorrow? Harry gets nervous whenever he's around her."

Hermione shrugged. "You should probably speak to your mother about that. I don't think you'll be successful, though. She honestly enjoys Pansy's company, after all."

The two sat in silence for a while. They were in Draco's room, Draco sitting at his desk with his arms crossed over his chest and Hermione leaning against it. They were supposed to be studying the stars, but Draco thought it would be more useful to discuss the plan.

"Is something bothering you?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow at Draco's silence.

"Harry," he muttered.

"What about him?"

"He was upset with me earlier. I can't figure out why."

"I suppose forcing him into your little game has nothing to do with it," she said sarcastically.

Draco shook his head. "He's over that by now. This – coldness – was sudden. Unexpected."

"Could it be because he's bored out of his mind and you won't entertain him?"

"When I spoke to him, the first thing I did was I offer Rufus as an escort so that he could see the rest of the castle – but he declined," Draco said defensively. "He won't even go out onto the grounds dressed as a slave!"

"He won't?" Hermione was surprised.

Draco nodded his confirmation. "He said that he's upset because of us Malfoy's. It's our fault that he and his family are in poverty."

"Well, that is the truth."

"Perhaps it's my father's fault, but it's not mine," Draco frowned. "Besides, we're also protecting his ass from the outside world."

Hermione kept her thoughts to herself.

"What's more, I think he was lying," he murmured to himself. "I don't think that's the real reason he's upset with me."

"Are you sure that you weren't just being a complete asshole, like you usually are?"

He scowled at her. "How am I a complete asshole?"

"I could list out exactly how and why, but I'm too tired to stay up all night," was what she would've said if it wasn't for the fact that she wasn't in the mood to have another argument. "Why are you telling me all of this?" was what she asked in a rather exasperated tone instead.

"I want you to speak to him."

"What am I supposed to do?" she sounded flabbergasted.

"Figure out why he's upset with me, of course! And fix it!"

"And when I figure out why and pass on the information to you, what will you do with it? Stare at it blankly in the face?"

"No, of course not. Like I said, I'll have you fix whatever his problem is."

"Why can't you do that yourself?"

"I'm the one he's angry with, Hermione. He'll never listen to me. Hell, I could barely get him to talk to me."

"But why? You never cared if he was happy before."

"What is this, an interview? But if you must know… well, how can I ever expect him to do what I want if he's unhappy?"

Hermione was surprised that Draco had used her earlier point; it seemed that he listened to her after all. Later that evening, when she had to go to Harry to prep him before the big breakfast the next morning, she decided she would do as Draco asked.

Harry was sitting on his bed, reading as usual – he had nothing else to do – and he started when his door suddenly unlocked and swung open.

"Oh, Hermione," he smiled and folded the page in the book, sliding it away on the bed. "I thought you might be Draco again."

"Draco? He comes to your room?"

Harry shrugged. "Earlier this morning, he did." He easily read the uncomfortable expression on her face. "Don't worry, Hermione. He isn't – er – 'taking advantage of me.'"

She sat on the bed and sighed. "Even so…"

"Besides, I can take care of myself!"

"He's just rather selfish, that's all," she murmured. "He doesn't really care much about anyone but himself and what he wants."

"Yeah, I noticed," Harry scowled. "Tyrannical family members are usually like that."

"Harry, you've – well…"

"What is it?"

"You've been acting strangely. First, you were too upset to eat with Lady Malfoy and Draco; and now Draco's come to me and told me that you won't leave your room. I thought that you told me you were bored out of your mind."

"I am."

"Then why didn't you…?"

"Don't feel like it," Harry averted his gaze.

"All right," her eyes narrowed doubtfully. "You know, he's also told me that you're angry with him."

"He's a jerk," Harry shrugged.

"You knew this all along, but you never acted so hostile against him before. Something's happened."

"It's not what you're thinking!" Harry was shocked that Hermione could really think that Draco had 'taken advantage of him' so adamantly.

"Then what is it? I'm worried."

"You're a girl. Girls are always worried."

