CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The streets were brimming with celebration. The people crowded to the very cracks and alleyways, singing and impatiently waiting for the news to be announced: that they, the foreign princess and Draco Malfoy, had been married. For to them, the marriage was like the coming of Jesus Christ in our world. When she became their Lady, there would be a new generation of hope; for the kindness of the foreign princess was as legendary as her beauty. She was gentle with the servants, spoke to them as their equals, and made it clear that she truly wanted to help.

"I heard she's going to make better schools," the mother of seven whispered to her friend.

"I heard she's going to lessen taxes," a failing business man said with excitement.

"I heard that there won't be anymore fighting," were the words from a younger man, who had been pressured many times into joining the training ranks of the royal guard.

Imagine, the Malfoy Province finally becoming a place of peace, harmony, and prosperity! After so many years of tyranny and suffering, always on the brink of fear of a massacre by the hands of the royal guard and always on the edge of famine… finally.

Everyone took the day off, even the Fat Lady running the bread stand. Under the bright sun, smiles went all around. In fact, the only frown that could be found was inside of the spy headquarters.

In the heavy shadow that seemed to cover the forest itself, Ron was chucking stones at old bottles propped up on the railing of the porch. The twins were reclining behind of him, impatiently waiting for their older brothers to return so that it would be their turn to patrol the streets. Kingsley was at guard in front of them. Ginny came from inside the house, swinging the door shut behind her, and opened her mouth to announce that dinner would be ready soon – but stopped when she noticed the gloomy silence.

"What's with all of the long faces?" she asked mockingly. "This is a big day, you know!"

"What are you, eager for Harry to die?" Ron muttered. The bottle that was the next victim to the execution by stones cracked and fell over with a crash.

"Be careful with that, Ron!" she frowned; everyone looked over at the crash, Kingsley frowning deeply at the amount of noise they were making. Ginny made the point of saying more quietly, "And he's not going to die."

"How d'you know?" Fred or George asked. "Malfoy's son won't have any use for him anymore, after all," the other continued. "He'll probably drop dead the second the ceremony is sealed."

"We can't even rescue him," Ron grabbed another rock from his personal pile. "Damn it, we can't even get into the castle. Not with the bloody royal guard surrounding the walls like they are."

"He'll get back to us," Ginny said confidently.

"Oh, yeah? How?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. He just will. You should never second guess a woman's intuition," she said firmly.

The twins snorted. "Warn us when a woman comes along, then." They laughed at their own joke, much to Ginny's annoyance.

It was at half past noon that Bill and Charlie finally returned, giving Fred and George the chance to collect information; and it was at sunset that the twins came back with the news that it was official: Harry and Malfoy's son were married.

"We didn't see it ourselves, of course, but people were saying that Lords and Ladies from all over attended, including Lady Bordeaux."

"So it was a success, in other words?"

"Yeah," they both looked at Ron with a grin, "And, as far as I can see, Harry will be just fine – "

"For now, anyway."

Though Ron didn't completely believe them, this was the truth: the ceremony ended and Harry successfully became part of the Malfoy family. Of course, he was too drunk from the gathering after the ritual to really understand this to the full effect. The gallons of alcohol brought into the ballroom after the ceremony were as traditional as the ceremony itself. Honestly, it was one of the rare times righteous royal snobs wouldn't find gluttonous drinking appalling; and in fact, were likely to join in themselves. At first, Harry was merely secretly tugging at Draco to signal to him that he wanted to leave the large hall. There were too many drunk and obnoxious Lords, and the jealous animosity radiating from the other Ladies were getting on his nerves.

However, it was before long Harry accepted a glass, and another, and another, and – hey, what do you know? – another. By the middle of the night, he was laughing as loudly as the others and his voice was getting mysteriously deeper. On top of that, he was becoming – dare I say it? – insulting. He'd told Lord Kenton from Kenton Province that his hair looked like it was rat fur. When Lady Liang Chou tried to compliment him on his dress, he said he'd rather piss on it than wear it.

