Cinderella
Draco snapped his eyes open — son of a bitch. It felt like he’d been hit in the head with a bludger. Wincing, he scanned his surroundings.
Potter was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’d finally died… How upsetting. (For him, that is.)
Perusing the strange forest he’d found himself in, Draco registered an unmistakable groan from above him. He sighed in dismay.
“Potter you cockroach, how utterly useless can you get? You can’t even die properly,”
“Shut… up, Malfoy,” [insert incoherent grumbling] “... how did we — wait!”
“Stop talking to yourself,” Draco muttered, pulling himself off the grass. It was then that he realised — with rather disconcerting apathy — that he was wearing a dress.
“What happened to that Faerie bastard?!” Potter yelled, jostling furiously in the tree that he’d found himself in.
“Well, seeing that you touched the one thing you weren’t meant to fucking touch , and that we’ve both found ourselves in a forest, unarmed — I assume that he’s gotten away,” Draco snarled at an approaching deer, “or that he’s imprisoned us in some strange, convoluted way.”
“Shit,” Potter groaned. “Malfoy — this is all your fault!”
Draco rolled his eyes and kicked the jostling tree. Potter fell to the grassy floor with a loud thud. It was then that Draco noticed — with indescribable glee — that Potter was also wearing a dress.
“Stop blaming me for something that’s unquestionably your fault, Potter. If you’d bloody listened to what Robards was trying to tell you, instead of running forward like the ninny that you are—”
“I TOLD YOU TO COVER FOR ME—”
“Stop shouting, heathen—”
“—WHY CAN’T YOU JUST FUCKING LISTEN TO WH— Merlin, is that a dress?”
Draco grit his teeth, “congratulations, Potter. You have eyes. Now, if you’d use them properly, you’d notice that you’re also wearing a dress,”
Potter’s head snapped back to his body, “what the fu—”
And that’s when a gigantic grey carriage burst through an opening in the foliage. A pompous looking pig of a man jumped out and ran (or rather, waddled) towards Draco and Potter.
“Harry! Draco! Where’ve you both been?!” The man-pig looked Draco and Potter up and down, “the state of your clothes! My word, get in the carriage right now!”
Draco looked at the talking man-pig coldly.
“Uncle Vernon?!” Potter squeaked.
“You know this creature, Potter?” Draco asked, lowering his voice.
“He’s my uncle — he’s muggle…” Potter muttered back, “I’ve no idea why he’s dressed like that,”
“Of course you don’t — you’d need intellectual capacity in order to make conjectures, after all.”
“Says the man who tried to make a phone-call with a laptop.”
“Listen—”
“Draco? Harry?” A voice called.
Draco looked towards the carriage with growing trepidation. It was with surprising relief (good things rarely happened to Draco Malfoy) that he noted the source of the voice to be Granger. If anyone could make sense of their situation, it was her.
“Hermione? What’re you doing here?” Potter asked.
Granger lowered her head (Draco almost gaped in response — Granger?! Lowering her head?!?!) “... Step-father asked for my help in looking for you two,” she briefly shot them a chastening look (now that’s more like it, Granger), “you’ve both been gone an awfully long time,”
An awful, awful lightbulb flashed in Draco’s brilliant mind.
Fuck. Draco massaged his temples. He wished, briefly, that this was a nightmare. Then, he glanced surreptitiously at Potter. The Potter in Draco’s nightmares looked far less foolish. (It was a recurring fear of Draco’s that one day Potter would grow a brain.)
And there was no way this was a dream — the Potter in Draco’s dreams looked far uglier. (It was a childhood dream of Draco’s that one day Potter would grow into the toad that he so obviously was.)
Draco looked back at Granger’s strange appearance, and swallowed a frustrated snarl.
It was likely the rogue faerie that Potter and he had been chasing had trapped them in an alternate reality. One where Granger, apparently, did frightening things like lower her head of her own volition. And one where Potter and Draco, apparently, routinely wore tacky vomit-coloured dresses.
The man-pig sneered at Granger, “get back in the carriage, Cindermione,”
A second awful, awful, lightbulb flashed in Draco’s brilliant mind. Draco felt wholly undeserving of what had befallen him. He exchanged a look with Potter.