She frowned. "And you're clearly avoiding the subject at hand."

"I just don't want to talk about it. Why do I have to talk about it? I mean, isn't the fact that Draco's a tyrannical bastard enough?"

"Perhaps. But he's not that much of a tyrannical bastard for you to be so angry at him."

Harry openly gawked at her. "What?"

"I mean – he isn't as bad as you think."

"Hermione – are you kidding me?"

"No."

"Are you sick?"

"No."

"Then what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me."

"Hermione, his family has destroyed the people of my province for generations!"

"You're right, Harry – his family has. His father, and his grandfather, and his great grandfather, but never Draco."

He almost said, "Not yet!" but he caught himself in time. Instead, his mouth opened and closed, but no words formed. Eventually, he got out, "I know – but that doesn't make a difference. He's still got tyrannical blood in him."

"You've put him into a box and you won't let him out at all, and only because of his family – "

"Wait, what're you saying? I thought you hated him!"

"I do! Well – hate is a rather strong word. I suppose I dislike him, but for his personality – not because of his blood. And besides, even his personality isn't that unbearable."

"You're not making any sense."

Hermione sighed and stood up. She seemed to be thinking for a while, her back turned to him, before she turned and said, "Harry, Draco is an asshole because he's vain, not because of his blood type. Don't you agree?"

"Well – fine, I suppose – "

"And a vain person such as him can be tolerated, right?"

"If you have a hell of a lot of patience, sure – "

"Great! Now that you understand me, Harry, and you agree with me, I don't think you have any reason to be so angry at him."

"Wait – what?"

"You just admitted that his vanity is tolerable. You don't hate him."

"You – you just – that's unfair, Hermione!"

"What's unfair?"

"You used a lot of big words in small sentences and confused me on purpose."

Hermione sighed. "You know, Harry, Draco sent me to you so that I could figure out why you're upset with him and so that I could curb your anger. Doesn't that tell you something about him?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and glanced away. "That he's too cowardly to come speak to me himself?"

"That he actually cares about you, whether he wants to admit it or not."

Harry was close to retorting with, "Malfoy's don't care," but he stopped himself.

"There's more, isn't there?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter – "

"It obviously does, Harry. Just tell me. Why are you so angry with him?"

Harry pursed his lips in agitation, glanced away, sighed, glanced back at her, took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt, put them back on, cleared his throat, and said:

"He… well, I sort of… glanced at his journal."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Glanced?"

"Yes. Glanced."

"All right, go on."

"In his journal, I read… about what he's planning to do with me afterwards. He said – " Harry cleared his throat again. "He said that he's… well, he doesn't know what to do with me after we're – 'happily married.'"

Hermione simply watched him.

"That… he might execute me."

Hermione still stared at him blankly. "This is why you're so upset?"

"What do you mean?" Harry turned an almost confused glare on her; he had half-hoped, half-expected Hermione to jump up in exclamation and swallow all of her previous words. He wanted her to agree with him and declare that Malfoy was a tyrant. "Of course this is why I'm upset! He promised me that he would set me free! He shouldn't be confused or – or uncertain; he should know that he'll let me go right afterwards!"

Hermione shook her head. "He's unsure right now, Harry, but that doesn't mean anything. He's arrogant and selfish, but he's not murderous."

"What makes you so sure about that?"

"I've been his tutor for years. I know him. He would never…" Hermione shook her head again and she almost laughed at the thought. "Don't worry about it, Harry. I'm guessing he's unsure right now because he's confused about how he feels towards you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Mostly that he knows that you're supposed to be just a toy used for his purposes – a rag doll, if anything – and yet he's realizing that you're actually a human, just like him."

"Hermione…"

She shook his head. "Just trust me, all right? He won't have you executed."

Harry expressionlessly nodded, thoughts whirling through his head like water that has been spun around in a jar or a bottle so that it created a miniature whirlpool. He glanced up when Hermione told him to seriously think about what she's said.

"Now, we have to concentrate on what'll happen tomorrow morning," Hermione sighed. "You don't need to know much, really – "

"Why?"