Draco, who had drunk as much as Harry did yet seemed much more sober, quickly took him out of the ballroom to the disappointment of their guests, lest they both make fools out of themselves (or worst: uncover their own secret.) The trek from the ballroom to Draco's chambers was difficult, for many interrupted to wish them luck with a long and prosperous life and healthy children. A fat man with craters on his cheeks suggested rather loudly (and for bystanders to hear) that they start working on that succeeding child as soon as they were in privacy. Draco had to clamp his hand over Harry's mouth to keep him from replying, for he was sure no one would like what Harry had to say about this.

"I can't believe they declared I was yours," Harry slurred once they were safely barred from the rest of the world. After taking his glasses back from Draco and gratefully slipping them back on, he instantly began to strip off the uncomfortable wedding gown. He hated to be reminded of the hundreds of guests calling him the most beautiful woman they'd ever seen being married.

"Technically, you are," Draco watched as Harry threw the dress into a crumpled heap.

"No," Harry snatched off the wig and threw it onto the dress. "I'm not. I'm a man and I'm my own."

"Not according to our laws."

Well, soon those laws would be overthrown anyway. Harry went to the bathroom, past the large tub, and to the sink; he washed off the make up and turned to see Draco standing at the entrance. "Can I borrow some of your clothes? I have a long journey to make to the head – I mean, to home." He looked like he was about to keel over any second.

Draco shuffled to the closet and gave Harry, who had followed him, a comfortable shirt and pants. "Are you sure you have to leave right now?"

"Don't you have to leave right after me?"

"I could fetch for some wine. We can have our private celebration – you know, for the success of the plan."

"I'm drunk enough as it is."

"Then stay and don't drink. It won't hurt any at all. Just stay the night with me."

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you didn't want me to go."

"Well, maybe I don't," Draco said defiantly and with a little turn of the nose. "That's not a crime, is it?" Harry began to laugh at him. "What's so funny?"

"You are," he sat down on the sofa unsteadily. "You've always pretended to be so much higher and mightier, but it turns out that you're a human being with feelings after all."

"I'm sorry you got that impression," he shrugged. "Let me get some wine. You don't have to drink it if you don't want to."

"Fine," Harry sighed. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to stay a little longer."

Draco went outside, closing the door so that no one could see the half-naked male foreign princess. A servant was called and ordered to bring a bottle of wine and one glass. After reentering, Draco sat on the sofa beside Harry and began to strip off his royal attire himself.

"Royal weddings are a lot different," Harry noted as Draco tugged off his boots and began to unbutton his shirt.

"How so?"

"Well, for one there are a lot of guests. And then the ceremony takes a really long time. I mean, we had to exchange just about everything except our own hearts. Words, rings, flowers, gifts, wine… I was surprised that we didn't have to exchange kisses, though."

"Don't commoner ceremonies do that?"

Harry nodded.

Draco smirked. "It's a shame that we couldn't be similar in at least that one way."

Harry asked curiously, "Why don't you exchange that?"

"Tradition," he sighed. "It would be far too scandalous for such poised eyes," he added sarcastically.

"And then that priest was speaking a pretty long time too."

"That's also tradition."

"Your mom looked kind of happy with everything."

"Pansy didn't, especially since everyone seemed to believe that rumor I spread of her."

"I didn't see Blaise."

Draco's face suddenly became stern. "Neither did I."

There was a knock at the door. Draco went to receive the wine bottle and the glass before closing and locking the door.

"You know, you should probably be careful," Draco warned him with a low tone once they were settled.

"Of what?" Blaise was supposed to be in the Harem, after all, and the doors were locked.

Draco continued casually, "It's our wedding night, it's just the two of us, we're both considerably drunk and still drinking…"

"You're still drinking," he corrected, understanding the implication immediately. "And besides, I can handle myself," words came out with confidence.

Draco leered but didn't say anything. After a moment, he stood up and went to his desk.

"What're you doing?"

Draco was taking out his golden journal, ink bottle, and a quill to write with. He promptly sat down and began scratching away.

"What're you writing?" Harry stood up to walk over.

"Bring the wine," Draco ordered.

Harry settled on the edge of the desk, placing the wine bottle beside Draco's journal, and leaning over to glance down. At the top was, "Dear Lucius Malfoy."

