Chapter 53
Instead of sleep, Draco’s mind whirled, repeatedly replaying each excruciating moment of the dinner over and over until when Draco slept he dreamt of it. Half the room offering genuine congratulations to King Harry while the other half stiltedly tried to minimize the news. The king drinking each time anyone spoke like it was a game he was determined to lose. Somewhere in it all, maybe between Audrey gushing over how beautiful marriage was and King Harry throwing Draco a desperate look begging for him to make it stop, Draco drank too much himself. When he woke up he wasn’t sure if it was his head or the door that was pounding.
Both. Definitely both.
Draco dragged open the door because he was stupid. “No.” he said to Ron and his shit eating grin.
“Don’t you look terrible,” was Ron’s jolly retort.
“I’m not coming,” Draco tried again.
Ron’s ability to hold a smile this long was clearly a sign he was evil. “Hermione said you told her off yesterday.” Ron’s answer was not what Draco was expecting.
“I absolutely did not,” Draco lied.
Ron nodded good naturedly. “As you say. Why don’t we go for a walk so you can explain.” Finally, there was a glint to Ron’s eye. It was quite troubling. Draco gulped and tried to shut the door on Ron’s face.
Twenty minutes later they were back in the training yard, with Ron swearing up and down he forgave Draco for the misunderstanding with his wife, before knocking Draco on his ass with nothing but a wooden sword and his impenetrable good cheer.
“I hate you,” Draco whined after the third time, even as Ron held out his hand to help Draco to his feet.
“Work harder, fall down less,” Ron answered as if it were just easy. He led Draco through the drill again. “Hermione says you’re smart, you just need to put the effort in.”
Draco tripped up and let Ron hit him hard again in the shoulder. “Ow,” he muttered, rubbing his arm. He got back into position and tried not to think about what Ron had meant by that. He failed, of course. Curiosity always got the better of Draco’s wisdom. He had to ask, “What did Hermione say about me being smart?”
Ron actually chuckled and shook his head. He lightened up a bit on the next round. “She said you make a horrible tutor,” he said instead of an actual explanation.
“Oi! I tutored Molly and Lucy for weeks. I taught them French,” Draco retorted. He actually put some effort into his strikes and Ron had to move quickly to block. Draco kept at it, and a few rounds later even Ron was breathing hard.
Ron leaned back for a quick break, eyeing Draco up and down. “You mean to tell me all I had to do to get you to work hard at this is insult your pride?”
Draco was already flushed from exertion so embarrassment couldn’t make it much worse. Still, he scowled at Ron for catching him out. “If you want me to work hard, don’t schedule these trainings when I’m meant to be asleep.”
“Uh-huh.” Said Ron, blowing him off. Drills were almost over anyway, so Ron put his practice sword back on the rack near him and motioned for Draco to do the same. Ron stepped right up next to Draco after he did so.
They were about the same height, but Ron’s presence was larger and he made sure Draco felt every bit of it. Ron leaned in close. “I know a thing or two about being stubborn, Draco. I learned the hard way how stubbornness can hurt you more than it hurts all the folks around you. So do yourself a favor and learn to let some things go.”
Draco bristled and dug in his heels. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he seethed.
Ron’s raised eyebrows were the visual equivalent of another uh-huh. Ron looked Draco up and down, taking in the measurement of him. “You’re prickly. Hermione’s prickly, too. But she’s smart. Give it a day or so and you’re going to see her come apologize. Do yourself a favor and don’t be a right bastard about it when it happens.”
That caught Draco off, he couldn’t stop his wide eyed surprise from showing. “I… I wouldn’t.” But he didn’t sound sure.
Ron wasn’t smiling one bit anymore as he stared Draco down. “Well, she says you’re smart. So I guess we’ll see.”
Ron left Draco there to consider his lessons for the day. Draco’s flush didn’t recede, even after the effects of the exercise wore off. Draco suddenly, desperately, needed something to do.
Last night, plans were discreetly made for those in the know about Slughorn’s theft to meet and go over the proposed wedding contract that the Small Council had spent an entire day negotiating. Well, when Draco said those in the know, he meant those in the know who were useful. So not Draco. There was always time with Teddy. However, Ron, who Draco was avoiding, would be with the kids. So Draco decided to keep away from Teddy until later that evening to give himself a chance to calm down. After yesterday’s disaster of an introduction to the castle, Draco decided to give Percy and his family space so they could settle in at their own speed. Percy, the most useful of people, would be in the top secret meeting with the king anyways, and Audrey would want to anchor her girls in their lessons.
This left Draco with no demands on his time, which meant today might just be the perfect moment for his self-appointed special project. Which was perfect, because Draco felt like he was spiraling into panic and there was nothing better for that than a good project.
