Fic: A Cinderella Story, Harry/Draco, NC-17
Title: A Cinderella Story
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Cinderella with a Harry/Draco twist. :)
Author's Note: Here's another one-shot while I work on the other story. I really like this one. :) I've always had a soft spot for Cinderella, so, obviously, I had to put my two favorite boys inside of the story. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A Cinderella Story
Draco Malfoy was a prince, he knew he was a prince, and he flaunted his royalty. His blond locks always looked neat, his porcelain skin ever free of blemishes, and he was faultlessly elegant. He was only twenty years old, and yet he acted as though he were well into adulthood. Though his parents gave him what he wanted, he was not a spoiled boy, and he looked down upon those who were. The one thing he intended to be spoiled about, however, was a wife, because he knew he deserved someone perfect; in essence, worthy of a prince.
Draco’s twenty-first birthday was to be a large celebration, held in the palace ballroom, with every young adult in the surrounding cities in attendance. He hoped very much to find his wife at the ball, but held doubts about the young ladies in the area.
Despite his fears, Draco arranged the entire ball with his parents two months in advance, sending out the invitations in the hopes that most would be able to attend. Draco did not know many people from around the palace, as he had been to school in France since he was very young. He’d graduated two years previously and come home to parents itching for him to be married.
“Darling, you won’t be young forever,” his mother said softly, placing her hand on his shoulder. He’d been expressing his doubts about the ball. “It wouldn’t do for you to be married too late.”
“I know, mother,” Draco said solemnly, agreeing with her, yet terrified of marrying the wrong person. “I hope I’ll find the right woman at this ball.”
“There are hundreds of maidens in the area, Draco,” he father said bracingly. “There’s sure to be at least one that will suit you.” Draco smiled weakly at his father, wanting nothing more than to please him. “For now, you need to find a new suit to wear, and your mother and I have a lot of work to do regarding entertainment, food, and decoration.”
“Thank you,” Draco said, earning smiles from his parents. “I’m going to have a bath. I’ll see you both at dinner.” He nodded to them before exiting the drawing room and making his tired way toward his room.
* * *
Harry couldn’t remember his parents, but he liked to think they had loved him. They had been wealthy, successful people, he knew, because the beautiful house he now lived in had been theirs. When they’d died, Harry’s Aunt Petunia had been kind enough to come live in the house, agreeing to care for her nephew. Harry was grateful, but sometimes he wished things were different.
Though the house was wonderful and spacious, Harry slept in the attic on a small bed given to him by his aunt. It was chilly in the winter and unbearably hot in the summer. But Harry didn’t complain, because he felt lucky to have a house and a family at all, even if they didn’t necessarily treat him as such.
Aunt Petunia had two daughters: Marcella and Pricilla. In Harry’s private opinion, the girls were horrendous. Both were very pretty, but their attitudes more than put a damper on that. They were Harry’s age, seventeen, and treated him as though he were nothing more important than the floor beneath their feet. They always had boyfriends over, and more than once Harry’d been unfortunate enough to come across a used condom whilst cleaning.
This was what Harry did most of the day, every day: cleaned. He made breakfast for the three women in the morning, cleaned what needed to be cleaned in the afternoon, tended to the girls’ horses, did the laundry, made dinner, etc. It was horribly tiring, and often very tedious, but Harry knew better than to say anything, because the amount of food he was given to eat was abysmally miniscule as it was. He didn’t like to think about how much smaller that could become.
It was a Saturday in early May that caused Harry to break down more harshly than any time before.
But that wasn’t until the afternoon.
The morning started off wonderfully - well, as wonderfully as a morning could start.
After making breakfast for the girls, they’d told Harry to get their horses ready. They wanted to go riding today. That meant he’d be doing that instead of other chores for a few hours; Harry loved working with the horses. Animals were so gentle and kind, never treating him like an inferior.
It was a gorgeous day, and it was with a bright smile that Harry walked out into the stables at around eleven o’ clock.
“’Morning, Molly,” he said, petting the horse’s nose affectionately. The other, Luna, nudged his arm, asking for attention. Harry laughed and rubbed her nose as well. “The girls want to go for a ride today,” Harry said, turning to get the brushes. “We’ll get you both looking beautiful.”
Harry’d never formally learned anything about horses, but through many trials and working well with the horses themselves, he’d figured most everything out for himself. He especially loved brushing them, because they seemed to enjoy it. Sometimes a muscle would twitch underneath the brush and Harry would smile for no particular reason, just loving the animals for loving him.
It was around midday when Marcella and Pricilla walked into the stables, dressed in tight jeans and cowboy boots, and looking as though they’d spent plenty of time doing their hair and makeup to ride horses.
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and handed the girls helmets, which they put on with sour faces. They never liked to wear helmets because it wasn’t “flattering”. Petunia had threatened not to let them ride, however, unless they wore them.
Once they were out on the field Harry wandered back inside the house, certain there were chores that would need to be done. He wouldn’t have to put the horses back for another few hours (assuming his cousins didn’t become bored too quickly), and Petunia would throw a fit if anything wasn’t done by the end of the day.
He sighed and made his way toward the stairs, prepared to gather laundry from the three women’s rooms. He had one foot on the first step, however, when the doorbell rang. With a grunt of annoyance he turned and walked the few steps to the door, putting on a cheery face before opening it.
He was startled to see a man dressed in an elegant tuxedo standing there, an envelope in his hand and an old-fashioned horse-drawn carriage waiting on the street. Harry carefully looked the man up and down before raising an eyebrow skeptically.
“Can I help you?”
“An invitation from Lord Malfoy, sir,” he drawled, bowing before handing the pristine envelope to Harry. It was heavier than normal paper and he realized that it was parchment.
“Er - thanks,” he said awkwardly, peering once more at the carriage.
“Have a nice day, sir,” the man said, and then turned and strode back to the carriage, where the driver pulled the reigns, and they were gone. Harry stood there for a few more moments before going back inside and closing the door quietly behind him.
It was addressed to The Residents of Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Harry was dumbfounded. He knew he shouldn’t open it, as it did specify everyone from the household, but he was terribly curious. What invitation from Lord Malfoy could they have possibly received?
He’d barely broken the wax Malfoy seal when shrieks were heard from the next room, and a moment later the envelope was torn from his hands and he was thrown aside.
“We saw him in the street!” Marcella shrieked, tugging on one end as her sister pulled on the other.
“He was from the Malfoys, wasn’t he!”
“The carriage had the crest!”
“What did he say?!” As the sisters played tug of war on the envelope Harry watched in mild amusement. He did, however, want to know what was inside, and so he yelled out, effectively stopping the useless game.
“Just open it,” he said, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. They both sneered.
“Why should you care?” Marcella said.
“It is addressed to the resident of number four, and I do live here.”
Both laughed harshly.
“You don’t count,” Pricilla said, her tone implying this should be common knowledge. “What could Lord Malfoy possibly want with a scrawny little boy like you? Well, perhaps you could shine his shoes.” As Marcella barked with laughter Pricilla finally opened it up, slipping a beautiful piece of parchment out. Both girls read it, taking quite some time to do so, and Harry watched their faces light up as the seconds passed.
“A BALL!” Pricilla cried, waving the parchment in the air triumphantly. “We’ve been invited to a ball! The prince’s twenty-first birthday! HE’S LOOKING FOR A WIFE!”
Before Harry had a chance to ask any questions they had dashed from the room, presumably to find their mother. Their muddy boots, which they hadn’t bothered to take off, left footprints all over the room and leading into the others. Harry sighed and went to get the mop.
* * *
It was June fifth. The ball was tonight. The girls had spent hours every day preparing what they’d wear. It seemed to change every few minutes. Harry had gotten a peek at the invitation and saw that, although the prince did seem to be looking for a wife, it specifically stated that “all young adults” should attend. The prince surely didn’t want a party with all girls?
But it didn’t matter, because Harry wouldn’t be allowed to go. When he’d asked, all three women had laughed.
“You?” Petunia had said cruelly. “Of course you can’t go. Lord Malfoy doesn’t want rubbish like you dirtying his castle. You’ll help the girls get ready. Consider it a privilege.”
The whole of May had been rough for Harry, watching the girls get ready and having to help them. He was sewing and cleaning, polishing and shining, and running things back and forth between their rooms so often that he’d had hardly any time to do his other chores.
Once, he’d snagged a pearl necklace on a doorknob and the whole thing had fallen apart, pearls strewn across the floor ubiquitously. Petunia rarely laid a hand on him, but this offense called for something more serious than no dinner, and she’d slapped him across the face so hard he’d had a red mark for two days.
Now that the day had arrived, Harry felt sick. It would have been fun. He’d never had much of a chance to interact with others his age. He didn’t go to school. He’d taught himself to read and write with books around the house. He was really quite intelligent, and he wished he could have gone to classes, but Petunia wouldn’t allow it. There were too many chores to be done.
“The invitation says that a carriage will come to pick you up at seven o’clock in the evening,” Petunia said as the girls were putting their shoes on. “That’s in ten minutes. Are you both ready?”
Marcella wore a lovely, pale pink gown, strapless, and ruffled around the top edges. It hugged her waist tightly and then puffed out starting at the hips. Around her neck was a diamond necklace: five stones hung in a line off of a silver chain. Her earrings matched. Her brown hair was pulled up into an elegant bun, and she wore a tiara in front of it. Harry thought she really did look beautiful, and she might even have a chance with the prince. That was, until she opened her mouth.