“You too, Draco, Harry, dear,” said the man-pig, in a much kinder tone than what he’d used with Granger.
Potter (like a predictable fool) began to bristle indignantly.
Draco smiled politely, “sorry,” — who is this man? — “Step-fath—” the man-pig frowned — “Vern—” Granger’s eyes widened — Merlin’s balls — “Father.” Draco paused to swallow back the bile which had arisen upon calling this abhorrent creature his father.
Draco continued, “do you mind giving me and Pot— Harry a few minutes? I think I may have lost my… brooch,”
“Your brooch!? The pearl one?!” Draco nodded solemnly, “go on, go on! Quickly, now,”
With an obsequious smile on his face, Draco turned, pulling Potter to the side. Once out of direct view, he began whispering furiously, “I think the faerie trapped us in a twisted rendition of Cinderella—”
“I got that Malfoy — I’m not thick,”
“—in the arse. I have eyes Potter, I know.”
“Wha— hey!”
“Shh!”
“Sorry — hey!”
Man-Pig cleared his throat irritably in the background.
“I think we should go along with them — we might find a way to get ourselves out of this,”
“What about our wands?”
Draco smiled sweetly, “let’s just leave them here and fend for ourselves,”
“What the fuck are you on about Malfoy?”
“It was sarcasm you fucking idiot. I’ve told The Man-Pig,” Draco inclined his head towards Man-Pig, “that we’re looking for my brooch — use your raisin-sized brain and Accio our wands when he’s out of sight,”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Potter muttered, for lack of anything better to say.
It took approximately two minutes (wherein Draco tripped over his dress twice, and Potter tripped over his dress eighteen times) for them to find their wands. Once adequately armed, they returned to the grey carriage.
“On second thought Father, I feel that I may have left my brooch at home.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,”
“It was awfully expensive — if you’re too tired to look for it, Cindermione here—”
“No!” Potter started. Draco shot him a glare, “uh — no, F—Fat—Fath— Merlin above — Father . I need Hermione to help me with my, uh, dress?”
Draco felt an overwhelming desire to facepalm.
“Very well then, get in the carriage, both of you. What have you done to your clothes!...”
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Granger giving both Potter and him an odd look.
Draco realised, belatedly, that if Granger was Cinderella, He and Potter were both her uglybeautiful stepsisters — one of whom was heart-wrenchingly beautiful, and the other whom looked like a talking ball of hair.
“Psst — Malfoy,”
“What, Potter.”
“We’re the ugly stepsisters,”
“No, Potter — I’m a beautiful stepsister. I’d say that you were the one with personality, but that would be a lie.”
“Oh, because you’re so averse to lying.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“You’re an ugly stepsister, Malfoy.”
“No, Potter. Merlin, use your fucking eyes. Look at me.”
“You’re right, you’re not an ugly stepsister,” Draco narrowed his eyes, “you’re a grotesque stepsister.”
“That was a big word, Potter. Hope it didn’t hurt your brain.”
“Thanks for the well-wishes, Malfoy — nothing hurts.”
“Yes, I forget — for it to hurt, you’d need a brain in the first place.”
A knock resounded on the door of their disgusting bedroom.
“Draco? Harry? It’s Cindermione — I’m here to help with Harry’s dress…”
“Come in, Hermione,” Potter called, sunshine and rainbows leaking out of his arsehole.
Granger entered the room with a suspicious look on her face. Draco walked behind her and slammed the door shut, casting a privacy charm and Colloportus in quick succession. He was left with little patience after having to spend the day in a dress that was an assault on all five senses.
“Sorcery!” Granger whirled on the both of them. “Who are you?! What have you done with my step-sisters?!”
Potter turned to her, “we’ve done nothing, Hermione — I really am Harry, but, uh, it’s complicated,” Potter shot Draco a look.
So, of course, Draco was left with the duty of explaining all it was that required explaining. Typical.
“Sit down, Gra—Hermione.” Granger looked at Draco suspiciously. “Fine then, stand. You’re not allowed to sit ever again.”