Draco didn’t give himself time to second guess himself before marching back into the castle. He didn’t bother with a full shower, just scrubbed the worst of the morning from his hands and face and put on a fresh cotton outfit. The sort he’d wear to do chores around the house. He should have known it would stand out more in the halls of the castle than if he wore a formal suit, but Draco didn’t care to conform to the castle’s dress code today. He imagined the itching for comfort and freedom might be what drove the king to cast off his own dress clothes in favor of his soldiers clothes every time he got the chance.
In the end it felt too easy to reach his destination. Sure, Draco was technically a guest of the king. Plus, he walked around with confidence and with complete knowledge of where he was going. Still, someone might have stopped and questioned why the oddly dressed former enemy of the king strolled right into the king’s private chambers.
Draco wondered if it should have been locked. Then again, what was there to steal? The king kept nothing here, except a wardrobe filled with casual clothing, a bowl of fruit, and the same momentos from the ball as last time laid out on the table. Draco wondered if the king worried about assassins or other attackers cornering him in his bedchambers, but supposed those concerns weren’t top of mind. Idly, Draco picked up the list of names on the table. He felt some satisfaction that the king had barely managed to start on page 3 of the list. The affairs of the kingdom must be keeping him far too busy to put Draco in danger of being found out. Draco tossed the papers back on the table. He paused briefly, his hand lingering over the handkerchief. No, that must stay. He balled his fingers into a fist and marched away.
Predictably, the door to the adjoining room was also unlocked. It was stiff from disuse, but Draco shoved it open. In doing so he gained access to what might be called the queen’s chamber. Draco supposed the king would have to update the formal title after his wedding. In the present, the room was dark and dusty. The only signs of life were two rolled up rugs propped against the bed and an awkward stack of wrapped canvasses upon a desk. Draco smiled, thankful that Ron had managed the favor he requested when they’d first arrived at the castle. Draco rolled up his sleeves to get to work.
This was a new endeavor, but for the sake of beauty one often had to go slow to go fast. So Draco started with the unpleasant manual labor of moving everything about. He heaved the king’s furniture about the large room, slowly shoving everything out of the way. Draco couldn’t manage the heaviest items, but he was able to tilt them enough that he could pull any rugs out from under them. Draco rolled the faded gray plats of depression up and dragged them into hiding in the soon to be same-sex-spouse’s chamber. All the bending and tugging made Draco’s back ache, but his effort paid off when all the floors were clear and Draco could see they at least could be beautiful. Once they were clean. Draco would need to clean.
He was finally discovered while on his knees scrubbing the floor.
“Who the hell are you?” asked none other than Ginevra Weasley. Her red bushy hair waved around her face like a fiery mane and her vexed expression conjured all the fierceness of her once-adopted god of war persona.
Draco plonked the old shirt he was using as a rag down into the trash bin he was using as a bucket. “Servant. Hence the scrubbing.”
Ginny narrowed her eyes and put both hands on her hips. “Liar. I know Harry’s servants.” Her pinched eyes examined Draco until realization struck. “Oh my god you're that Malfoy,” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”
Draco picked the rag back up and squeezed the excess water from it. “Scrubbing.” he wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Or impersonating a servant while I hide my identity as a secret assassin.” That probably was the wrong joke to make to a Weasley who didn’t remember meeting or likely Draco under other circumstances. Ginny did not take it well. Turns out she had a sword as if she were herself a guard and she drew it to threaten Draco. Draco sighed at her antics and returned to scrubbing. “You can’t seriously attack me for cleaning a room.”
Ginny looked like she might. “Get out of here at once! Or I’ll call for the palace guard.”
“If you’re calling for help, why not bring in a maid. My back hurts and I’m only halfway done.”
It was hard to keep threatening someone scrubbing the floor, and even Ginny hesitated. “Why are you scrubbing?” she finally thought to ask.
Draco motioned around the room, still mostly gray in decoration and design. “It’s very sad in here, isn’t it? His majesty has this misplaced sense of, well, I don’t know what, but he seems to think it would be selfish to be surrounded by things one actually likes. It baffles the mind. But, not an insurmountable problem to overcome.”
Ginny let the edge of her sword fall to the ground so she could lean on it like a walking stick. She furrowed her brows and looked again at Draco, taking in the sweat on the brow and his continued manual labor despite her hostility. “You’re here… to redecorate.”
Draco beamed at her. “Precisely.”
“You’re barmy.”
“You mean visionary,” Draco corrected.
“Completely mad,” insisted Ginny.
“Compassionate to the core,” Draco redirected.
“My god, you’re the bloke he’s gone off and engaged himself to.”
Draco dropped the rag again and sat up straight. “Absolutely not.”
Ginny was looking him over again with fresh eyes, even more judgmental than before. “First I’m strong-armed into this ‘family weekend’ nonsense, and then I show up and learn it’s now an engagement celebration, and no one will say who the mystery man is. If not you, how did you ever get into the bed chambers to begin with?”