"Well, because Lady Malfoy will be doing – "

"No, I mean why are you really so concerned about this? And why would Draco care enough to send you here?"

"So that his plan will work, of course," Hermione said without batting an eyelash. "Tomorrow morning, Lord Malfoy won't give you his blessings if you glare at Draco every other second. Don't get me wrong: when it comes to me, I honestly do care about your wellbeing. That's why I agreed to help in the first place. You know that."

"But Draco doesn't? It's all about his plan?"

Hermione shrugged. "I can't answer for him, but I would suppose so. I suggest you ask him yourself if you really want to know."

Harry nodded and said, "All right, thanks," even though both knew that he would never ask Draco such a question. "What were you saying before…?"

"That you don't need to know much. Just be a subservient woman so that your boldness won't upset Lord Malfoy, and let Lady Malfoy do all of the sweet talking."

…

The next morning, Hermione formally escorted both of them to the Dining Hall; and it was then that Harry officially wondered what happened to Blaise, why he wasn't escorting them also, and why he hadn't seen the other annoying boy in what seemed like weeks.

It was a rare thought, however; rare because it was the only thought that wasn't drowned in nervousness. This tension churned in his gut and spread all over his body like a plague, or perhaps like frost growing on a window. It crept through his veins and turned them cold. He could barely form words to answer Hermione as she wished them luck. This was the final test – what would partly decide his future, really. If he failed, he would return to life as a slave – or perhaps be executed on the spot. Harry didn't know which. Any normal person would be anxious.

Under the piercing stares of royal guards, Harry and Draco entered the hall through the large, intimidating, and heavy doors. Harry couldn't recognize any of the members of the royal guard as the ones that arrested him, but his nervousness under their gazes increased nonetheless – as well as a defiant spark.

Lady and Lord Malfoy were sitting formally and silently at the table draped with white cloth. Lady Malfoy smiled when she saw her son and Harry, but the gaze Lord Malfoy turned on him was cold.

The hatred was instant. The mushy ice that was in the pit of his stomach began to boil as he remembered the years of poverty, suffering, and precisely why he had no parents. However – regardless of how he truly felt – he also had to remember that he wasn't an angry slave like he was the night that seemed oh so long ago, but a princess from a foreign country that depended on the Lord's fondness. The detestation that had manifested was put in check. He carefully kept the shadow of revulsion from his facial expression. Harry would be damned if he let the loathing consume him and ruin his chances of receiving the crucial blessing.

It didn't help that Harry's nerves were already racked. On the way to the Dining Hall, Hermione, Draco, and he had been intercepted by none other than Pansy and two of her servants. At first, Harry expected nothing but a slightly uncomfortable greeting between the two parties (everyone knew that Draco had stretched as far as he could just to make sure that Pansy wasn't invited to breakfast.) But Pansy wasn't satisfied with a passing, 'Good morning.'

"Ah – it's your blushing bride," she said to Draco, openly eyeing Harry with disgust, who glanced away quickly.

"Wouldn't you rather be somewhere else – haunting some hallway, or perhaps having breakfast with your slaves in your chambers?"

"I'm happy to see you also, Draco," she said rather stiffly.

"I never said I was happy to see such hideous features – and so early in the morning, too."

Her face flamed and she didn't seem able to say anything for a moment.

"Come on," Draco said to Hermione and Harry in his trademark bored tone. "We don't want to be late."

Harry and Hermione began to follow him, but Pansy suddenly (and rather stupidly) shouted out, "And I suppose that whore of yours is better!" She was, of course, referring to Harry.

Draco rounded on her. "She is not by any circumstances a whore, and even if she was a whore I can assure you that yes, she is by far better. Anyone and anything would be better than a dog like you, Parkinson, by the Gods; and I swear I would prefer a common animal to you."

Even Hermione, Harry, and her two servants grimaced. Pansy was stunned into silence and couldn't even form a thought until Draco, Hermione, and Harry had gotten a good deal away. It was then that she yelled:

"Common whores like that foreigner should be put to death! If I were Lady Malfoy, I would have her executed on the spot!"