“Malfoy, just explain—”
“Shut up, Potter — okay, Hermione — Cindermione — whatever — we’re your step-sister counterparts from an alternate reality. Due to Pot—Harry here being his usual idiotic self, we were transported across the space-time-magic barrier to your reality. As you’ve already seen,” Draco rolled his wand along his fingers, “we’re wizards, but we’re not planning on world-domination or anything horrible,” Draco smirked, “yet.”
“Ignore him. We’re goo— I’m a good person. He’s a bastard. But he’s not evil.” Potter looked over at Draco. “Probably.”
Draco ignored Potter’s inconsequential babble and continued, “I’m afraid I’ve no idea what happened to your actual step-sisters — likely, they ceased to exist — but I’m still trying to get my head around that,” Granger fell back on the bed, “get up Hermione, you’re not allowed to sit.” Granger stood up.
After about thirty seconds, Granger opened her mouth to speak, “... tell me more.”
Draco grinned.
“Okay, so let me get this straight — the world that I’m living in is a mirror image of your world,”
“Uh, no — we live in the future I think,” Potter said.
“Right, okay. So all the people in my world, are the people in your world?” Potter nodded. “Except some of the people in your world possess magic?” Potter nodded. “Okay. So, my world is a rendition of your world?” Potter nodded. “Blimey, okay. And my world is based off a fairytale from your world?” Potter nodded. “And I’m the main heroine of the said fairytale?” Potter nodded. “And you’re both the abusive and ugly stepsisters.” Draco glared at Potter — Potter’s nod faltered.
“No, Granger,” by this point, Draco had explained to Granger the necessity of calling her Granger rather than Hermione, “I’m a beautiful step-sister. Obviously, some things are different from the fairytale.”
Granger’s mouth twitched, “right. So both of you are blood related in your world, as well?”
Potter looked at Granger with a face of indescribable horror.
“No, Granger, you incorrigible buffoon, use your eyes.” Draco spat.
“Right.” Granger had the gall to smile. “And we’re friends in your world?”
“We’re best friends, ‘Mione,” Potter smiled foolishly.
“And Draco? Are we friends?” Granger asked.
“No, you’re my stalker.”
“Right.”
“He’s fucking with you, Hermione. You’re friends — Merlin knows why.”
“Why did you say the word ‘friends’ so weirdly.”
“You used to hate each other,”
“Oh?”
Draco clenched his fist briefly, “I was a horrible child — more horrible than I am now, believe it or not — and I said, and did, several nasty things.”
“What happened?”
Draco smiled wryly. “You slapped me once when we were children, hexed the life out of me as an adult, and I decided, benevolently, to let you stalk me.”
Potter snorted, “he sent you a soppy letter of apology that made you cry, and you had a super long conversation that ended with both of you looking like right ghouls. Now you’re friends — Malfoy has a picture of you two on his desk.”
Draco refused to blush. “Potter’s pathetically in love with your boyfriend’s little sister.”
“Wha— What the fuck, Malfoy?!”
“It’s the truth.”
“It’s not! We broke up! And that was uncalled for!”
Draco turned to look at Granger — look at him, denying his pathetic loser feelings.
Granger looked back at him understandingly. Ah, Granger.
“Malfoy’s in love with this new intern named Astoria!”
“Whatever Potter,”
“So you do like her!”
Draco didn’t actually ‘like her’ in that specific way, but Potter was an idiot and it was fun to manipulate him.
“... So you’re not related?” Granger asked.
“No, ‘Mione, Merlin.”
“Are you dating then?”
Draco threw up in his mouth. It took a considerable while for him to get his bearings back. Potter had paled comically next to him.
“Why would you think that, Granger. Why would you ever think that.”
“Well, you said you were partners—”
“At work, Granger — Merlin-fuck, never say anything so abhorrent ever again.”
“That was disgusting,” Potter said, and for once, Draco agreed.
“Right. So, how are you two going to get back?”
Draco and Potter exchanged a look.
“Well, Hermione, we were kind of hoping you could help us with that…”
“Bibbity-Bobbity-Boo!” Potter said, twirling his wand and swishing his skirt.