Pricilla’s dress was red; it had thin straps gracefully arching over her tanned shoulders, and it, too, hugged her waist nicely before dropping loosely to the floor. It had folds around the bottom, creating an arbitrary but lovely pattern. She wore no necklace, but her diamond earrings made up for it. Her hair was done the same way, except that she was blond. Pricilla probably had a chance, as well, until she spoke.
Harry thought he would be hard-pressed to find someone with a more obnoxious voice than his cousins.
Harry asked permission to finish cleaning the kitchen five minutes before they were to leave. He couldn’t bear to watch. Petunia allowed it, and he hurried off, hoping she’d leave him alone for a while.
He had been planning on cleaning, but as soon as he stepped into the kitchen he felt tears building up behind his eyes, and it was all he could do to stop them escaping. It took only three minutes for him to be slumped over in a chair, face buried in his hands, sobbing his heart out.
He’d had breakdowns before, the worst of which being an afternoon when Pricilla had brought a boyfriend over, and Harry, oblivious as to why, couldn’t stop staring at him. He even deliberately went into her room to get her laundry on a day he didn’t need to do laundry. The two had been half naked and kissing fiercely on her bed. He hadn’t needed Pricilla’s shrill shrieks to make him leave. He bolted out and up to his room, crying for a reason he couldn’t understand.
When he’d realized it was because he’d been jealous of Pricilla he’d cried harder.
He didn’t admit he was gay until he did the same thing with one of Marcella’s boyfriends. He’d cried again that night, as well.
It was so unfair. He did every chore he was asked to do without complaint; he slept in the attic even though there were extra bedrooms; he made every meal for the women and didn’t complain when he hardly ate himself; why did he have to be gay? Why make his life that much harder?
And now he couldn’t go to the prince’s ball.
In a flash of fierce anger Harry stood up, knocking his chair backwards, and swiped a cup off the table. The sound of breaking glass against the wall made him feel better, so he picked up another and flung it across the room, delighting in the sounds it made. He did this three more times, unaware of the tears sliding helplessly down his cheeks or the glass littering the floor around his feet.
He picked up a fifth one, longing to hear the destructive noise again.
“Harry.” He didn’t throw it, but the glass broke anyway when he spun on the spot, dropping it out of shock and fear.
A man was standing in the doorframe. He was the strangest man Harry had ever seen, and he immediately decided he couldn’t be real. He had a white beard long enough to tuck into a belt, and his similar white hair reached his back. He wore half-moon spectacles behind which the brightest, bluest eyes were sparkling at him. The most peculiar thing about him, however, was the midnight blue robes he wore, the entirety of which was spattered with silver moons and stars.
Harry wanted to speak, he really did, but his voice seemed to be caught in his throat. The old man smiled.
“You’ve made quite a mess, Harry.”
“Who are you?” he finally squeaked, suddenly aware that this man might be a lunatic that could kill him. The man laughed, his blue eyes glittering wildly.
“My name is Albus Dumbledore,” he said, “and I, Harry, am your fairy godmother.”
There were two things wrong with that statement and Harry wasn’t sure which to address first.
“My fairy godmother?” he repeated, and Dumble ... whatever his name was smiled again and nodded.
“That’s correct. I’ve come to prepare you for the ball.” Harry felt his eyes bulge at the statement. “Unless, of course, you didn’t want to go?”
“I do!” Harry shouted, only vaguely aware of having done so. Something inside of him said to trust the weirdo in blue robes. Maybe it was his eyes.
“Of course you do, dear boy!” he said, clapping his hands together excitedly. “Now, what have you to wear?” Harry’s growing smile slipped from his face in a matter of seconds.
“Oh ... I - er - I don’t really have- ”
“I see,” the old man said, smile widening. “Well, then, I suppose we’ll just have to come up with something!”
“Sorry ... come up with something? I don’t have any money, sir.”
“Irrelevant, my boy! Magic’s good for something!”
This was taking it a bit far.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t quite understand. Magic? You mean, like ... real magic,” he asked skeptically, his eyes wandering once again over the man’s outfit. Perhaps he’d escaped from a mental institution. Harry subconsciously looked over at the daily newspaper lying on the table, almost as though he’d see a story about an escaped lunatic.
“Real magic,” the man agreed, eyes still sparkling. “I’m not a fairy godmother for nothing!”
“Right, and about that. Shouldn’t you be an - er - you know: godfather?”
“It’s a general term,” he said, smiling amusedly at Harry, who said nothing. “But that’s not important. What’s important is that we find something dashing for you to wear.” He studied Harry closely for a moment before breaking into another grin. Harry felt his stomach tense nervously. If this man killed him, he’d be really very upset. “Right. Close your eyes.” He must have seen Harry’s trepidation because he smiled warmly. “I’m not going to hurt you, my dear boy. Only help you.”
Harry bit his lip nervously but, after a few short moments, closed his eyes.
Nothing happened at first and he almost opened his eyes again, but at the last second a sort of tingling started in his toes and shot up through his body, all the way to the top of his head. It increased for a minute before dying away very suddenly. Tentatively, he opened his eyes.
“Would you like a mirror?” the man asked with a smirk. Harry nodded. And one of the chairs promptly grew into a mirror. He stared at it for a moment, baffled, before the old man nodded for him to go look, and he did.
He nearly fell over. His ratty clothes were gone, and in their place was a handsome, black tuxedo, vintage, from the looks of it, because it had the tails in the back, as well. It was gorgeous and Harry couldn’t stop looking.
“Wow,” he breathed. The old man chuckled.
“Let’s deal with the hair and glasses, too, shall we?” Another odd sensation tingled in his face for a minute, and when he looked in the mirror his glasses were gone, but he could still see. His bright green eyes shone in the reflection. His hair, however, was just the same.
“Hmm … perhaps your hair will be fine like that,” the man laughed. Harry smiled at him involuntarily.
“It’s not very cooperative.”
“No matter!” he chuckled. “It’s a nice just-got-off-a-broomstick look.” Harry chose not to comment, partly because that made little to no sense, and also because it reeked of suggestion that made him blush. “Right! Let’s get you a carriage now. The ball has already begun!”
Harry followed the old man outside, not quite sure how this was going to work. A mirror was one thing, but a carriage?
The old man glanced around the lawn for a few minutes before settling on a large rock. He then drew out a long piece of wood, which Harry refused to call a wand, waved it a few times, and the rock began to grow. It kept growing until a life-size, white carriage stood in the street. Harry’s mouth dropped open.
“We’ll need horses, too,” the old man said, looking around once again. He clapped happily when he saw a small group of birds wandering in the grass. He pointed his ... stick again and the birds were suddenly horses, and one a tiny man. He seemed to direct them with his “wand” to the front of the carriage, where they magically attached to the reigns. The little man sat in front and took hold, smiling jovially at Harry and Dumbledore as though this were an everyday sort of thing. “I think you’re all set!”
“Thank you,” Harry whispered, not daring to believe this was actually happening.
“Ah, it’s my pleasure, dear boy. Let me give you one more thing.” He flicked his wand and a small, silver chain wound its way around Harry’s wrist, glowing for a moment before settling. It fit snugly. Harry stared in awe.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A gift. Now, listen carefully. You have until midnight at this ball. After that, everything will return to normal; your clothes and carriage, and your eyes as well, but you won’t have your glasses, so I recommend making it home before then.”
“I understand, thank you so much, fairy godmother.”
“Please, call me Dumbledore!”
“Right ... thank you, Dumbledore,” he chuckled. The old man smiled kindly.
“Well, off you go! Don’t want to be too late!”
“Will I see you again?” It was odd, but Harry had grown to enjoy the man’s presence. He was certainly eccentric, bit he was kind and Harry liked him.
“I’ll always be with you, Harry,” he said gently. “You just have to look in the right places.” Harry didn’t quite understand what he meant, and was going to ask, but Dumbledore was ushering him into the carriage before he had a chance. “Good luck, dear boy!” he yelled as the carriage drove away. Harry could have sworn he saw the old man turn on the spot and disappear with a pop.
The ride to the ball wasn’t terribly long, but it was long enough to give Harry time to start panicking.
This was a stupid idea. Why did he think he could fit in at a ball? He may have looked nicer than usual, but he didn’t know how to act!
When he pulled up in front of the palace his bowtie felt much too tight, and he was frantically adjusting it. He felt beads of sweat beginning to seep out of every pore in his body. When the little man-bird opened his carriage door Harry seriously considered refusing to get out.
But then he looked down at his wrist and saw the gift from Dumbledore. The old man had done so much for him to be able to come ... he couldn’t just not go. And so with a deep breath Harry jumped out, staring up at the enormous castle anxiously.
No one seemed to be arriving anymore, which meant they were all inside. Harry swallowed thickly. As if he needed a huge entrance.
Nevertheless, he walked nervously up the steps to the gargantuan front doors, where two guards stood waiting. At the sight of Harry they opened the doors, nodding.
“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, turning bright red. The guards looked at him oddly but said nothing.
There was a large room inside that must have been the foyer. There were two marble staircases leading up to a balcony on the second floor, where two more guards were standing. There were so many other doors and hallways that Harry would have liked to explore, but he was here for the ball, and he wasn’t going to screw it up. He only had till midnight, after all, and it was already nearly ten o’clock.
