Strangers Can Change Everything

The guests began to slowly leave and retire in the early hours of the morning. Drunken gestures of thanks were acknowledged by Narcissa and Lucius as they watched their guests depart. Draco made his way back into the hall that was now empty with the exception of a few maids and wizard cleaners. He walked across the floor, his footsteps echoing on the hard marble. He could hear the orchestra beginning to pack up in the next room. The spell holding up the fireflies around the windows was beginning to dwindle in strength as the insects began to drop one by one. Draco made his way to the courtyard to join his parents.

Narcissa was talking to Mrs. Laitten, the housekeeper about how many guests were staying and the number of staff and house elves that would be needed. Lucius was shaking hands with the last of the guests that were leaving tonight.

"Such a splendid night Lucius, thanks ever so much." Mr. Bulstrode shook Mr. Malfoy's hand heartily.

Mrs. Bulstrode waved farewell behind him and clambered into the waiting carriage. Millicent said her goodbyes, desperately trying to hide the grass stains on her dress.

"See you soon, Frank," Lucius said as the carriage began to pull away. Mr. Malfoy walked slowly up the stairs towards his wife and son.

"Dreadful family, those Bulstrodes are," he commented matter-of-factly. "Pretending to be a respectable family with hardly a drop of unsoiled blood left in them."

Narcissa said nothing, and Draco stood with his hands deep in his pockets and merely watched his father. Lucius stood facing out onto the courtyard, his figure silhouetted against the light from the serpent fountain. A slight glint of his silver hair in the moonlight was the only colour that could be seen.

"Are the guests all being looked after, Narcissa?" he asked without turning around.

"It is all sorted," she answered calmly.

"Good."

Draco watched his mother look up at her husband from where she was standing; she waited to answer her husband's next question, demand, or order.

"Has the brandy that Mr. Parkinson requested been sent up?"

"Yes."

"And the maid that Luke Louis wished to see?"

"It has been done, Lucius, just as you asked," Narcissa looked suddenly very tired.

There was a moment's pause, and then Lucius turned to face his wife.

"We must retire, Narcissa, it has been a long night. I hope that your night has not been too bad, Draco. You must get used to this though, it is what you were born to do."

Lucius put his arm on Narcissa's waist, and they walked back into the house.

"Good night, Draco," his mother said softly as she disappeared through the door.

Draco glanced at the bright stars above; it was a very clear night. He sighed deeply and followed his parents inside, shutting the oak doors behind him. He watched his parents climb the stairs towards their room and saw his mother lean her weary head on Lucius's strong shoulder. Lucius turned a corner, supporting his wife, and they were gone. Draco shook his head. He could never figure his parents out; the love that crossed between them was a strange one but Draco knew that there was something there, even if it hurt more than healed.

Draco rubbed his forehead. He was very tired and his muscles were urging him to go to bed, but his mind was buzzing with life. He wandered aimlessly across the dark hallway past all the snoring portraits of his grandfathers and uncles, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. He opened a small door that was concealed in the walls, virtually invisible, but he found it easily, he had lived in this old house all his life. The door led to a set of small, wooden servant stairs. Draco sauntered down them and into one of the house's old cellar rooms. The cold stone room was empty but had four connecting doors. One door led to the washing rooms where all of Malfoy Manor's laundry went. Two led to the huge kitchens and Draco could hear the servants and house elves still hard at work, cleaning and preparing for tomorrow's breakfast. Draco cared little for the activities of the staff. He went to the fourth and furthest door and placed his strong palm on the wood. He drew his hand away and the spot where he had placed his hand, burned red and the handle turned independently, swinging the thick door open slowly. As the door opened it revealed hundreds of shelves full of bottles of all shapes and sizes lining the entire pentagon shaped room. As he entered, the medieval torches that hung on each wall began to flare up, casting shadows around the cellar, and a dim orange light. There were so many different kinds, blues, greens, the traditional reds and whites, bottles that steamed slightly and ones that vibrated. The great oak shelves ran along each of the five stone walls, some tilting dangerously, straining under the weight of all of the bottles and layers of dust.

Four-foot high barrels stood randomly in the centre. Draco walked alongside one of the rows of shelves, running his finger quickly over the many labels until he stopped, taking a step back and looked up to the top shelf that was at least five feet above him, at the top of the domed ceiling.

Draco removed his wand from his back pocket and aimed it at a bottle that had a red tinted colour under the layers of dust.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The bottle quivered and then lifted, perfectly balanced from its perch. Draco directed it with his wand and caught it in his right hand, stowing away his wand again, in his back pocket where he always kept it.

1913 red French wine, the perfect drink to end the night with, Draco thought as he made his way out of the cellar, the door closed automatically behind him. He began to climb the old rickety stairs back up to the hallway again when a house elf scuttled down and dodged through Draco's legs.