“The door was unlocked,” deadpanned Draco.
Ginny grunted in frustration, taking a step further into the room, nearly lifting the sword again. “Why did Harry bring you to begin with?”
Draco rolled his eyes to the ceiling, uncertain how this is the argument he got trapped in. He knew of one easy way out. “For sex, obviously.”
There was a loud and scandalized gasp. “You didn’t!”
Draco wasn’t certain how to take her horrified reaction. Clearly it was an insult, but also he was able to easily reply. “No, of course I didn’t. I’m not looking for casual sex with someone who’d tell me how unsuitable I am in the same breath as asking me to get into bed.”
This gasp was more scandalized still. “He didn’t!” said Ginny with bright shining eyes that clearly lived for the gossip.
This was a mistake, but in a way it was the first chance he had to actually talk with anyone about it and Draco decided it couldn’t make things any worse. “No, he didn’t. It just felt like he would. And anyway, I don’t want to sleep with him so it doesn’t matter.”
“Seriously? You’re redecorating his bedchamber because you don’t want to sleep with him?” Ginny’s voice held every bit of skepticism known to mankind.
Draco felt his face heat up and he renewed his scrubbing with more enthusiasm. “Bugger off and die,” he growled.
Ginny threw her head back and laughed before finally putting her sword away. She strolled into the room and pulled a chair down from off the table where Draco previously shoved it so she had a place to perch and watch him. She plucked an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it with gusto.
Draco scrubbed harder, trying to ignore her. It was no use. “What are you even doing in the king’s bed chambers?” he demanded to know.
Ginny spoke with her mouth full. “Heard a rumor Harry actually got himself engaged to that jackass Colton and I was going to murder him.”
That tore a laugh out of Draco. He dropped his forehead to the clean floor in front of him to let himself fall into giggles. “You were,” he paused to laugh, “you were worried I was going to,” giggles over took him, “oh no the bad Malfoy scrubbing the floor is so scary, while girl Weasley showed up with a sword to kill the king.”
Ginny sulked. “Go back to scrubbing.”
Draco did, but he didn’t mind as much Ginny watching.
Once she’d finished her apple Ginny actually got up. She took off her own jacket, then her shoes and stockings. She laid all of it on the table before walking over to Draco and asked if there was another rag. Draco paused only a moment before he pointed to the king’s wardrobe and instructed her to grab whatever the king should have thrown out ages ago. She smirked at Draco’s gall and took her pick. The floor was clean in no time with two people working.
While the floor dried, Draco took great glee in pulling the ugly tapestries down while Ginny tackled the mud-colored curtains. If there was more time Draco might have paused to scrub the walls, if only because they clearly weren’t tended to. Perhaps they’d started off blue but they’d since faded to what Draco would artly term a shade of melancholy. Draco pursed his lips and wondered how he might trick the staff into repainting without the king knowing until it was too late. No, that would be overstepping. Even Draco knew there were limits.
They tossed everything old into the spouse’s chamber and together dragged out the first of the rugs. It was the blue one. It fit perfectly, right there in front of the window with the light shining in. The blueness of its color breathed fresh life into the dreary paint on the wall, reminding the room of the splendor it must once have been. It was perfect.
Less perfect was moving all the furniture back to its proper place, which they must have mussed up a bit but they banked on the king not caring that much about the space and letting that minor detail go in the grand scheme of their grander audacity.
The second rug rolled out lush and brilliant in the middle of the room. Ginny sunk her toes into its coziness.
“We need a third,” she decided before they could move on.
Draco hesitated. “I only brought two.”
Ginny shrugged. “We need it. We’ll just steal from the other room. Colton can have the ugly gray ones.”
Well. If you looked at it that way.
Ginny rang for a servant to beat the dust out of her rug of choice. Draco didn’t want to bother anyone, but he had to admit the rug needed tending and Ginny shrugged it off while saying, “In for a penny…”
Then Draco hauled in the next stage of the project. He carefully pulled the parchment paper off each framed canvas and laid each piece on King Harry’s bed before deciding where they would all go.
Ginny stood next to him with a thoughtful expression. “You’re a weird one,” she said, but it sounded like affection.
The paintings were up, the final rug was laid, and candles across the room were lit. The two sood next to the table and admired their efforts.
Draco’s eyes flickered to Ginny, who looked tired but happy. “Why did you…” he started wondering but cut himself off.
Ginny blinked then glanced up at Draco next to her. She tilted her head in consideration. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t like you,” she said plainly. “But you’re right, Harry doesn’t need to live the rest of his life surrounded by dreary things just because it’s technically better than no longer being trapped in a cupboard.”
Draco frowned in confusion. “What?”
Ginny didn’t have a chance to explain, because just then King Harry himself walked in.