"Ignore her," Hermione murmured to both of them. "She can't attack Draco, so she's simply turned her anger to you, Harry."

"Yeah, thanks – I noticed," he muttered back and glanced over his shoulder at Pansy, standing in the center of the hall and trembling in anger (though he could only see a broad outline since he was, once again, deprived of his glasses.)

He quickly pushed the menacing threat to the back of his mind, however, as Draco formally greeted his parents:

"Mother," he bowed to Lady Malfoy, who nodded with a smile. He turned to his father and nodded stiffly, saying, "Lucius." His father didn't return the greeting. It seemed that what had last happened on the annual hunt was still fresh on their minds.

Husband and wife were seated at the opposite ends of the very long table. Draco led Harry to the center of the table, pulled out a chair for him, pushed it back in once he was seated, and sat down beside him.

The polite conversation didn't extend to Lord Malfoy, who seemed bored with the entire affair and even rolled his eyes when Lady Malfoy complimented Harry on his dress. Lord Malfoy and Draco refused to speak more than was deemed necessary, of course; so the pleasant conversation was mostly conducted by the Lady.

"And you, Miss? How are you this morning?"

"Quite fine, thank you," Harry said – in his high voice, of course. He tried his hardest not to squint through the haze created by his awkward eyes. "And you?"

"Perfect. I have been looking forward to speaking to you again. Gods know, I was quite disappointed when you became ill and couldn't join Draco and me."

"I was disappointed as well, but I'm happy I can be part of your party now."

"It seems you haven't gotten over your illness," Lord said suddenly. "Your voice is horrible."

"Honey, that's her normal tone."

He sneered. "Hideous. It doesn't match you at all. You should be thankful you have a pretty face, at least – though you're too tall and not curvy enough. I suppose your seamstress tried to hide that by giving you a dress that covers all of your body except for your face; even your hands are covered by gloves."

"Ah – yes, well – "

"And I would prefer to have my son marry a healthy woman, not one that falls ill at the drop of a coin."

Draco cleared his throat. "Surely one moment of sickness – "

"It's all right, Draco," Lady interrupted. "I believe your young love's other qualities redeem her negative sides. She has intelligence as well as beauty, for example; most girls are either intelligent and unsightly or brainless and appealing. Still, your father has a point."

Draco was about to answer back but stopped when he realized that his mother was only flexing her fingers in preparation.

The servants brought in the tea, cream, and sugar. There was a moment of oddity when a servant placed a tea cup with sugar sprinkled on the bottom of the cup in front of Harry but then suddenly picked it up and put it in front of Draco instead. The conversation stilled as drinks were poured and quietly savored, though Harry left his alone. He wasn't much in the mood for tea.

Finally, Lord Malfoy continued his questioning:

"Your land," he gestured at Harry, who glanced up. "Just how powerful is it?"

Harry smiled as he answered what he had repeatedly practiced with Hermione previously: "My land is the fruit of the Gods; they first created our plentiful land with flourish and made it the roots, which all other lands are stems of. But we have had to seclude ourselves more and more as people wander towards the precious land that we chosen ones must protect."

"Is that so?"

Harry nodded with a smile.

"And I suppose you think that marrying Draco and binding our provinces will help you protect your lands?"

He, once again, nodded with a smile, and added, "The Land of the Gods must be protected. We have been blessed with rich and healthy soil, plentiful harvest, and fresh rivers, but many of our beautiful people must be sacrificed to work in the temples and cannot work as soldiers for protection."

"I hate religion," Lord Malfoy said simply.

"There is and isn't a time for it," Lady Malfoy said agreeably. "Oh, but haven't you taken a liking to your tea?" she asked Harry. "You haven't touched it yet."

Harry unsurely raised the mug to his lips and took a slow slip. It was sour, almost – not sweet like he expected it to be – with a hint of lime and… something else he couldn't quite place.

"It's pleasant," he smiled, lying through his teeth, and quickly put it back down in front of him.

"The Lady mentioned you know something of politics."

He nodded and smiled at Lord Malfoy.