"Bloody hell!" he yelled. "Don't you vermin ever stop running!?" He stared coldly at the pathetic creature that had turned suddenly and begun trembling.

"I is so terribly sorry, Master Malfoy!" the little elf sobbed, bowing down so low that his crooked nose was squashed on the cold stone floor, "I was just coming to fetch some glasses and a bottle of wine for Master Zanbini and Miss Ostivia. Please forgive me!"

So Blaise is now trying to get his bride drunk, no doubt.

Draco sighed deeply. Blaise didn't even know how lucky he was. It was a pity that Arabella's intelligence and wit would have to be wasted on such a pompous idiot as Blaise. If only I was the one up there, sharing a glass of wine with Miss Ostivia who knows where things could lead to. Draco suddenly snapped out of his train of thought. This girl had left too much of an impression on him, and he wasn't used to people doing that.

"Master?" the house-elf asked timidly. Draco realised that his silence had gone on too long.

"Just go," Draco commanded, "but bring me up a glass as well. I will be in my room, and make it quick!"

Draco turned around swiftly, with a grace that many could, and would, never master. He began to ascend the stairway and made his way towards his room.

During Draco's wanderings to the cellar, three floors up, Miss Arabella Ostivia was preparing for bed, glad that she'd been able to excuse herself early from the festivities and avoid Blaise and her father for a few hours.

She had gone straight into the connecting bathroom when she had found her room and turned on the silver taps to run a bath. After disabling the spells that held her dress in place and wriggling free of it, she managed to finally relax, listening to the murmur of the guests who were two floors below. She was quite impressed with the amazing luxury and style found in all of Malfoy Manor. Even the bathrooms were superbly decorated in silver and cream with green bottles filled with different toiletries and the large bathtub situated in the centre of the room. All of the surfaces gleamed in the light that came from the elaborate chandelier that hung in the middle of the ceiling, hovering unattached.

As the sounds of the party began to die down Arabella got out of the now almost cold water and put on the single cream robe that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door. There was a light knock on the door of the other room and Arabella went to answer it as she cast a spell to quick dry her wet hair.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"It's your room maid, ma'am," came a little voice.

Arabella was used to living with servants but had never had a 'room maid'. She wasn't quite sure what to do, so she invited her in.

A girl, only a few years older than Arabella with brown curled hair that was pinned up came in, dressed in a traditional black and white uniform. She bowed and introduced herself as Arabella's personal servant, Lucy. She was very petite and had a friendly manner. She asked if everything in the room was to her liking and checked that Miss Ostivia's entire set of luggage had been put in the room.

"Yes, yes, it's all wonderful, thank you," Arabella replied.

"Lord Lucius also wanted to make sure that you didn't requests anything else in particular. May be a light snack or drink, perhaps?" Lucy went on to say simply.

"I'm quite alright thank you, the hospitality has been more than overly generous," Arabella smiled thankfully.

"Ok then, ma'am. I'll see you tomorrow when I'll come to help you dress and prepare for the day."

Arabella was just about to thank Lucy kindly but mention that she could get ready by herself easily. However, the girl had already disappeared out of the door.

Arabella shrugged and walked over to the open French-windows that led to her small balcony. She sat down on the stone ledge, curling her legs underneath her. She wrapped her silk dressing gown around herself a little tighter. She was very high up and the wind had grown cold in the darkness. She could see the whole of Malfoy Manor's front grounds that were richly decorated with luscious plants and perfectly trimmed trees, it looked very beautiful. Her golden hair flew across her face, and she did not hear the knock at her room's door and she missed the sounds of her father entering to see her.

"Arabella!" a distant voice shouted at her. "Get off there! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

She turned around to meet her father's face mixed with anger and concern as he caught her shoulders, pulling her down from the ledge violently.

"Father...what...?" she exclaimed as he bundled her back through the doors into the warm of her room.

"What were you thinking of?" he gasped, standing high above her.

"I just, just... I was perfectly safe, honestly Father!" she pleaded.

Her father was a large man at six foot four, with broad shoulders under his smart black dress robes and a strong face. His deep brown eyes glared at her from beneath his dark fringe that always fell over his eyes.

"You could have fallen! I don't want you doing that! Do you here me?"

Arabella stared at her feet. Her father was so overprotective, but then so determined to have her do everything properly, no matter how she felt.

"Yes, I'm sorry," she spoke quietly, but her eyes burnt with rebellious instinct. How she wanted to shout back at him, explaining that she could look after herself well enough. But as her father always did, he missed the fire burning in her blues eyes as he straightened out his ruffled robes.

His voice grew calmer and his eyes less fierce. He looked at her with what could have been fatherly love, but Arabella knew that he was not capable of such a feeling, he only treated her fairly if she was doing what he said, acting respectably, doing what was right for the family.