The walk up to the balcony felt long and his heart pumped faster with every step he took. Just before the guards opened the door he once again felt the urge to run away. But, again, he thought of Dumbledore, and forced himself to keep going.
The ballroom inside was breathtaking. There were stairs that led down to the floor, and a bright red carpet covered the middle, leading all the way down to the bottom.
There were hundreds of young adults, and almost as many adults, as well. Everyone was dancing in their fancy ball gowns to an ensemble that stood on a small platform at the back. No one seemed to have noticed Harry’s presence, a fact for which he was extremely grateful.
When he stepped onto the floor at last Harry tried to casually weave his way through groups of people talking on the edges of the dance floor. Toward the left he saw a long line of girls looking anxious. He presumed they were waiting to introduce themselves to the prince. He avoided the line carefully, walking around it to see if he could spot him.
He wouldn’t have a chance to talk to him, obviously, but it didn’t hurt to look, did it?
It was toward the end of the line when Harry spotted two people he definitely didn’t want to see.
Marcella and Pricilla stood together, glaring at all the other girls as if they had no right to be there. Although he did want to see the prince, it wasn’t worth getting caught by those two girls, so Harry picked up his pace, walking toward the back of the room and straight through a pair of doors.
He walked into what appeared to be a courtyard in the middle of the castle. The walls surrounded it, but if you looked up you could see the night sky, and it was beautiful. Over at one end there was a small stream starting at the top of a small rock mound and making its way to a little pond at the other end of the courtyard. The rest of the yard was filled with small trees and patches of flowers; it was like a secret garden that only he knew about. It was like magic.
Harry automatically looked down at his bracelet and smiled.
He wandered over to the pond and knelt down at the edge, watching tiny fish swim about playfully. It was a truly beautiful June evening. Harry dipped a finger into the water, smiling to himself when a fish swam over to see what it was.
“You’re very lucky,” he whispered, “to live here. It’s so beautiful.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Harry sprang to his feet in an instant, turning to see who had snuck up on him. He’d been prepared to yell at the idiot for doing so, but his words caught in his throat.
It was a boy; he looked to be a few years older than Harry, and he was, without a doubt, the most extraordinarily stunning boy he’d ever seen. His cheeks flushed red before he had time to try and stop it.
This boy had silky blond hair that was gelled back elegantly, and a small smile played on his lips that made Harry’s feel suddenly dry. He was quite pale, his skin almost glowing in the moonlight, but there were two rosy patches on his high cheekbones that made Harry feel suddenly much too hot for a warm evening.
“Hello,” he said lightly, carefully avoiding the boy’s eyes, instead looking down at his own restless hands.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Harry looked up then, pleased to see that the blond looked fairly timid as well. The tint in his cheeks grew darker. “It’s very crowded in there; I meant to take a break. Do you mind?”
Harry was having trouble finding his voice. Instead, he managed to simply shake his head, willing away the blush that was forcing its way onto his cheeks. The other boy smiled shyly, causing a whirlwind of butterflies in Harry’s stomach.
“Where are you from?” he asked. Harry took a deep breath before answering, “Surrey.”
“You traveled quite a way,” the boy chuckled. And then, quite out of the blue, he asked, “Will you dance with me?” Harry’s eyes shot up, unsure he’d heard correctly. But one pale hand was offered out, and without thinking much about it, Harry placed his own on top.
The blond smiled and pulled Harry closer, wrapping an arm around his waist and linking their fingers. Harry let his other hand fall on the boy’s shoulder. He decided the boy must have been from a wealthy family because he danced with the sort of grace one only acquires through years of training, and unless Harry was mistaken, most boys didn't receive training unless they were wealthy enough to attend balls of this caliber regularly.
His heart was still beating incredibly fast and he hoped the blond wouldn't notice. How embarrassing! But he also found that he couldn't quite bring himself to be all that worried. A very tranquil atmosphere had settled about them. The charming boy was watching Harry with interest while Harry, who had no experience whatsoever with this kind of thing, blushed furiously and looked away.
He heard the boy chuckle and the next thing he knew there was a soft pair of lips on his cheek. Harrys' eyes went wide and he froze. When the lips vanished and the blond was once again smiling at him, their hands still clasped and one resting lightly on Harry's waist, Harry couldn't hold back a ridiculous smile. He looked down and laughed, hoping that in the dim lighting his blush wasn't too apparent.
"You are adorable."
Again, Harry laughed, if only because this was so incredibly absurd.
"Would you like to take a walk with me?"
Harry looked around at the small garden they stood in, taking in the gorgeous trees and shrubs and the little river he'd been kneeling by when this boy had first found him. He smiled to himself.
"Not here, of course," the boy said. Harry looked up at him. "There's a lovely little pathway through a much bigger garden behind the castle."
"Yeah," Harry said, wishing he could sound as eloquent as the blond. "Yeah, I'd like that." The boy smiled at him and kissed his cheek again before grabbing his hand and leading him toward the door through which Harry had initially come.
They'd only just walked inside when Harry heard a clock chime.
"Already midnight?" the boy said, looking down at his wrist where a very handsome silver watch sat. At first what he'd said didn't register and Harry continued to smile absently at the boy holding his hand tightly.
But then a voice rang in his head: "You have until midnight at this ball. After that, everything will return to normal."
"Oh my God," he whispered, suddenly frenzied. He looked at the blond, who had only just turned back to Harry, and felt like he might start crying. The boy must have noticed something was wrong because he frowned.
"Are you alright?"
"I have to go," Harry said quickly. "I'm sorry, I ... I have to go." He tried to pull his hand away but the boy held tight. His grip caused the silver chain to dig into Harry's skin and the pain made him that much more frantic. "I have to go!" he shouted. "Please, let go of me!"
"I don't under -" But he never got to finish his sentence because Harry jerked his arm away and, without looking back, began sprinting through the crowded ballroom toward the set of stairs he'd originally descended. There were tears in his eyes and wasn't sure whether they were from anger, misery, or the wind rushing in his eyes once he made it outside. He could hear the boy calling after him but he didn't stop. His carriage was, incredibly, waiting outside where he'd left it, and Harry thanked Dumbledore for making the man-bird smart.
He hopped inside and shouted for the man to go.
Harry sunk into the cusion of the carriage and buried his face in his hands, letting the tears flow freely now.
How could he have let that happen? Why hadn't he paid attention to the time? If he had he would have had the presence of mind to ask the boy's name and to give him his own. Now he had nothing - no way of finding him and no way of knowing that the boy could find him.
"Fuck," he sobbed, and wiped at his eye with his palm. He noticed, then, that the chain around his wrist was gone. He automatically looked down at himself to find that he was still wearing the suit, and the carriage was still a carriage, so that meant he'd dropped it. He rolled his eyes at himself.
I am such a fuck-up, he thought miserably. He didn't even deserve that wonderful boy.
He'd only just begun to recognize his surroundings when the carriage started to bump and jump and very suddenly Harry was no longer sitting in a beautiful carriage, but the rock that Dumbledore had earlier tranformed into a carriage. And then he saw that the birds that had once been horses and a driver were walking around the street in front of him.
Worst of all, though, was that gradually his sight was becoming worse. It took a total of two minutes for it to go back to normal.
He looked down at his clothes, which had changed back into the horrible things he usually wore, and felt a sob wrack his body. There was nothing for it. His night may as well have been a dream for all the good it would do his life now.
As he got up and went to the side of the road, moving the rock out of the street first, he wondered why Dumbledore had done this. It seemed now only to have made Harry more miserable than before. Perhaps he'd put too much trust in Harry. Perhaps he'd thought Harry was responsible enough to pay attention to the time so that this didn't happen.
Well, clearly he was wrong.
The walk home was not only long, but very sad, and by the time Harry reached the house he thought he'd never hated himself more in his life.
* * *
It was the afternoon of the next day that another carriage baring the Malfoy crest pulled up in front of the house.
Harry's heart nearly stopped when he answered the door and another man, similar to the one from last time, handed him another envelope.
"Thank you," Harry said softly, and the man turned away. His heart was in his throat as he carefully opened the letter, thanking God his cousins and aunt were out having lunch.
The letter was once again addressed to their household. The inside informed him that all the residents of Surrey were to open their home to a representative of the Malfoys the next day, along with the Prince himself. This respresentative would be carrying with him a silver wristlet, and every male from every household was to try the wristlet on.
Harry nearly dropped the letter in shock.
The Prince? The Prince? He'd danced with the Prince?!
"Oh my God," he whispered, feeling his heart beating frantically in his throat. "Oh my God."
And he was looking for him. He was looking for Harry.
Tears welled up in Harry's eyes and his heart swelled.
But his happy bubble was popped not a moment later. What if the chain fit someone else? It was only a chain, after all. It could fit anyone.
His heart began shrinking rapidly until it felt like the size of a peanut. Harry dropped down onto the stairs and stared at the floor, where he'd let the letter fall.
The Prince would surely find someone else whose wrist it fit, and even if he knew it wasn't Harry, he would probably find someone better. After all, he didn't even know Harry's name. That was fairly impersonal. He'd get over Harry the moment he found someone better.
In fact, he'd probably find a woman. Because Harry was fairly certain the letter that had invited them to the ball had said he'd been looking for a wife.
He was incredibly confused.
Very suddenly the door opened and the three women walked inside, chatting amiably and laughing amongst themselves.