Predictably, nothing happened.
“Potter.”
“What, Malfoy.”
“I don’t know what to say to you.”
“Hallelujah.”
“I’ve never met a fool more foolish than you.”
“I’ve never met an arsehole, arsier than you.”
“Arsier’s not a word, fool.”
Potter squinted at Draco’s dress. “Green makes your skin look drab.”
Draco gasped. “Fuck you, Potter.”
“Only in your dreams.”
“Don’t steal my comebacks!”
Granger looked over at the both of them, “how old are you two again?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Subtract twenty from that, if you want Potter’s mental age,”
“And add ten to that, to get Malfoy’s mental age,”
Draco scoffed, “Potter, you uncultured swine — the Granger in this reality doesn’t know what a Twelvie is,”
“So?”
“So,” Draco drawled, “your rebuttal is ineffectual.”
“Do you use big words on purpose because you think they make you sound smart?”
“I use big words on purpose because I know they make me sound smart,”
A voice called from downstairs, “Draco, Harry! It’s time to go to the ball!”
Potter grimaced — as if he shamelessly believed, despite being the reason they were in this fucking mess, that he retained the right to grimace.
Draco huffed and began to rapidly transfigure the clothes and shoes in his wardrobe.
“Here, Granger — wear this and sneak out, once we’ve left,”
Granger looked up at him, “thank you, Draco — these are the loveliest clothes I’ve ever seen,”
Draco scowled at Granger and took back the bundle he’d given her. He transfigured the purple, cotton dress to a richer, burgundy silk, and the leather heels to delicate glass stilettos.
“Here.” Draco said, roughly.
“Draco, you absolute dear!” Granger cried, hugging the bundle to her chest.
“Oh shut up, you emotional sod.”
Potter gave Draco an incredulous look, “says you.”
“I will hurt you.”
“Ooh. I’m terrified.”
“You think you’re amusing, Potter.”
“I know I’m amusing, Malfoy,” Potter smirked. What a wanker.
“You’re not very honest, Draco,” Granger smiled.
“I’m perfectly honest — hey, Potter,”
“...What, Malfoy.”
“You’re ugly.”
“...”
“See? I’m the very epitome of honesty.”
Granger laughed. Although Draco would rather hug Potter again than admit this out loud, in that moment, seeing this strange, shuttered Granger laugh unreservedly — his shrivelled, black heart felt infinitesimally warmer.
And then Potter — also referred to as the Bane Of Draco’s Existence — opened his mouth, “Hey, Malfoy.”
Draco ignored him.
Potter — of course — continued, “whatever you say, whatever you are.”
Now, Draco was an intelligent man. Draco was a very intelligent man. Throughout a majority of his Hogwarts education he’d come second to only Granger herself (excluding sixth and seventh year, in which his life was consumed by a fucking psychopath.)
He’d passed his auror exams with flying colours, and if it weren’t for that little black mark on his resumé (Prior Occupation: Death Eater) he’d be on his way to the top of the auror hierarchy.
Yet despite all that, despite his obviously superior IQ, it had somehow slipped his mind that if Granger was Cinderella, in this horrible, twisted world, Weasel was the prince.
And so Draco stood, in abject horror, staring at the mass of red hair standing on the raised dais above the ballroom.
Weasel. Was. The. Prince.
“Shut your mouth, Malfoy.”
“Stop breathing forever, Potter.”
“Don’t be a bitch.”
“Weasel’s the Prince. I can be whatever I want.”
“May I request of this beautiful lady, a dance?” Asked someone whose name Draco had already forgotten.
Draco smiled politely. “Thank you, but I’ll have to refuse,”
The someone-or-the-other didn’t know how to take a hint, “not even a waltz?”
“I’m flattered, but I’m afraid not,”
The whatshisname laughed, “there’s no need to be shy, my dear lady,”
Draco wanted, dearly, to punch this man in the face. He wondered if this was what it was like for all women. No wonder Pansy was so vicious. Draco vowed to buy her a new bag as soon as he made it back home — to a universe where life made sense, and Weasel wasn’t royalty.