"It's a letter to him," Draco smirked. "A good-bye letter, I suppose. He'll get it after we're gone tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow. You don't actually plan on leaving tonight, do you?"

"Well…" Harry shrugged. "I guess I can stay one more night."

Draco grinned. "You can help me write this. I was thinking of starting off by declaring he's a cretin and all the reasons why, the finale being that he actually believed you were a foreign princess."

Harry smiled. "Then you can continue by saying why you don't want to be a Lord Malfoy."

"Good idea," Draco was scratching away furiously. He paused to pour a glass, but didn't drink it himself; he handed it to Harry instead. "It's not poisoned, I promise."

Since he wasn't leaving, he didn't need to worry about being sober for the journey home. Harry swallowed half of the glass in one gulp. He watched as Draco finished the letter and carefully tore it out of his journal. Next, he wrote one to his mother filled with apologies for deceiving her; and finally, to Harry's surprise (for he was sure Draco had forgotten his promise), he wrote one to Hermione with not only thanks for her help but a request for her to find the real thief who stole the jewel so long ago, thus helping to clear Harry's name.

"You haven't told Hermione that you're leaving?"

Draco shook his head. "I don't suppose she'll care. In fact, she might be ecstatic at the news – she won't have to play along with my games anymore, after all."

"She likes you a lot more than you think, you know." Harry was remembering how she defended Draco after Harry called him a tyrant.

"How about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you like me a lot more than I think?"

Harry shrugged. "You don't deserve it, but I suppose so."

Draco took the empty glass from Harry, refilled it, and drank from it himself. He stood up and almost wavered. "Too kind, Harry; too kind."

"Well, you have changed a lot."

"No, I haven't changed at all," Draco said. "You just understand me more, that's all."

Draco tapped Harry on the shoulder, motioning for him to bring the wine bottle. They went to the bed and sat at the edge of it. "Congratulations to me," Draco said with a grin; and, as an after thought, "And to you, I suppose."

"Where are you going?"

"Ah, I haven't the faintest clue. I suppose I'll be a wanderer at first."

"You can start out at my house, if you want," Harry suggested without thinking.

Draco smiled. "Thanks, but no thanks. I need to get out of the province itself. I'll move north, through the main roads, until I reach another province; and who knows? Maybe, on one of my journeys, I'll find your homeland."

Harry laughed. "I wish you luck."

"I don't need luck. I'll be successful; I always am."

"Aren't you scared at all?"

"No," but it was obvious that he was lying. "But let's not think about that right now." He reached over and slipped off Harry's glasses.

"What're – ?"

"Shh," Draco smiled. "We're married now. I can do anything I want to you."

"But what are you doing?"

"I'm just admiring your eyes.

"How poetic," Harry said sarcastically. "But in the meanwhile, I can't see at all – " he was reaching out for his glasses, but Draco easily kept them out of his reach.

"I'll give them back, I promise. Just stay still for now."

Harry sighed with exasperation but complied. It was on reflex that he flinched away after feeling Draco's hands brush against the side of his face, but Draco insisted that he not look away.

"How long have you needed glasses?"

"Since birth."

Draco laughed. "That's not very convenient. And it's sad, too, how they hide your eyes."

"I don't care one way or the other; just as long as I can see."

Draco smirked. After a few seconds passed, he leaned his head to the side and, still studying Harry's glasses, mentioned, "You remember what I said by the lake, don't you?"

Harry instantly tensed. Apparently, he wasn't drunk enough yet to be completely relaxed during such a topic of discussion. Nonetheless, he answered, "Yeah. So?"

Draco turned a serious look at him and said, "You know very well."

Harry abruptly got up from the bed and staggered away. "Where are you going?" Draco called after him. "You can't see!"

Harry didn't reply, though he did almost trip and fall over the three stairs face-first to the floor. Draco followed him, took him by the arms, and guided him back to the bed. Harry wrenched his arms away after he sat down. "Can't I have my glasses back?"

Draco slipped them into his hand and watched as he put them back on. He stared straight ahead, his arms folded across his chest. It was as if he'd gone through a severe shock.