Marcella was the first to notice Harry.
Pricilla saw the letter.
She dove for it and all three women struggled to get a clear view. When they'd all gotten a chance to read it they loked at Harry.
"What is this?" his aunt spat. Harry shrugged.
"A letter from the Malfoys."
"I know that! When was it delivered? What does it mean?"
Harry scoffed. "Exactly what it says. Apparently the Prince is looking for a man he met last night." His throat felt tight as he said it. "Ever male of every household in Surrey is supposed to try a bracelet on."
"When are they coming?"
"Tomorrow."
* * *
Harry sat with his arms around his legs, crying into his knees because he could hear the Prince's voice downstairs, and yet here he was, trapped in his attic-bedroom, because his aunt refused to let him out. She'd known something. He could tell. Her eyes had flared and somehow she'd known it was him.
And she wasn't going to let that happen. So she'd locked him in his bedroom the instant the carriage had arrived. And now, Harry assumed, she was trying to force one of her horrible daughters onto the Prince. His Prince.
"You're sure you don't have any sons?" Harry heard the representative say. "It says on our list that a male lives here."
More tears built in Harry's eyes and a sob wracked his body. He could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks. One of them ran onto his knee and glided gracefully down his leg until it splashed onto the floor.
And very suddenly there was a noise before him, but when he looked up he saw nothing unusual.
His breathing was heavy as he carefully got to his feet and went to the door.
Dumbledore's name flashed through his mind as he placed a hand on the knob and, holding his breath, pushed.
Incredibly, the door opened, and outside he saw that the heavy lock his aunt had placed there had fallen to the floor, broken.
Tears swelled in Harry's eyes again and he whispered, "Thank you." He thought for a moment that he heard Dumbledore chuckle, but then it was gone, and Harry was racing down the stairs to the front room. The Prince and the representative were about to leave.
The Prince was already out the door when the representative turned to bid the women goodbye and spotted Harry.
"Who are you?"
All three women turned on the spot and their eyes went wide.
"You!" Marcella shouted, and this alerted the Prince's attention. Harry's stomach twisted when he walked inside, looking exactly like he had that night. Perhaps even more beautiful, if that was possible.
He spotted Harry and his eyes lit up. Harry smiled and walked past his silent family to the Prince, who was holding the wristlet loosely in his hands. They stared at each other for several moments before the representative cleared his throat and the Prince held the chain up. Harry allowed him to gently place it around his wrist and, like the first time when Dumbledore had given it to him, it glowed before settling.
The Prince didn't say a word. Instead, he leaned forward and captured Harry's lips in a soft kiss.
"Marry me," he whispered, and the feeling sent tingles through Harry's body.
"I don't even know your name."
The Prince pulled away and smiled his dazzling smile and Harry's heart thudded.
"Draco," he said, and he placed a hand on Harry's cheek. "And yours?"
"Harry."
"Harry," Draco said, tasting it on his tongue, and his face lit up. He kissed Harry again, more passionately this time, before pulling away and looking around at the three women who were staring in awe. He looked disgusted. But when he looked back to Harry that disappeared and he smiled again. "Come with me."
"Now?" Harry gasped.
Draco laughed. "Now. This isn't the place for you."
The representative led Harry from the house ahead of Draco, and Harry thought he could hear protests, but they didn't really register.
Draco helped Harry into the carriage and kissed him again.
As they pulled away, Harry feeling completely dazed, he saw the faces of his "family" watching them. He smiled.
"Thank you," he said. Draco took his hand and kissed it.
Harry blushed.
"Thank you."
* * *
Later that night Harry sat on Draco's massive bed in only a pair of boxers, looking intently at the chain that still adorned his wrist. He smiled to himself.
"What are you thinking about?"
Harry looked up to see Draco standing in the doorway, looking entirely relaxed in a pair of silk pajama pants himself. He was stunning. Harry felt like he couldn't breathe.
"Nothing," Harry squeaked. Draco laughed and walked further into the room. He crawled onto the bed and on top of Harry, forcing him to lie on his back. Harry looked up into Draco's face and saw love like he'd never imagined existed.
"You are so incredibly beautiful," Draco whispered, and then his lips descended on Harry's. "What would I have done had I not met you?" He moved to nip at Harry's jaw now and Harry's gasped and arched up, his erection brushing against Draco's leg.
"Decided to marry a woman," Harry breathed out. Draco laughed and slid a hand between their bodies, tracing a light line down Harry's bare abdomen until he reached his cock.
"I've never even looked at a bloke before." He grasped Harry's length beneath the fabric of his boxers and began to stroke idly. Harry was afraid he might pass out soon if this kept up. His arms were locked around Draco's neck and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. "You dazzled me, Harry."
And for some obscure reason, Harry found it extremely arousing the way Draco spoke. He sounded like a prince. Harry was about to be fucked by a goddamn prince.
Harry keened when Draco squeezed lightly and kissed his neck.
"Please," he breathed. "Draco ..."
Draco chuckled softly and slipped his hand beneath Harry's boxers, touching the bare skin of his cock for the first time. Harry bucked up and released a moan louder than he would have previously believed himself capable.
And then Draco was removing the boxers and his own silk pajama pants and there was a small bottle of lube in his hand.
"I wanna make love to you," he breathed into Harry's ear. Harry whimpered and thrust up.
Draco pressed his lips to Harry's forehead as a lube-slicked finger found its way between his arse cheeks. When Harry felt the tip of Draco's finger press against his entrance he nearly screamed.
"Like that?" he whispered. And hearing the formal, erudite Prince speak that way sent another wave of heat through Harry's body.
"Yes, please," he cried, knowing how shameless he sounded and simply not finding it in himself to care. This was torture. He wanted this more than he could ever remember wanting anything in his life.
And finally the finger slipped inside his arse and it hurt, but it was wonderful and Harry arched again and moaned and reached up to drag his nails down Draco's arms.
"Fuck, Harry," he heard Draco whisper. The finger slowly slipped deeper into his arse until Harry could feel Draco's knuckled on his skin. He pulled out, then, and thrust back in slowly, giving Harry time to adjust. But Harry didn't really want to adjust right now. He just wanted his prince to fuck him.
"Hurry up," he whined. Draco descended on him again, pressing their lips together and slipping his tongue into Harry's mouth. It was sloppy and frantic and perfect.
Harry accidentally bit down on Draco's lip when he felt another finger slip inside of him. Draco hissed and it only served to fuel Harry's libido.
"Just fuck me," Harry said, gripping Draco's toned biceps like a lifeline. "Please, I just need you to fuck me."
"Harry, you're not rea -"
"God, I don't care!" He wrapped his arms around Draco's neck and pulled him down into a harsh kiss. "I need you so badly right now."
Apparently Draco couldn't argue with that because no sooner had he slipped his fingers out of Harry's arse than the sound of the lube being opened again met Harry's ears and he watched, fascinated, as Draco spread it over his leaking cock before lining it up at Harry's entrance.
"I love you, Harry," he whispered, and then he was pushing in. Harry gasped and dragged his nails down Draco's back, unprepared for how much it really did hurt, but it was okay because this was his prince, the boy he'd inexplicably fallen in love with in the garden of this very castle, and said boy had just told him he loved him.
Tears leaked out of the corners of Harry's eyes as Draco pushed into him, stopping only when his balls rested against Harry's arse.
"You're so tight," he whispered against Harry's forehead. "Fuck."
Harry breathed against Draco's neck, watching as his Adam's apple bobbed each time he swallowed, and after a few seconds decided he couldn't wait anymore. He'd deal with the pain.
"Move," he said. Draco looked into his eyes and apparently saw his determination because he slowly slid back out before thrusting back inside, slowly again, but after a few more thrusts he allowed himself to speed up. Harry wasn't sure whether it was him losing control of himself or actually deciding to speed up. Either way, he didn't care. This was incredible.
He leaned up to kiss Draco again, missing his mouth several times because his body was being shoved forward with each thrust, but once they found each other's mouths they were inseparable. Draco ravished his mouth like a starving man.
When a hand circled his erection very suddenly Harry wailed and his head fell back.
"I'm so close," he breathed, squeezing is eyes shut against
the onslaught of emotion.
"Come for me, Harry," Draco whispered, and his arms encircled Harry like a barrier from the outside world. Harry dragged his hands through Draco hair and tugged as he let go, coming all over his prince's pale, toned stomach. And only a moment later he felt Draco's own come coat his insides and he couldn't imagine a better feeling in the world.
Draco rolled off of him and grabbed a corner of the quilt to wipe them both off, throwing it off the bed when he was done. He wrapped Harry in his arms then and kissed his cheek.
"I love you," he whispered. Harry smiled and turned to meet his eyes.
"I love you more."
"Impossible," Draco chuckled. Harry's whole body felt warm and sleepy and he cuddled into Draco's neck and once more looked down at his wrist, where the chain seemed to be glowing; not as brightly as the last two times, but still glowing, and it was constant.
He hadn't realized he'd slipped into a reverie until Draco's voice broke him out of it.
"I wouldn't have found you without that," he said softly.
Harry grinned and cuddled closer to Draco, thinking of Dumbledore and his crazy hair and his kind smile and realized for the first time what he'd meant when he said Harry would only have to look in the right places if he wanted to see him again.
"If I didn't know any better," Draco said, yawning and turning off the lights with a snap, "I'd say it was magic."