“I’m not being shy, my good sir. Let me humbly refuse you again,”
“What a lovely minx you are,” Whatshisface chuckled.
Draco nearly sneered. (His good breeding won out, but just barely.) It was obvious that this man was very unfortunately disillusioned with the belief that no woman could resist his charms. Draco wondered what he had to do to get this insufferable moron off his back.
“Perhaps my sister can interest you in a dance, instead?” Draco said, gesturing towards Potter (who stood next to the buffet table, stuffing his face).
Whadyoumacallit grinned, “she was the one who recommended you to me in the first place!”
Draco froze.
“She said that you’d be shy,” Whateverhisnamewas said, coyly.
Draco wasn’t sure what irritated him more — the fact that Potter was going around recommending him to people, or the fact that this arrogant slug had very obviously approached Potter (of all people!) before Draco.
Draco smiled with all the vitriol he possessed. “Sir, I have repeatedly refused your advances,” Whyishestillbotheringme flinched, “I’m afraid you’re deeply mistaken if you believe I’m refusing you because I’m shy. Rather, I’m refusing you because my mother instilled in me a deep appreciation for etiquette. If I was less well-mannered, I would have long ago done something very rude indeed,”
Whenwillheleavemealone flushed deeply and began to turn away, “ill-mannered hag,”
Draco laughed coldly and gave Thankmerlinhesleavingmealonenow a look which said, as clear as glass: I could ruin your life, you worm.
MayIneverhavethemisfortuneofmeetinghimagain paled and hurried away.
Draco turned to a middle-aged man standing a few steps away from him, “excuse me, Sir? My name’s Draco Malfoy, it’s lovely to meet you. I’m here on behalf of my sister — she’s the tall, black-haired one at the buffet table — she was admiring your coat earlier—”
Let the games begin, Potter.
“Hey, Potter—”
“Don’t speak to me.”
“Don’t interrupt me — why is Weasel not approaching Granger?”
“I don’t want to speak to you.”
“I don’t have time to celebrate right now — quickly, do something about Weasel,”
“Malfoy!”
“What?”
“You— UGH!”
“My, you’re feeling particularly eloquent today,”
“How could you make all those old men think I wanted to marry them?!”
“I didn’t make them think that,”
“Wha—”
“I made them think you wanted to sleep with them,”
“Malfoy!”
“Did you not want to sleep with them?” Draco asked, innocently.
“UGH!”
“Don’t be boring, Potter.”
Potter ran his hands through his fur hair in frustration.
“Do something, Potter!” Draco hissed, filled with fear that if Weasel never got his act together he’d be stuck in this godforsaken world forever.
“Give him time, you knob,”
“How much time does he need?! Entire empires have fallen in less bloody time!”
“Oh shut up, Malfoy — it took you six months to talk to that cute mailman—”
“Stop bringing up the past!”
“Then stop being impatient.”
Draco shut his mouth and turned back towards Weasel. He was staring like a creep at Granger — who looked stunning, and was consequently garnering the attention of all the eligible bachelors in attendance — but had made no move to talk to her. Draco groaned. Weasel was such a bloody loser.
“Potter — do something!”
“Rearranging your command doesn’t make it any more effective.”
“He’s never going to talk to her at this rate!”
“He will, just wait,”
“The transfiguration ends at midnight!”
“No it doesn’t, shut up.”
Draco scowled.
“Finally, Weasel!”
Weasel had finally (finally!) approached Granger. Granger blushed prettily (for someone so very intelligent, she had truly horrendous taste in men.)
They — Granger and Weasel — began to make their way to an isolated balcony. Potter smirked, and as such Draco assumed that this progress was something good rather than a point of concern. (Although if Draco was completely honest, he felt deeply uncomfortable with the creepy look Weasel had had on his Weasel-face prior to leading Granger to a socially isolated location.)
“Malfoy,”
“What?”
“I think that’s Lavender Brown,”
Draco snapped his head towards the unmistakable brunette who was making her way after Granger and Weasel.
Draco cursed lowly. “Follow me, Potter.”
“Ooh, Malfoy — a man of action!”
“I will tear your testicles off,”
“Ooh, Malfoy, you manly man of action!”