"It's alright. Now, after that bit of excitement, I came to see if you were feeling better, I would have come earlier but Lucius and I lost track of time, we had some very.... important issues to discuss."

He sat down on one of the green and cream coloured armchairs on the far side of the room, helping himself to a glass of champagne that sat in an ice bucket on the dresser. Arabella sat on one of the chairs opposite him. She looked at his huge form in front of her. Her father crossed his legs and held his glass loosely in his left hand. He sat in a chair a few feet in front of her but she could feel his presence closing in on her, his strict attitudes, his expectant stare that haunted her every dream and waking moment. He sipped lazily on his glass and looked down at her.

"You definitely made a good impression towards Lucius, even if you were feeling slightly under the weather," her father chuckled, leaning forward and tipping her chin proudly.

She tried to smile but her father had just proved her assumption again that he could only be affectionate towards her if she was being the perfect daughter to impress people with.

He was just as bad as everyone else. He hardly knew her. Not the real her. No one knew the real Arabella, well may be the Malfoy son who she had told things to that no one else knew, there was something about him that made her want him to know everything. Her thoughts strayed, remembering Draco but then she glanced up at her father and she remembered how even he knew nothing of her. She had never shown him the real her because it was not what he wanted to see. He did not want a daughter who was more intelligent than most of the other people in the room, or a daughter who spoke her mind inappropriately. She slouched a little and she looked down at the floor forlornly.

"Tired, my dear?" he questioned, seeing her weary expression, though he asked with little care for her actual answer.

"It has been a long night, Father."

"Yes, well you'd better get your beauty sleep then. We'll be dining with the Malfoys, Zanbinis and Parkinsons tomorrow for dinner. The Crabbe and Goyles will no doubt come along, not that they are wanted, but oh well!"

Mr. Ostivia gulped down the rest of his drink and was just beginning to get up when he heard Arabella sigh, but this sigh was full of resentment and unenthusiasm, even he could not miss that.

Arabella did it before she could stop herself. She was so tired and the thought of dining tomorrow with people she was thankful of leaving after only being in their company for a few hours made her want the night to never end. She raised her eyes reluctantly up to meet her father's gaze.

"What was that?" he asked sternly.

"Nothing father, honestly, I was just stifling a yawn, I am terribly tired," she tried to cover, but her voice trembled as she knew that the angry look that her father was wearing could never be changed by her simple pleas.

"No, no, I think that that was a sigh. A half-hearted approach to how you should be acting," he spoke, his eyes flashing with annoyance.

She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised his hand to silence her and she did so.

"You should be thrilled to be dining with such fine company! To have the chance to make a further good impression on someone as great as Lord Lucius, to sit by the Zanbinis, your future in-laws, to sit by Blaise to show your loyalty to him, your devotion to become a good wife!"

"But I don't want to become a good wife to him!" Arabella could hold it in no longer. But as soon as the words escaped her usually tightly closed lips her hand flew up to her mouth, to do the impossible and push back the sentence that she knew would only make matters worse.

There was a moment of silence, and Arabella could almost feel the intensity of her words bouncing off the cream walls that surrounded her.

"What has gotten into you?" her father questioned in a now calm voice.

His change in tone frightened Arabella deeply. Her father walked up to her, not waiting for her answer until he was looking down into her face from inches above.

"I...I...I didn't mean...I..." Arabella stuttered. She lost all of her usual composure. Her control so easily swept away by the one man who she had feared all of her life, the one man she had once loved as her father.

"Of course you didn't mean it, my dear," he whispered to her as he cupped her chin with his strong fingers. "You are feeling ill. That is what is wrong. You will be a good daughter and get some rest. You will be a good bride and sit by Blaise and look at him lovingly. You will be a good guest to the Malfoys, only speaking when spoken to and always looking your best. Talking of Blaise, he is on his way to see you and you will behave, whether you are ill or not. You have a duty to do. You will do this because you are my daughter. Great blood flows in your veins and I will not see it tainted by bad discipline. Do you understand?"

Arabella looked into her father's eyes that sat hard as stone just above her, she could feel the movement of air that her father's eyelashes made when he blinked. His strong jaw hovered just above her, his young good looks fading with age, grey creeping amongst his dark hairs. She nodded slowly, tears beginning to brim in her eyes.

"Of course you understand, Arabella." He kissed her forehead and released her chin. "I don't know what got into you tonight but you will be better in the morning. Goodnight."

The pine-scented door with black steel doorknobs closed loudly behind him. Arabella stood where he had left her and the tears streamed silently down her face.