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Cinderella with a Harry/Draco twist. :)
Author's Note: Here's another one-shot while I work on the other story. I really like this one. :) I've always had a soft spot for Cinderella, so, obviously, I had to put my two favorite boys inside of the story. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A Cinderella Story
Draco Malfoy was a prince, he knew he was a prince, and he flaunted his royalty. His blond locks always looked neat, his porcelain skin ever free of blemishes, and he was faultlessly elegant. He was only twenty years old, and yet he acted as though he were well into adulthood. Though his parents gave him what he wanted, he was not a spoiled boy, and he looked down upon those who were. The one thing he intended to be spoiled about, however, was a wife, because he knew he deserved someone perfect; in essence, worthy of a prince.
Draco’s twenty-first birthday was to be a large celebration, held in the palace ballroom, with every young adult in the surrounding cities in attendance. He hoped very much to find his wife at the ball, but held doubts about the young ladies in the area.
Despite his fears, Draco arranged the entire ball with his parents two months in advance, sending out the invitations in the hopes that most would be able to attend. Draco did not know many people from around the palace, as he had been to school in France since he was very young. He’d graduated two years previously and come home to parents itching for him to be married.
“Darling, you won’t be young forever,” his mother said softly, placing her hand on his shoulder. He’d been expressing his doubts about the ball. “It wouldn’t do for you to be married too late.”
“I know, mother,” Draco said solemnly, agreeing with her, yet terrified of marrying the wrong person. “I hope I’ll find the right woman at this ball.”
“There are hundreds of maidens in the area, Draco,” he father said bracingly. “There’s sure to be at least one that will suit you.” Draco smiled weakly at his father, wanting nothing more than to please him. “For now, you need to find a new suit to wear, and your mother and I have a lot of work to do regarding entertainment, food, and decoration.”
“Thank you,” Draco said, earning smiles from his parents. “I’m going to have a bath. I’ll see you both at dinner.” He nodded to them before exiting the drawing room and making his tired way toward his room.
* * *
Harry couldn’t remember his parents, but he liked to think they had loved him. They had been wealthy, successful people, he knew, because the beautiful house he now lived in had been theirs. When they’d died, Harry’s Aunt Petunia had been kind enough to come live in the house, agreeing to care for her nephew. Harry was grateful, but sometimes he wished things were different.
Though the house was wonderful and spacious, Harry slept in the attic on a small bed given to him by his aunt. It was chilly in the winter and unbearably hot in the summer. But Harry didn’t complain, because he felt lucky to have a house and a family at all, even if they didn’t necessarily treat him as such.
Aunt Petunia had two daughters: Marcella and Pricilla. In Harry’s private opinion, the girls were horrendous. Both were very pretty, but their attitudes more than put a damper on that. They were Harry’s age, seventeen, and treated him as though he were nothing more important than the floor beneath their feet. They always had boyfriends over, and more than once Harry’d been unfortunate enough to come across a used condom whilst cleaning.
This was what Harry did most of the day, every day: cleaned. He made breakfast for the three women in the morning, cleaned what needed to be cleaned in the afternoon, tended to the girls’ horses, did the laundry, made dinner, etc. It was horribly tiring, and often very tedious, but Harry knew better than to say anything, because the amount of food he was given to eat was abysmally miniscule as it was. He didn’t like to think about how much smaller that could become.
It was a Saturday in early May that caused Harry to break down more harshly than any time before.
But that wasn’t until the afternoon.
The morning started off wonderfully - well, as wonderfully as a morning could start.
After making breakfast for the girls, they’d told Harry to get their horses ready. They wanted to go riding today. That meant he’d be doing that instead of other chores for a few hours; Harry loved working with the horses. Animals were so gentle and kind, never treating him like an inferior.
It was a gorgeous day, and it was with a bright smile that Harry walked out into the stables at around eleven o’ clock.
“’Morning, Molly,” he said, petting the horse’s nose affectionately. The other, Luna, nudged his arm, asking for attention. Harry laughed and rubbed her nose as well. “The girls want to go for a ride today,” Harry said, turning to get the brushes. “We’ll get you both looking beautiful.”
Harry’d never formally learned anything about horses, but through many trials and working well with the horses themselves, he’d figured most everything out for himself. He especially loved brushing them, because they seemed to enjoy it. Sometimes a muscle would twitch underneath the brush and Harry would smile for no particular reason, just loving the animals for loving him.
It was around midday when Marcella and Pricilla walked into the stables, dressed in tight jeans and cowboy boots, and looking as though they’d spent plenty of time doing their hair and makeup to ride horses.
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and handed the girls helmets, which they put on with sour faces. They never liked to wear helmets because it wasn’t “flattering”. Petunia had threatened not to let them ride, however, unless they wore them.
Once they were out on the field Harry wandered back inside the house, certain there were chores that would need to be done. He wouldn’t have to put the horses back for another few hours (assuming his cousins didn’t become bored too quickly), and Petunia would throw a fit if anything wasn’t done by the end of the day.
He sighed and made his way toward the stairs, prepared to gather laundry from the three women’s rooms. He had one foot on the first step, however, when the doorbell rang. With a grunt of annoyance he turned and walked the few steps to the door, putting on a cheery face before opening it.
He was startled to see a man dressed in an elegant tuxedo standing there, an envelope in his hand and an old-fashioned horse-drawn carriage waiting on the street. Harry carefully looked the man up and down before raising an eyebrow skeptically.
“Can I help you?”
“An invitation from Lord Malfoy, sir,” he drawled, bowing before handing the pristine envelope to Harry. It was heavier than normal paper and he realized that it was parchment.
“Er - thanks,” he said awkwardly, peering once more at the carriage.
“Have a nice day, sir,” the man said, and then turned and strode back to the carriage, where the driver pulled the reigns, and they were gone. Harry stood there for a few more moments before going back inside and closing the door quietly behind him.
It was addressed to The Residents of Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Harry was dumbfounded. He knew he shouldn’t open it, as it did specify everyone from the household, but he was terribly curious. What invitation from Lord Malfoy could they have possibly received?
He’d barely broken the wax Malfoy seal when shrieks were heard from the next room, and a moment later the envelope was torn from his hands and he was thrown aside.
“We saw him in the street!” Marcella shrieked, tugging on one end as her sister pulled on the other.
“He was from the Malfoys, wasn’t he!”
“The carriage had the crest!”
“What did he say?!” As the sisters played tug of war on the envelope Harry watched in mild amusement. He did, however, want to know what was inside, and so he yelled out, effectively stopping the useless game.
“Just open it,” he said, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. They both sneered.
“Why should you care?” Marcella said.
“It is addressed to the resident of number four, and I do live here.”
Both laughed harshly.
“You don’t count,” Pricilla said, her tone implying this should be common knowledge. “What could Lord Malfoy possibly want with a scrawny little boy like you? Well, perhaps you could shine his shoes.” As Marcella barked with laughter Pricilla finally opened it up, slipping a beautiful piece of parchment out. Both girls read it, taking quite some time to do so, and Harry watched their faces light up as the seconds passed.
“A BALL!” Pricilla cried, waving the parchment in the air triumphantly. “We’ve been invited to a ball! The prince’s twenty-first birthday! HE’S LOOKING FOR A WIFE!”
Before Harry had a chance to ask any questions they had dashed from the room, presumably to find their mother. Their muddy boots, which they hadn’t bothered to take off, left footprints all over the room and leading into the others. Harry sighed and went to get the mop.
* * *
It was June fifth. The ball was tonight. The girls had spent hours every day preparing what they’d wear. It seemed to change every few minutes. Harry had gotten a peek at the invitation and saw that, although the prince did seem to be looking for a wife, it specifically stated that “all young adults” should attend. The prince surely didn’t want a party with all girls?
But it didn’t matter, because Harry wouldn’t be allowed to go. When he’d asked, all three women had laughed.
“You?” Petunia had said cruelly. “Of course you can’t go. Lord Malfoy doesn’t want rubbish like you dirtying his castle. You’ll help the girls get ready. Consider it a privilege.”
The whole of May had been rough for Harry, watching the girls get ready and having to help them. He was sewing and cleaning, polishing and shining, and running things back and forth between their rooms so often that he’d had hardly any time to do his other chores.
Once, he’d snagged a pearl necklace on a doorknob and the whole thing had fallen apart, pearls strewn across the floor ubiquitously. Petunia rarely laid a hand on him, but this offense called for something more serious than no dinner, and she’d slapped him across the face so hard he’d had a red mark for two days.
Now that the day had arrived, Harry felt sick. It would have been fun. He’d never had much of a chance to interact with others his age. He didn’t go to school. He’d taught himself to read and write with books around the house. He was really quite intelligent, and he wished he could have gone to classes, but Petunia wouldn’t allow it. There were too many chores to be done.
“The invitation says that a carriage will come to pick you up at seven o’clock in the evening,” Petunia said as the girls were putting their shoes on. “That’s in ten minutes. Are you both ready?”
Marcella wore a lovely, pale pink gown, strapless, and ruffled around the top edges. It hugged her waist tightly and then puffed out starting at the hips. Around her neck was a diamond necklace: five stones hung in a line off of a silver chain. Her earrings matched. Her brown hair was pulled up into an elegant bun, and she wore a tiara in front of it. Harry thought she really did look beautiful, and she might even have a chance with the prince. That was, until she opened her mouth.