"How about enemies? I suppose you wouldn't know much about adversaries and rivals if your land is as well hidden as you say it is."

"Oh – well, I – "

"Ladies deal with agreements and treaties. If you can't deal with rivals, then how are you going to deal with comprises?"

"Erm – I – "

"There's also the fact that Ladies must comfort their husbands as they deal with traitors and opposition, and pests such as spies and espionage," Lord Malfoy continued.

Harry froze and couldn't quite say anything in reply.

"I'm sure I could counsel her," Lady Malfoy suggested. "That shouldn't be too hard. She's very intelligent, after all. Though, of course, she can't rival your intelligence."

Lord Malfoy stared at Harry fiercely, who wanted to return the gaze but remembered Hermione's warning: to stay subservient. His eyes fell to the brownish tea in his mug.

"This rubbish about being in love," Lord Malfoy said after a moment, his gaze turning from Harry and onto Draco. "It's obviously an act. Why pull it?"

"Act?" Draco appeared confused. "I don't understand. I love this woman with all of my heart."

"And you? I suppose you'll claim to love my son as well?"

Harry nodded and smiled, though he was starting to get a slight headache from smiling so much. "Very much so. Even in my own land I have never found someone as remarkable as your son, Lord Malfoy."

"Which is understandable. I think they make a rather lovely couple," Lady Malfoy said to her husband. "Why, Miss, you've suddenly become rather pale. Are you all right?"

Harry glanced about. "Oh, yes, I'm fine!" But even Draco started to seem slightly concerned.

"Here," Draco moved the mug closer to him. "Drink more tea. You must have the morning chills."

Harry obeyed, though he didn't feel like drinking anymore of the tea. His stomach began to hurt, and he didn't want to put anything else in it. He inwardly groaned at the thought of forcing down food when it arrived. He could already hear Lord Malfoy's remark about him being ill again.

"I will be frank," Lord Malfoy said to Harry, who glanced up from his mug and tried not to seem too anxious under his scrutinizing gaze. "I think that you're a spy."

Harry's heart skipped a few beats. He couldn't answer. His eyes began to water and he blinked rapidly. A lump formed in his throat and the feeling of being cold even though his body knew he was, in actuality, particularly hot washed over him.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Lady Malfoy said with a gentle smile. "Don't worry, Miss; my husband is well known for his paranoia."

"For my caution, not paranoia," the eyes on Harry narrowed. "Why shouldn't I believe that this woman is a dangerous spy that has taken advantage of my son?"

"Because Nettle has already been under great investigation," Lady Malfoy answered calmly. "And not a trace of treachery was found. Remember?"

"Sure, but…"

"Honestly, I would like to enjoy a nice breakfast with you, my son, and his wife-to-be," Lady Malfoy smiled. "Not blindly accuse her of being a spy."

It was only here that Harry was able to breathe – though his tight breaths were accompanied with an almost audible wheeze.

The plates of food were placed in front of them. Eggs, bacon, ham, bread, fruit salad, soup, sticky white rice, fish – it was the largest variety of food Harry had ever seen set on one table. His stomach cramped and he felt the heat worsen. He didn't want to, but he knew he would look impolite and out of place if he didn't touch the food; so he helped himself to a small serving of eggs and fruit.

It was in the middle of eating his eggs that he really started to feel queasy. Bile rose in his throat. He would've blamed it on the nerves that were still racking his system – especially at the accusations – but it was such a violent attack of nausea…

As he concentrated on not throwing up, Lady Malfoy was politely complimenting Lord Malfoy, still working him up and buttering him up and readying him for her manipulation. Only Draco noticed that Harry suddenly became still.

"What's wrong?" Draco whispered.

A dizzy spell assaulted Harry before he could reply. The breakfast was interrupted as Harry slid out of his seat and hit the floor with a light thud.

AN: We're getting closer and closer to what everyone's been begging me to hurry up with. I think that the feelings are getting a bit more obvious now. I thank everyone for the reviews and support. Opinions are equally as important to me. I like to know what I'm doing wrong and right with the story.