Draco scowled at Potter and began to make his way towards Brown.
“Excuse me, are you Miss Lavender Brown?” Draco asked, blocking her path.
Brown looked up at Draco, “yes, I am — and you are?”
“Draco Malfoy, it’s a pleasure to meet you,”
“Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you too — unfortunately, I’m in the middle of something important—”
“You have the loveliest eyes, Miss Lavender,” said Potter, from Draco’s side.
(Draco rolled his eyes.)
Brown blushed (Draco rolled his eyes even harder — Gryffindors.) “And who might you be?”
“Harry Potter — it’s lovely to be of acquaintance,” Potter grinned, looking a bit like he had to go wee.
“It’s lovely to be of acquaintance, Miss Harry — I daresay your eyes are lovely as well,”
“Nowhere near as lovely as yours, surely,”
Brown laughed shrilly.
(Draco thought his eyes were lovelier than either Brown’s or Potter’s.)
(Okay, fine, that wasn’t completely true. Because the universe was an awful place, Potter was very unfairly in possession of nice eyes.)
Draco realised, belatedly, that Potter was trying to flirt with Brown. He grimaced.
“Let’s make plans to meet at a later date, Miss Harry — currently, I’m in the middle of something very important—”
Draco bit back his laughter at seeing Potter’s awkward flirting fail. “Where to, Miss Brown?”
“Oh, just after Prince Ron,”
‘Prince Ron’. Merlin, Merlin above. Prince Ron. Draco had to get out of this place.
“Wouldn’t you rather spend time with me?” Draco asked, smirking slightly, and putting as much charm as possible into his demeanour.
Brown stared at him open-mouthed for a while, “u—uh, s—sure, Mi—Miss Draco,”
Draco’s smirk widened.
“M—maybe at a l—later date, though — Prince Ron—”
Draco’s jaw dropped. Potter began to laugh into his fist.
Draco was sick and tired of this fucking reality. “Stupefy!”
Potter caught Brown in his arms as she fell forward, “awe Malfoy, did Lavender hurt your manly man feelings?”
Draco snarled at Potter and vowed to tear the wings of the faerie-bastard who had imprisoned them in this crazy, twisted world.
“Potter!”
“What.”
“They’re kissing!”
“Okay.”
“Show some enthusiasm, you toad.”
Potter made a noncommittal noise. Granger and Weasel continued to kiss. And kiss. And kiss. And kiss.
“Merlin, he’s trying to eat her face.”
“Yup.”
“Do something, Potter.”
“Like what? Break them apart? And consign us to this universe forever?”
“Merlin Potter, I didn’t know you had a brain,”
Potter rolled his eyes. Granger and Weasel’s weirdly disturbing open-mouthed kisses were increasing in intensity by the minute. Draco felt extremely uncomfortable. And then, Draco saw Weasel’s wandering hands.
“Potter!”
“Yes, Malfoy, they’re probably going to have sex on that balcony,”
“Weasel can’t do that!”
“Uh? He can?”
“He’s a prince!”
“He’s Ron, Malfoy.”
And Draco didn’t really have a response to that.
“Fuck you, Potter.”
“Stop taking your frustration out on me.”
“Why is Weasel so filthy.”
Potter sighed. “Why are you so embittered.”
Two can play at that game. “Why are you such a toad.”
“Why are you so pointy.”
“Why are you so stupid.”
“Why are you so awkward with your feelings.”
“Woah.”
“Too far?”
Draco sniffed.
“Sorry, Malfoy — why are you so stuck up.”
“Why are you so scared of commitment.”
“Woah.”
“Wow, you commitment-phobe.”
“Hey!”
“Apologising is for the weak.”
“'Dear Potter, I would like to offer my sincere apologies for all I’ve ever do—’ ”
“You memorised my apology letter?!”
“I did, you weakling.”
Draco gave Potter a disdainful look. “I hate you, Potter.”
Potter laughed, “what an overreaction,”
Draco scowled.
Granger attempted to sneak back home at five am the next morning. Little did she know that Draco was in her bedroom waiting for her, wand in hand and hour-long lecture on the tip of his tongue.