Pricilla’s dress was red; it had thin straps gracefully arching over her tanned shoulders, and it, too, hugged her waist nicely before dropping loosely to the floor. It had folds around the bottom, creating an arbitrary but lovely pattern. She wore no necklace, but her diamond earrings made up for it. Her hair was done the same way, except that she was blond. Pricilla probably had a chance, as well, until she spoke.
Harry thought he would be hard-pressed to find someone with a more obnoxious voice than his cousins.
Harry asked permission to finish cleaning the kitchen five minutes before they were to leave. He couldn’t bear to watch. Petunia allowed it, and he hurried off, hoping she’d leave him alone for a while.
He had been planning on cleaning, but as soon as he stepped into the kitchen he felt tears building up behind his eyes, and it was all he could do to stop them escaping. It took only three minutes for him to be slumped over in a chair, face buried in his hands, sobbing his heart out.
He’d had breakdowns before, the worst of which being an afternoon when Pricilla had brought a boyfriend over, and Harry, oblivious as to why, couldn’t stop staring at him. He even deliberately went into her room to get her laundry on a day he didn’t need to do laundry. The two had been half naked and kissing fiercely on her bed. He hadn’t needed Pricilla’s shrill shrieks to make him leave. He bolted out and up to his room, crying for a reason he couldn’t understand.
When he’d realized it was because he’d been jealous of Pricilla he’d cried harder.
He didn’t admit he was gay until he did the same thing with one of Marcella’s boyfriends. He’d cried again that night, as well.
It was so unfair. He did every chore he was asked to do without complaint; he slept in the attic even though there were extra bedrooms; he made every meal for the women and didn’t complain when he hardly ate himself; why did he have to be gay? Why make his life that much harder?
And now he couldn’t go to the prince’s ball.
In a flash of fierce anger Harry stood up, knocking his chair backwards, and swiped a cup off the table. The sound of breaking glass against the wall made him feel better, so he picked up another and flung it across the room, delighting in the sounds it made. He did this three more times, unaware of the tears sliding helplessly down his cheeks or the glass littering the floor around his feet.
He picked up a fifth one, longing to hear the destructive noise again.
“Harry.” He didn’t throw it, but the glass broke anyway when he spun on the spot, dropping it out of shock and fear.
A man was standing in the doorframe. He was the strangest man Harry had ever seen, and he immediately decided he couldn’t be real. He had a white beard long enough to tuck into a belt, and his similar white hair reached his back. He wore half-moon spectacles behind which the brightest, bluest eyes were sparkling at him. The most peculiar thing about him, however, was the midnight blue robes he wore, the entirety of which was spattered with silver moons and stars.
Harry wanted to speak, he really did, but his voice seemed to be caught in his throat. The old man smiled.
“You’ve made quite a mess, Harry.”
“Who are you?” he finally squeaked, suddenly aware that this man might be a lunatic that could kill him. The man laughed, his blue eyes glittering wildly.
“My name is Albus Dumbledore,” he said, “and I, Harry, am your fairy godmother.”
There were two things wrong with that statement and Harry wasn’t sure which to address first.
“My fairy godmother?” he repeated, and Dumble ... whatever his name was smiled again and nodded.
“That’s correct. I’ve come to prepare you for the ball.” Harry felt his eyes bulge at the statement. “Unless, of course, you didn’t want to go?”
“I do!” Harry shouted, only vaguely aware of having done so. Something inside of him said to trust the weirdo in blue robes. Maybe it was his eyes.
“Of course you do, dear boy!” he said, clapping his hands together excitedly. “Now, what have you to wear?” Harry’s growing smile slipped from his face in a matter of seconds.
“Oh ... I - er - I don’t really have- ”
“I see,” the old man said, smile widening. “Well, then, I suppose we’ll just have to come up with something!”
“Sorry ... come up with something? I don’t have any money, sir.”
“Irrelevant, my boy! Magic’s good for something!”
This was taking it a bit far.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t quite understand. Magic? You mean, like ... real magic,” he asked skeptically, his eyes wandering once again over the man’s outfit. Perhaps he’d escaped from a mental institution. Harry subconsciously looked over at the daily newspaper lying on the table, almost as though he’d see a story about an escaped lunatic.
“Real magic,” the man agreed, eyes still sparkling. “I’m not a fairy godmother for nothing!”
“Right, and about that. Shouldn’t you be an - er - you know: godfather?”
“It’s a general term,” he said, smiling amusedly at Harry, who said nothing. “But that’s not important. What’s important is that we find something dashing for you to wear.” He studied Harry closely for a moment before breaking into another grin. Harry felt his stomach tense nervously. If this man killed him, he’d be really very upset. “Right. Close your eyes.” He must have seen Harry’s trepidation because he smiled warmly. “I’m not going to hurt you, my dear boy. Only help you.”
Harry bit his lip nervously but, after a few short moments, closed his eyes.
Nothing happened at first and he almost opened his eyes again, but at the last second a sort of tingling started in his toes and shot up through his body, all the way to the top of his head. It increased for a minute before dying away very suddenly. Tentatively, he opened his eyes.
“Would you like a mirror?” the man asked with a smirk. Harry nodded. And one of the chairs promptly grew into a mirror. He stared at it for a moment, baffled, before the old man nodded for him to go look, and he did.
He nearly fell over. His ratty clothes were gone, and in their place was a handsome, black tuxedo, vintage, from the looks of it, because it had the tails in the back, as well. It was gorgeous and Harry couldn’t stop looking.
“Wow,” he breathed. The old man chuckled.
“Let’s deal with the hair and glasses, too, shall we?” Another odd sensation tingled in his face for a minute, and when he looked in the mirror his glasses were gone, but he could still see. His bright green eyes shone in the reflection. His hair, however, was just the same.
“Hmm … perhaps your hair will be fine like that,” the man laughed. Harry smiled at him involuntarily.
“It’s not very cooperative.”
“No matter!” he chuckled. “It’s a nice just-got-off-a-broomstick look.” Harry chose not to comment, partly because that made little to no sense, and also because it reeked of suggestion that made him blush. “Right! Let’s get you a carriage now. The ball has already begun!”
Harry followed the old man outside, not quite sure how this was going to work. A mirror was one thing, but a carriage?
The old man glanced around the lawn for a few minutes before settling on a large rock. He then drew out a long piece of wood, which Harry refused to call a wand, waved it a few times, and the rock began to grow. It kept growing until a life-size, white carriage stood in the street. Harry’s mouth dropped open.
“We’ll need horses, too,” the old man said, looking around once again. He clapped happily when he saw a small group of birds wandering in the grass. He pointed his ... stick again and the birds were suddenly horses, and one a tiny man. He seemed to direct them with his “wand” to the front of the carriage, where they magically attached to the reigns. The little man sat in front and took hold, smiling jovially at Harry and Dumbledore as though this were an everyday sort of thing. “I think you’re all set!”
“Thank you,” Harry whispered, not daring to believe this was actually happening.
“Ah, it’s my pleasure, dear boy. Let me give you one more thing.” He flicked his wand and a small, silver chain wound its way around Harry’s wrist, glowing for a moment before settling. It fit snugly. Harry stared in awe.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A gift. Now, listen carefully. You have until midnight at this ball. After that, everything will return to normal; your clothes and carriage, and your eyes as well, but you won’t have your glasses, so I recommend making it home before then.”
“I understand, thank you so much, fairy godmother.”
“Please, call me Dumbledore!”
“Right ... thank you, Dumbledore,” he chuckled. The old man smiled kindly.
“Well, off you go! Don’t want to be too late!”
“Will I see you again?” It was odd, but Harry had grown to enjoy the man’s presence. He was certainly eccentric, bit he was kind and Harry liked him.
“I’ll always be with you, Harry,” he said gently. “You just have to look in the right places.” Harry didn’t quite understand what he meant, and was going to ask, but Dumbledore was ushering him into the carriage before he had a chance. “Good luck, dear boy!” he yelled as the carriage drove away. Harry could have sworn he saw the old man turn on the spot and disappear with a pop.
The ride to the ball wasn’t terribly long, but it was long enough to give Harry time to start panicking.
This was a stupid idea. Why did he think he could fit in at a ball? He may have looked nicer than usual, but he didn’t know how to act!
When he pulled up in front of the palace his bowtie felt much too tight, and he was frantically adjusting it. He felt beads of sweat beginning to seep out of every pore in his body. When the little man-bird opened his carriage door Harry seriously considered refusing to get out.
But then he looked down at his wrist and saw the gift from Dumbledore. The old man had done so much for him to be able to come ... he couldn’t just not go. And so with a deep breath Harry jumped out, staring up at the enormous castle anxiously.
No one seemed to be arriving anymore, which meant they were all inside. Harry swallowed thickly. As if he needed a huge entrance.
Nevertheless, he walked nervously up the steps to the gargantuan front doors, where two guards stood waiting. At the sight of Harry they opened the doors, nodding.
“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, turning bright red. The guards looked at him oddly but said nothing.
There was a large room inside that must have been the foyer. There were two marble staircases leading up to a balcony on the second floor, where two more guards were standing. There were so many other doors and hallways that Harry would have liked to explore, but he was here for the ball, and he wasn’t going to screw it up. He only had till midnight, after all, and it was already nearly ten o’clock.