Draco was about to say something to interrupt the lengthy silence, but Harry beat him to it: "You know, I thought that you had changed," he turned an angry, disappointed, and unsteady gaze on him.

"Changed?" Draco rose an eyebrow. "You act as if being attracted to you is a crime."

A deep flush ran across Harry's face.

"It isn't, is it?"

"Well, no," he stammered and looked away. "But that's not the point."

"What is the point, then?"

"Aren't you satisfied with everything you have?" he riotously gestured to the gold, silk, and ivory of the room.

"Not quite. I still haven't had you."

"You're ridiculous," Harry sighed. "If it isn't one thing, it's the other. First I have to become your slave; next, I have to become a fake foreign princess. I have to go to balls with you; I had to be bored out of my mind day in, day out," he stopped and thought hard, his leg bouncing. Suddenly, his arms opened and he pointed wildly at the book shelf, "I had to read your books. I had to go to dinners and breakfasts, wear that God forsaken dress," he next pointed at the crumpled heap, "be kind to your parents, take Pansy's abuse, be around Blaise nearly every other second, and," his tirade slowed to a pause and his arm lowered. "I had to pretend to be in love with you." But it was obvious that his outburst was still continuing within. Perhaps he was pondering on how he had to give up his old, comfortable life; or maybe that this had been completely emotionally wearing. "And now, after marrying you, you expect me to have sex with you."

"Are you okay?" Draco asked after a moment of Harry's heavy breathing.

"As if you care." Harry returned to the position he was in before: his arms folded over his lap, his head turned away.

"Of course I care." Draco took a swig of the wine. "I don't want to fight with you. Not now."

Harry didn't say anything but he glanced at him and seriously asked, "Have you ever asked someone if they wanted to have sex or have you always raped to take what you wanted?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember."

"Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't, I suppose."

Draco pushed away from Harry slightly to look at him. "Are you implying that I ought to ask you and you'll do whatever I want?"

"I never said that."

"But you implied it."

"You're drunk out of your mind."

"So're you."

Harry began to get a far-away look. "We'll both have trouble traveling tomorrow."

Draco leaned forward, but Harry moved away. "Don't."

"Why're you so afraid?"

"I'm not afraid."

"Yes you are. You're practically trembling." When Harry didn't answer, he continued with a touch of annoyance, "You're such a child." Harry looked away from Draco. "I'm not that disagreeable. Usually by now, I'm into the second round – maybe even third."

Harry's gaze, etched with dull irritation, turned back to him. "This is the only reason you wanted me to stay tonight, then?" When Draco didn't reply, he stood up and glared down at him. "Why don't you just get it over with, then? Since I'm your puppet, your little doll. Go on, I'm waiting. Rape me, like you've done everyone else."

The truth was, Draco didn't know the reason himself – that is, why he didn't just get it over with. He had planned to take Harry's glasses away, and as a result take his eyesight away from him too. It was then that he would go in for the kill; Harry wouldn't have been able to fight back as effectively. He would try to run, no doubt, but he would end up on the floor without his glasses. It was the perfect plan; Harry's use would've been completely spent by the end of the night.

Draco had planned for a few pleasurable rounds, savoring the first the most. He'd thought to himself that he could manage to go more slowly than he had in the past, just for Harry – just so that he wouldn't hurt him. He cared about him that much, at least. But somewhere along the way, he lost his will.

"Harry."

"What is it?"

"You can go, if you want to." Honestly, his will to take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and not really needing a reason as to why unexpectedly dissipated. Maybe it was Harry's betrayed and disappointed demeanor, or his own guilty conscience beginning to prod at him. He'd never quite felt sorry before, but now for some unknown reason, he did.

But Harry merely shook his head. "I'll end up slipping into a bog of some sort and drowning before I can get near the forest."

"You're not that drunk."

"Close enough to it," he muttered. He sat back down on the sofa. Standing up so suddenly had given him a dizzy spell.

"Harry."

With a perched eyebrow, Harry glanced at Draco who had just rested his head on Harry's shoulder.

"Can't I at least kiss you?"

Draco didn't expect Harry to begin to laugh, but that's exactly what he did, nonetheless. He pulled away to glare, which deepened at what he heard: "You're so desperate," he eventually managed to gasp out, "it's almost pathetic."