“OHMYGO— Draco?! What are you doing here? And why are you waiting in the darkness??”
“Don’t question me young lady. Where were you last night.”
“Wh— That’s none of your business, I’m old enough to make my own decisions—”
“Who taught you to sleep with a man on the first date.”
“Oh my god, where’s Harry.”
“You have severely, severely disappointed me Granger. You’re grounded.”
“What? You can’t ground me.”
“Don’t talk back to me.”
“Have you been waiting in my room all night?! Oh my god, you’ve gone crazy, where’s Harry—”
“You are grounded!”
“Harry!”
“I think Draco’s lost his mind, Harry.”
“Nah, he’s always been barmy,”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it — hey, Malfoy,”
“What, Potter.” Draco spat.
“Stop overreacting, you loser.”
“I’m not overreacting, you toad.”
Potter turned to Granger, “see? He’s fine.”
Draco scowled.
“I left my shoe at Prince Ron’s place, by the way,”
This news gave Draco unbridled joy, “Granger, you intelligent girl!”
“Okay, maybe he's going a little crazy,”
It took Weasel two bloody weeks to get his shit together and find Granger.
The entire time, Draco lay festering in his room, planning the minutiae of the torture he would inflict on the faerie-bastard.
“Malfoy.”
“What.”
“Stop overreacting.”
“I’m not overreacting.”
“Yes, you are. This place isn’t that bad—”
“Man-pig told me to tell you that he’s taking you on a spa retreat tomorrow,”
“Oh my fucking god, this place is the fucking worst—”
“Stop overreacting, Potter,”
“Why do I have to make her wear her shoe, again?” Weasel asked.
“Because you want you keep your testicles intact.” Draco said, calmly.
Weasel looked scandalised, “You do know that I’m a prince, right?”
“I could destroy you without moving a single inch of my body.”
Weasel turned towards Potter, “is he in his right mind.”
“Put the fucking shoe on her fucking foot, Ron.”
Weasel threw his hands in the air, “okay, fine, we’ll just ignore lèse-majesté, I guess,”
Draco opened his eyes abruptly. Robards’ face looked back at him.
“Robards!”
“Malfoy, are you alright—”
Draco grabbed Robards’ face and kissed him on the cheek.
“What the fuck, Malfoy.”
From somewhere to the side, Potter’s voice called out, “Robards!”
“Po—Potter? Uh, are you alr—”
Potter ran towards Robards, and threw himself at him, kissing him on the other cheek.
“What the fuck had gotten into you two—”
Draco looked around — they were in the exact same place they'd been in before they’d been trapped in that hell. “Where’s the faerie?”
Potter swivelled his head to the side, “there!”
On a cage on the floor lay the faerie-bastard who was responsible for all that Draco had gone through.
“Ah~ ‘Tis the young-uns, Didst thou enjoy thyself in the land of faerietayles~?”
“Robards.”
“... Yes, Malfoy,”
“Close your eyes, I’m going to kill that bastard,”
“Wai— Malfoy!”
“Close your eyes, Robards — it’ll only take a minute,” Potter said.
“Potter! Wha— wait! Hey, wait, I said — hey! — Incarcerous!”
“Stop squirming, Potter.” Draco snarled.
“I’ll stop squirming if you get your fucking elbow out of my face,” grit Potter.
“Oh, but it’s so much fun shoving my elbow up your nose,”
“Stop being sarcastic,”
“I’m being serious.”
“You are?”
“No, you fucking toad, I’m being sarcastic.”
Robards sighed heavily from the side. “You both disappeared for thirty seconds. Thirty seconds.”
Draco shot Robards a wounded look. “Unbind me Robards.”
“No.”
Draco inhaled a deep breath, and then let it out in one go. “This is your fault, Potter!”
“No, Malfoy — this is your fault!”
“Fuck you, Potter!”
“Only in your nightmares, Malfoy!”
“You useless fuck, you got the order wrong!”
“Fuck you, Malfoy!”
“Only in my nightmares!”
“Wait, I’m getting kind of confused—”
Robards pinched the bridge of his nose.