The walk up to the balcony felt long and his heart pumped faster with every step he took. Just before the guards opened the door he once again felt the urge to run away. But, again, he thought of Dumbledore, and forced himself to keep going.
The ballroom inside was breathtaking. There were stairs that led down to the floor, and a bright red carpet covered the middle, leading all the way down to the bottom.
There were hundreds of young adults, and almost as many adults, as well. Everyone was dancing in their fancy ball gowns to an ensemble that stood on a small platform at the back. No one seemed to have noticed Harry’s presence, a fact for which he was extremely grateful.
When he stepped onto the floor at last Harry tried to casually weave his way through groups of people talking on the edges of the dance floor. Toward the left he saw a long line of girls looking anxious. He presumed they were waiting to introduce themselves to the prince. He avoided the line carefully, walking around it to see if he could spot him.
He wouldn’t have a chance to talk to him, obviously, but it didn’t hurt to look, did it?
It was toward the end of the line when Harry spotted two people he definitely didn’t want to see.
Marcella and Pricilla stood together, glaring at all the other girls as if they had no right to be there. Although he did want to see the prince, it wasn’t worth getting caught by those two girls, so Harry picked up his pace, walking toward the back of the room and straight through a pair of doors.
He walked into what appeared to be a courtyard in the middle of the castle. The walls surrounded it, but if you looked up you could see the night sky, and it was beautiful. Over at one end there was a small stream starting at the top of a small rock mound and making its way to a little pond at the other end of the courtyard. The rest of the yard was filled with small trees and patches of flowers; it was like a secret garden that only he knew about. It was like magic.
Harry automatically looked down at his bracelet and smiled.
He wandered over to the pond and knelt down at the edge, watching tiny fish swim about playfully. It was a truly beautiful June evening. Harry dipped a finger into the water, smiling to himself when a fish swam over to see what it was.
“You’re very lucky,” he whispered, “to live here. It’s so beautiful.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Harry sprang to his feet in an instant, turning to see who had snuck up on him. He’d been prepared to yell at the idiot for doing so, but his words caught in his throat.
It was a boy; he looked to be a few years older than Harry, and he was, without a doubt, the most extraordinarily stunning boy he’d ever seen. His cheeks flushed red before he had time to try and stop it.
This boy had silky blond hair that was gelled back elegantly, and a small smile played on his lips that made Harry’s feel suddenly dry. He was quite pale, his skin almost glowing in the moonlight, but there were two rosy patches on his high cheekbones that made Harry feel suddenly much too hot for a warm evening.
“Hello,” he said lightly, carefully avoiding the boy’s eyes, instead looking down at his own restless hands.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Harry looked up then, pleased to see that the blond looked fairly timid as well. The tint in his cheeks grew darker. “It’s very crowded in there; I meant to take a break. Do you mind?”
Harry was having trouble finding his voice. Instead, he managed to simply shake his head, willing away the blush that was forcing its way onto his cheeks. The other boy smiled shyly, causing a whirlwind of butterflies in Harry’s stomach.
“Where are you from?” he asked. Harry took a deep breath before answering, “Surrey.”
“You traveled quite a way,” the boy chuckled. And then, quite out of the blue, he asked, “Will you dance with me?” Harry’s eyes shot up, unsure he’d heard correctly. But one pale hand was offered out, and without thinking much about it, Harry placed his own on top.
The blond smiled and pulled Harry closer, wrapping an arm around his waist and linking their fingers. Harry let his other hand fall on the boy’s shoulder. He decided the boy must have been from a wealthy family because he danced with the sort of grace one only acquires through years of training, and unless Harry was mistaken, most boys didn't receive training unless they were wealthy enough to attend balls of this caliber regularly.
His heart was still beating incredibly fast and he hoped the blond wouldn't notice. How embarrassing! But he also found that he couldn't quite bring himself to be all that worried. A very tranquil atmosphere had settled about them. The charming boy was watching Harry with interest while Harry, who had no experience whatsoever with this kind of thing, blushed furiously and looked away.
He heard the boy chuckle and the next thing he knew there was a soft pair of lips on his cheek. Harrys' eyes went wide and he froze. When the lips vanished and the blond was once again smiling at him, their hands still clasped and one resting lightly on Harry's waist, Harry couldn't hold back a ridiculous smile. He looked down and laughed, hoping that in the dim lighting his blush wasn't too apparent.
"You are adorable."
Again, Harry laughed, if only because this was so incredibly absurd.
"Would you like to take a walk with me?"
Harry looked around at the small garden they stood in, taking in the gorgeous trees and shrubs and the little river he'd been kneeling by when this boy had first found him. He smiled to himself.
"Not here, of course," the boy said. Harry looked up at him. "There's a lovely little pathway through a much bigger garden behind the castle."
"Yeah," Harry said, wishing he could sound as eloquent as the blond. "Yeah, I'd like that." The boy smiled at him and kissed his cheek again before grabbing his hand and leading him toward the door through which Harry had initially come.
They'd only just walked inside when Harry heard a clock chime.
"Already midnight?" the boy said, looking down at his wrist where a very handsome silver watch sat. At first what he'd said didn't register and Harry continued to smile absently at the boy holding his hand tightly.
But then a voice rang in his head: "You have until midnight at this ball. After that, everything will return to normal."
"Oh my God," he whispered, suddenly frenzied. He looked at the blond, who had only just turned back to Harry, and felt like he might start crying. The boy must have noticed something was wrong because he frowned.
"Are you alright?"
"I have to go," Harry said quickly. "I'm sorry, I ... I have to go." He tried to pull his hand away but the boy held tight. His grip caused the silver chain to dig into Harry's skin and the pain made him that much more frantic. "I have to go!" he shouted. "Please, let go of me!"
"I don't under -" But he never got to finish his sentence because Harry jerked his arm away and, without looking back, began sprinting through the crowded ballroom toward the set of stairs he'd originally descended. There were tears in his eyes and wasn't sure whether they were from anger, misery, or the wind rushing in his eyes once he made it outside. He could hear the boy calling after him but he didn't stop. His carriage was, incredibly, waiting outside where he'd left it, and Harry thanked Dumbledore for making the man-bird smart.
He hopped inside and shouted for the man to go.
Harry sunk into the cusion of the carriage and buried his face in his hands, letting the tears flow freely now.
How could he have let that happen? Why hadn't he paid attention to the time? If he had he would have had the presence of mind to ask the boy's name and to give him his own. Now he had nothing - no way of finding him and no way of knowing that the boy could find him.
"Fuck," he sobbed, and wiped at his eye with his palm. He noticed, then, that the chain around his wrist was gone. He automatically looked down at himself to find that he was still wearing the suit, and the carriage was still a carriage, so that meant he'd dropped it. He rolled his eyes at himself.
I am such a fuck-up, he thought miserably. He didn't even deserve that wonderful boy.
He'd only just begun to recognize his surroundings when the carriage started to bump and jump and very suddenly Harry was no longer sitting in a beautiful carriage, but the rock that Dumbledore had earlier tranformed into a carriage. And then he saw that the birds that had once been horses and a driver were walking around the street in front of him.
Worst of all, though, was that gradually his sight was becoming worse. It took a total of two minutes for it to go back to normal.
He looked down at his clothes, which had changed back into the horrible things he usually wore, and felt a sob wrack his body. There was nothing for it. His night may as well have been a dream for all the good it would do his life now.
As he got up and went to the side of the road, moving the rock out of the street first, he wondered why Dumbledore had done this. It seemed now only to have made Harry more miserable than before. Perhaps he'd put too much trust in Harry. Perhaps he'd thought Harry was responsible enough to pay attention to the time so that this didn't happen.
Well, clearly he was wrong.
The walk home was not only long, but very sad, and by the time Harry reached the house he thought he'd never hated himself more in his life.
* * *
It was the afternoon of the next day that another carriage baring the Malfoy crest pulled up in front of the house.
Harry's heart nearly stopped when he answered the door and another man, similar to the one from last time, handed him another envelope.
"Thank you," Harry said softly, and the man turned away. His heart was in his throat as he carefully opened the letter, thanking God his cousins and aunt were out having lunch.
The letter was once again addressed to their household. The inside informed him that all the residents of Surrey were to open their home to a representative of the Malfoys the next day, along with the Prince himself. This respresentative would be carrying with him a silver wristlet, and every male from every household was to try the wristlet on.
Harry nearly dropped the letter in shock.
The Prince? The Prince? He'd danced with the Prince?!
"Oh my God," he whispered, feeling his heart beating frantically in his throat. "Oh my God."
And he was looking for him. He was looking for Harry.
Tears welled up in Harry's eyes and his heart swelled.
But his happy bubble was popped not a moment later. What if the chain fit someone else? It was only a chain, after all. It could fit anyone.
His heart began shrinking rapidly until it felt like the size of a peanut. Harry dropped down onto the stairs and stared at the floor, where he'd let the letter fall.
The Prince would surely find someone else whose wrist it fit, and even if he knew it wasn't Harry, he would probably find someone better. After all, he didn't even know Harry's name. That was fairly impersonal. He'd get over Harry the moment he found someone better.
In fact, he'd probably find a woman. Because Harry was fairly certain the letter that had invited them to the ball had said he'd been looking for a wife.
He was incredibly confused.
Very suddenly the door opened and the three women walked inside, chatting amiably and laughing amongst themselves.
