Eight Days a Week: Draco Goes Shakespeare
A/N: The author has a cold –cough— & Sorry if I used Shakespearean language inaccurately. I forgot the possessive and reflexive blah blah blahs for "thee, thy, etc."
Disclaimer: This chapter may be strikingly familiar. Yep, it's inspired by the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet, all credits to Sir William Shakespeare. Let's give him, and J.K. Rowling a hand.
A great man once said, "If you fail, try, try again." Draco took this to heart and pushed down his feelings of rejection. No more weenie Draco. He was going to be confidence in security until he got Hermione by the hand, the lips, wherever. He had not talked to Hermione ever since the incident; he sensed anger. And this felt like the last time he could ever redeem himself. That man surely wanted to hurt Draco Malfoy.
He did, after all, come up with a plan B. That's right, even after failure, he was going to get that pretty girl, no matter what. He was going to impress her, stooping to the lowest level ever. Not a fracas. Not another stinkin' guitar concert. Time to whup Hermione's heart Shakespeare-style. But this time, minus the tights.
Draco stood under the brilliant moonlight. It struck his blond hair white, as the wind waltzed around the Whomping Willow, the object of his plan to get closer to Hermione's vicinity. He glanced up and saw the stellar sky, though none could compare to the stars in Hermione's eyes. He watched the fair young girl contemplate about who-knows-what.
"Damn, Hermione's skin is so soft. She must use some great skin product. What is that flashing scarlet light? Oh, it's just a spell. BUT IT'S ALSO MY LOVEY-WOVEY'S AWESOME FACEY. Should I propose once more? It failed the first time, and it would be pretty embarrassing if that happened again. Oh, it is love. Not infatuation, but the sincere, innocent lust spawned from our love. Still, it is my muse. It is my love. It is Hermione Jane Granger." A fop he was, Draco put his fair hand to his forehead and searched for any signs of zits. Nope, but he let out a lovelorn sigh.
"If I could only have Jul—Hermione for my own. If only I could once more rekindle the flame of our love. Her tresses are fairer than that of mighty Calypso's. Those warm eyes are ever so bright and fair, yet ever so dark and mysterious, mysterious as the dark side of Artemis' curse. And, lo! That fair vestal that is her body, the chaste wonders of its object! If I can only be the one to satisfy it. I am but a knave, going through the labyrinth to Hermione's heart. I would rather be that foul creature on the wall, watching over sweet Hermione, than ever be departed with her. Can she even hear me…?"
"Hey kid, keep the sexual innuendo down. There are kids here for Arthur's sake," a grouchy old man yelled. A queue of children followed him as they observed the shift in position of Jupiter's moon. If only he could understand what Draco saw when he saw Hermione. He saw the daughter of Helen, the one who launch'd a thousand ships; he saw the beauty that overruled that of Venus, goddess and planet of beauty. If only he could take that, and suck on his Jupiter moons.
"Ay me. My boyfriend is an idiot!" Hermione folded her arms on the stone balcony and let her long brown curls loose, her body meagerly dressed with only a white sleeping robe. She rested her head against the gray wall and took a long, tired sigh, her heart aching fiercely, yet completely unaware of her young destined love.
"She speaks! 'Tis not a mishap at all." A kindling flame of hope flashed in Draco's bosom, and he knew that hope could become real at last. His cold blue eyes melted into watery puddles and he clutched his palms together into an imploring gesture.
"Oh, if only her love speaks back once more, it shall be the impetus to the spark of our love of long years. I do not want a subterfuge. I want the truth, and only the truth from Hermione's lord of the bosom. Her voice is as requisite as her kiss."
"Draco, idiotic Draco. Why can't thee just forget thou obscenity and arrogance and just love humble me? Is it too much to ask? Thou hath been kind, but my fingers awfully itch once more. I desire someone who can be confident around me without snazzy and bops. If only thou can honestly truly love me, can I allow my hand in marriage for thee." As she preached, Draco climbed up the monstrous Whomping Willow, disregarding all danger. The wind whistled as the moon gallantly sailed her face across the sea of the sapphire sky. Draco Malfoy, with all valiance and difficulty. It was rather oblivious, if not thick, or Hermione to not comprehend the noise level and struggles of Draco's efforts. Gashes and wound formed on his pale, girly fingers, but he kept mum of pain winces. Hermione merely stared into the distance.
"Hello, my princess," Draco slyly whispered into Hermione's ear. Startled, she jumped in alert and retaliated.
"Who the hell is stalking me? I TOOK A SELF DEFENSE CLASS." Hermione turned around to face Draco's Leonardo DiCaprio look-a-like face. A familiar face, and her face melted into disappointment.
"Oh, it's you."
"Yeah, it's me…" Draco softly pet her hair. Feeling uncomfortable, she pushed him away. "How may I regain the key to your heart once more? I have slain a thousand dragons and suffered the wraths of burning hell, yet I cannot seem to pass a bridge to your heart. Mary! 'Tis a broom." Draco got a hold of the small enchanted broom and gently took a seat.
"Draco, thou art fair. But thou dost not understand Hermione at all. I only wish for my prince to understand me, and feel confident around me without any necessity for foolish, embarrassing displays."
"How can I prove my love? I am but Helen's offspring's most humblest knave. I do not wish to flaunt. But I do wish for thy love. Thy beautiful form is something even I cannot acquire; it holds the two brightest, warmest stars in the indigo sky. It holds the fairest locks of them all, and an irresistible smile that cannot be duplicated. Thou art the owner of two fair lips, more crimson than the blood of assaulted cherries. Hermione has the hands of a goddess, hairless and perfected, if only I can be a glove and be blessed by its purity. Thy legs are slim and lovely, as they stride and dance under the moon with the servant of love. Shall we dance?"
Hermione blushed. "Oh my, my. Aren't you Romeo today?"
"Only if you so desire, princess." With a small enchantment, rose petals and sparkles surrounded them as the night sang a bittersweet song. Hermione took a hold of his hand.
"So what do you say princess? Will you take my hand in marriage?" Draco whispered into her ear. A kiss became imminent at the moment, though Draco did not expect to hear the following words flowing from Hermione's mouth. The blond knelt down and opened the small box containing the brilliant ring.
"I do not know. Your proposal was brilliant. I never felt so loved in my life. I love you, I really do, but I cannot decide at the moment. I mean, I have always dreamt that someone would one day ask me. But to you I don't know what to say now." Hermione turned around. Draco's heart sank, but it seemed to drag him off the broom as well. Flowers and glitter stopped dancing, and Draco Malfoy fell to a very slow and painful injury.
Crash. A flash of blood and sounds of cracks and bumps became clear through the night, as the bard fell to a horrible stop.
But everything did become clear. He knew he was totally and irrevocably in love with the woman.