"I am not desperate!" Draco said hotly. And certainly not pathetic. "I can have anyone I want in this castle, including you! I just…" When Harry didn't seem convinced, he continued, "You're one to talk! You, who can't even watch another man bathe without feeling uncomfortable."

"That's different."

"How is that different?"

"Well, you were – naked," he implied at the foulness of it all.

"Harry, how else am I supposed to take a bloody bath? Not fully clothed, surely," he said dryly. "You're as bad as the royals outside of this bedroom," he muttered, resting his head back onto his living, breathing, and slightly peeved cushion.

But after a moment, Harry let himself relax. "I'm still angry at you, so I don't know why you're acting as if we're on good terms."

"I'm not. I only asked for a kiss. That's a simple thing, really, that can be shared between us, I think. I mean, after all, it's not as if we're perfect strangers. In fact, because we're married and it's my wedding night, I think I ought to be allowed that one privilege."

Harry decided it would be smarter not to answer. Draco leaned in closer and, when Harry didn't flinch away, even closer. "This'll be out last night together," he noted. "I'll never see you again, come tomorrow." It was such a depressing statement for him to make aloud, he realized; not that his heart was aching or bleeding or any of that nonsense he often read about in the lesser of the novels he'd read; rather, it was depressing in the sense that anyone would be after having to leave someone he'd become accustomed to being around day in, day out. He would miss Harry, yes; as a girl would miss an annoying sound she'd become accustomed to hearing.

"So you want something special to remember me by?" Harry remarked dryly.

Draco smirked. "If you want to put it that way, then yes."

Harry shook his head. "Where do you get these lines? Your books?" he looked at the bookshelf with near contempt.

"No, not at all," he smiled. And then, "Do you want more wine?"

"Why? So that you can lure me into your bed?"

"Partly," he admitted, "but it'll also help you relax."

Why he would need wine to relax, Harry didn't want to know. Draco fetched the first wine bottle, handed it to Harry, went outside to ask for a second and third, and, a few minutes later, he was back on the couch, drinking once again with Harry, who was hesitantly sipping.

"The problem with these drinks is that you sober too quickly after becoming drunk," Draco noted. "These are the traditional ones used during wedding nights. I would prefer the stronger type in the storage in the kitchen."

Harry knew the kind. He'd tasted some on his own a while ago. He nodded in agreement as he sipped. This was plenty fine too, though; it tasted nice and Draco was right, it did soothe his nerves.

"You're drinking like a girl," Draco hit him on the arm.

Harry flinched away with a slight blush; but he let the reddish wine flow into his mouth and he nearly choked on the large gulp. Draco whacked him on the back.

"We really, really won't be able to travel tomorrow," Harry noted aloud.

"Then you'll just have to stay here tomorrow, too. You'll probably be too sore to move, anyway."

Harry only looked down at the hand when it fell onto his leg and began to rub.

"That's enough stalling, I think," Draco noted with a smirk. He was far too impatient to wait more than he already had.

The wine bottle was taken from Harry, placed onto the floor, and Draco unpeeled the sheets as an invitation for Harry to get under with him. For some reason, Harry didn't see why he shouldn't join him. They'd slept together many times before, after all.

It was only after he was underneath Draco, practically pinned to the bed, that he remembered why it wasn't a good idea – and suddenly, he couldn't remember why the not-so-good idea wasn't good in the first place; in fact, it seemed like not such a bad idea. He had a welling inside of him, and he liked the sensations. The simple touches. He wasn't so gone to recognize that it was Draco making them. It did take him a moment to realize that the tingling against his lips was Draco, though.

"No protest whatsoever?" Draco quirked an eyebrow as he pulled away. "Maybe you drank too much after all."

AN: I finally gave in to the dramatic, romantic moment so many people were begging for. I didn't want it to be too cheesy, though. I tried. Honestly, I did. Thanks for all the great reviews! Everyone's been wonderful and extremely patient – almost too patient. (I can't believe it's been past a year since I started this story.) Anyway, please tell me what you think! I appreciate the comments, especially if it helps me in any way.