Marcella was the first to notice Harry.
Pricilla saw the letter.
She dove for it and all three women struggled to get a clear view. When they'd all gotten a chance to read it they loked at Harry.
"What is this?" his aunt spat. Harry shrugged.
"A letter from the Malfoys."
"I know that! When was it delivered? What does it mean?"
Harry scoffed. "Exactly what it says. Apparently the Prince is looking for a man he met last night." His throat felt tight as he said it. "Ever male of every household in Surrey is supposed to try a bracelet on."
"When are they coming?"
"Tomorrow."
* * *
Harry sat with his arms around his legs, crying into his knees because he could hear the Prince's voice downstairs, and yet here he was, trapped in his attic-bedroom, because his aunt refused to let him out. She'd known something. He could tell. Her eyes had flared and somehow she'd known it was him.
And she wasn't going to let that happen. So she'd locked him in his bedroom the instant the carriage had arrived. And now, Harry assumed, she was trying to force one of her horrible daughters onto the Prince. His Prince.
"You're sure you don't have any sons?" Harry heard the representative say. "It says on our list that a male lives here."
More tears built in Harry's eyes and a sob wracked his body. He could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks. One of them ran onto his knee and glided gracefully down his leg until it splashed onto the floor.
And very suddenly there was a noise before him, but when he looked up he saw nothing unusual.
His breathing was heavy as he carefully got to his feet and went to the door.
Dumbledore's name flashed through his mind as he placed a hand on the knob and, holding his breath, pushed.
Incredibly, the door opened, and outside he saw that the heavy lock his aunt had placed there had fallen to the floor, broken.
Tears swelled in Harry's eyes again and he whispered, "Thank you." He thought for a moment that he heard Dumbledore chuckle, but then it was gone, and Harry was racing down the stairs to the front room. The Prince and the representative were about to leave.
The Prince was already out the door when the representative turned to bid the women goodbye and spotted Harry.
"Who are you?"
All three women turned on the spot and their eyes went wide.
"You!" Marcella shouted, and this alerted the Prince's attention. Harry's stomach twisted when he walked inside, looking exactly like he had that night. Perhaps even more beautiful, if that was possible.
He spotted Harry and his eyes lit up. Harry smiled and walked past his silent family to the Prince, who was holding the wristlet loosely in his hands. They stared at each other for several moments before the representative cleared his throat and the Prince held the chain up. Harry allowed him to gently place it around his wrist and, like the first time when Dumbledore had given it to him, it glowed before settling.
The Prince didn't say a word. Instead, he leaned forward and captured Harry's lips in a soft kiss.
"Marry me," he whispered, and the feeling sent tingles through Harry's body.
"I don't even know your name."
The Prince pulled away and smiled his dazzling smile and Harry's heart thudded.
"Draco," he said, and he placed a hand on Harry's cheek. "And yours?"
"Harry."
"Harry," Draco said, tasting it on his tongue, and his face lit up. He kissed Harry again, more passionately this time, before pulling away and looking around at the three women who were staring in awe. He looked disgusted. But when he looked back to Harry that disappeared and he smiled again. "Come with me."
"Now?" Harry gasped.
Draco laughed. "Now. This isn't the place for you."
The representative led Harry from the house ahead of Draco, and Harry thought he could hear protests, but they didn't really register.
Draco helped Harry into the carriage and kissed him again.
As they pulled away, Harry feeling completely dazed, he saw the faces of his "family" watching them. He smiled.
"Thank you," he said. Draco took his hand and kissed it.
Harry blushed.
"Thank you."
* * *
Later that night Harry sat on Draco's massive bed in only a pair of boxers, looking intently at the chain that still adorned his wrist. He smiled to himself.
"What are you thinking about?"
Harry looked up to see Draco standing in the doorway, looking entirely relaxed in a pair of silk pajama pants himself. He was stunning. Harry felt like he couldn't breathe.
"Nothing," Harry squeaked. Draco laughed and walked further into the room. He crawled onto the bed and on top of Harry, forcing him to lie on his back. Harry looked up into Draco's face and saw love like he'd never imagined existed.
"You are so incredibly beautiful," Draco whispered, and then his lips descended on Harry's. "What would I have done had I not met you?" He moved to nip at Harry's jaw now and Harry's gasped and arched up, his erection brushing against Draco's leg.
"Decided to marry a woman," Harry breathed out. Draco laughed and slid a hand between their bodies, tracing a light line down Harry's bare abdomen until he reached his cock.
"I've never even looked at a bloke before." He grasped Harry's length beneath the fabric of his boxers and began to stroke idly. Harry was afraid he might pass out soon if this kept up. His arms were locked around Draco's neck and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. "You dazzled me, Harry."
And for some obscure reason, Harry found it extremely arousing the way Draco spoke. He sounded like a prince. Harry was about to be fucked by a goddamn prince.
Harry keened when Draco squeezed lightly and kissed his neck.
"Please," he breathed. "Draco ..."
Draco chuckled softly and slipped his hand beneath Harry's boxers, touching the bare skin of his cock for the first time. Harry bucked up and released a moan louder than he would have previously believed himself capable.
And then Draco was removing the boxers and his own silk pajama pants and there was a small bottle of lube in his hand.
"I wanna make love to you," he breathed into Harry's ear. Harry whimpered and thrust up.
Draco pressed his lips to Harry's forehead as a lube-slicked finger found its way between his arse cheeks. When Harry felt the tip of Draco's finger press against his entrance he nearly screamed.
"Like that?" he whispered. And hearing the formal, erudite Prince speak that way sent another wave of heat through Harry's body.
"Yes, please," he cried, knowing how shameless he sounded and simply not finding it in himself to care. This was torture. He wanted this more than he could ever remember wanting anything in his life.
And finally the finger slipped inside his arse and it hurt, but it was wonderful and Harry arched again and moaned and reached up to drag his nails down Draco's arms.
"Fuck, Harry," he heard Draco whisper. The finger slowly slipped deeper into his arse until Harry could feel Draco's knuckled on his skin. He pulled out, then, and thrust back in slowly, giving Harry time to adjust. But Harry didn't really want to adjust right now. He just wanted his prince to fuck him.
"Hurry up," he whined. Draco descended on him again, pressing their lips together and slipping his tongue into Harry's mouth. It was sloppy and frantic and perfect.
Harry accidentally bit down on Draco's lip when he felt another finger slip inside of him. Draco hissed and it only served to fuel Harry's libido.
"Just fuck me," Harry said, gripping Draco's toned biceps like a lifeline. "Please, I just need you to fuck me."
"Harry, you're not rea -"
"God, I don't care!" He wrapped his arms around Draco's neck and pulled him down into a harsh kiss. "I need you so badly right now."
Apparently Draco couldn't argue with that because no sooner had he slipped his fingers out of Harry's arse than the sound of the lube being opened again met Harry's ears and he watched, fascinated, as Draco spread it over his leaking cock before lining it up at Harry's entrance.
"I love you, Harry," he whispered, and then he was pushing in. Harry gasped and dragged his nails down Draco's back, unprepared for how much it really did hurt, but it was okay because this was his prince, the boy he'd inexplicably fallen in love with in the garden of this very castle, and said boy had just told him he loved him.
Tears leaked out of the corners of Harry's eyes as Draco pushed into him, stopping only when his balls rested against Harry's arse.
"You're so tight," he whispered against Harry's forehead. "Fuck."
Harry breathed against Draco's neck, watching as his Adam's apple bobbed each time he swallowed, and after a few seconds decided he couldn't wait anymore. He'd deal with the pain.
"Move," he said. Draco looked into his eyes and apparently saw his determination because he slowly slid back out before thrusting back inside, slowly again, but after a few more thrusts he allowed himself to speed up. Harry wasn't sure whether it was him losing control of himself or actually deciding to speed up. Either way, he didn't care. This was incredible.
He leaned up to kiss Draco again, missing his mouth several times because his body was being shoved forward with each thrust, but once they found each other's mouths they were inseparable. Draco ravished his mouth like a starving man.
When a hand circled his erection very suddenly Harry wailed and his head fell back.
"I'm so close," he breathed, squeezing is eyes shut against
the onslaught of emotion.
"Come for me, Harry," Draco whispered, and his arms encircled Harry like a barrier from the outside world. Harry dragged his hands through Draco hair and tugged as he let go, coming all over his prince's pale, toned stomach. And only a moment later he felt Draco's own come coat his insides and he couldn't imagine a better feeling in the world.
Draco rolled off of him and grabbed a corner of the quilt to wipe them both off, throwing it off the bed when he was done. He wrapped Harry in his arms then and kissed his cheek.
"I love you," he whispered. Harry smiled and turned to meet his eyes.
"I love you more."
"Impossible," Draco chuckled. Harry's whole body felt warm and sleepy and he cuddled into Draco's neck and once more looked down at his wrist, where the chain seemed to be glowing; not as brightly as the last two times, but still glowing, and it was constant.
He hadn't realized he'd slipped into a reverie until Draco's voice broke him out of it.
"I wouldn't have found you without that," he said softly.
Harry grinned and cuddled closer to Draco, thinking of Dumbledore and his crazy hair and his kind smile and realized for the first time what he'd meant when he said Harry would only have to look in the right places if he wanted to see him again.
"If I didn't know any better," Draco said, yawning and turning off the lights with a snap, "I'd say it was magic."