For a minute or two, Arabella let herself cry the heavy tears that had built up behind her eyelashes for many months. Her father always left her feeling miserable about something or other, but he hadn't acted as he had tonight for a long time. The only time she could remember him being so intimidating was when she had been eleven and had told him about wanting to go to one of her friend's birthday parties. He had been fine, not really interested, that was before he learnt that her friend was a muggle. Her father had almost throttled her when he heard that she'd been associating with 'such filth' as he put it. She had been locked in her room for two weeks, with no visitors until her father had decided that she had learnt her lesson. But even that incident hadn't left her as shaken as she was now, she had been more confused at eleven years old, not so miserable.

Arabella drew a deep breath, which caught in her throat and became a sob, but she wiped her eyes with her dressing gown sleeves determined to regain some composure. But her sobs broke through quietly and she curled up on the corner of the bed, her head resting on the bedpost, thoughts of anger and bitterness swarming her mind. She sat huddled on the green sheets in the middle of her huge room; the only sound came from the crackling of the wood in the stone fireplace opposite the French windows. You'll be rid of him soon enough, her mind told her. Just a few more months perhaps. This comforted her a little. She sighed deeply, and turned her head catching a glimpse in the dresser mirror of her small figure wrapped fully in cream silk. Her eyes were slightly red, and she almost laughed at how depressing she looked.

A hard knock at the door startled her. She made no sound, hoping that if it were her father returning, he would think that she had fallen asleep.

The knock sounded again, and the door slowly opened. Arabella did not turn around to greet the visitor; she did not want anyone to see her in this state.

"Arabella?" came a cautious, young male voice. That was not her father's voice she thought.

"Arabella? Are you alright?" the voice asked again. This time, Arabella recognised it. It was Blaise. She had forgotten that her father had mentioned him coming to see her. He was the one person that she definitely did not want to see. She stayed curled up on the bed, facing away from him, hoping that he would get the hint and go away.

She heard his footsteps grow closer and he placed a hand on her shoulder. She almost flinched under his touch but she managed to remain still. Please go away, Blaise, she pleaded silently to herself.

"Arabella?" Blaise asked again, with a slight hint of concern in his voice that Arabella had never heard before.

"Blaise... I... this is not a great time." she finally managed to answer, but her voice cracked at the end and she could not hold in an inevitable sob. His presence just reminded her of her doomed situation again.

He sat next to her and the bed tilted slightly under his weight. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him gazing at her but she refused to look at him and another sob escaped her.

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly, "Are you still unwell; should I call for a medi-wizard?"

She shook her head. She did not need another person worrying over her. She tried to avoid Blaise's stare but she could see his eyes trying to search her face that was hidden behind her loose hair.

"Do you want me to get your father? Could he help?" he suggested.

"No, no! Don't get my father!" Arabella said frantically. She could not avoid looking up at him as she spoke and his eyes met her own cried out ones. He looked at her for a moment.

"OK, I won't get your father, but I don't understand what's going on. Please don't cry." Blaise spoke with genuine concern as he raised his hand to push her hair behind her ear, away from her face.

"You're trembling," Blaise noted. "I'll ask a house elf to bring us some warm emberwine, that will help you."

Blaise clicked his fingers and a house elf with a crooked nose and wearing a mouldy looking rag appeared from the air. He hastily disappeared after hearing Blaise's order. Blaise turned his attention back to Arabella.

Arabella stared at him sadly. She could not stop her tears, and Blaise's behaviour was strange to her. He had never worried about her or shown any affection towards her in this manner. She had been so wary of him before, but she sorely needed some care, a soothing voice, someone to comfort her. So when Blaise drew closer to her and wrapped his strong arms around her shaking torso, she clung to him as he held her and she sobbed into his shoulder.

He hardly said a word, but for a few questions about who or what had made her so upset. When she did not answer he just stroked her long hair through his fingers, as her sobs grew quieter.

Arabella had never needed anyone before, but at the moment she could not stop holding to Blaise's warm shirt. Even after she had stopped crying she still leant into his collarbone, forgetting all of the times when she had thought that being this close to Blaise would have been one of the worst experiences she could encounter. Finally, she sat up away from him and wiped her eyes one last time.

"I am sorry," she said softly. "I did not mean to act like that."

He smiled at her and she began to move slowly off of the bed but a firm hand on her waist stopped her from moving too far. She looked up at Blaise questioningly.

"You are still not fully recovered. Stay a moment." He answered her gaze.

She was thankful for his support, but crying had exhausted her further and she longed to squirm under the thick blankets and let her tired mind experience into the ease of sleep. She pulled away again, thanking Blaise but telling him that she just wanted to go to bed now. But his hand restrained her again.

"I think that I should stay, to make sure that you are alright. Any willing husband would do the same, we might as well act as we will in the future."

Blaise pulled her closer, and she felt suddenly panicked; his light cologne that had smelled so warm and good suddenly seemed too sharp and overwhelming. She hadn't meant to lead him on. She had just wanted a comforting shoulder to cry on but she knew that she would be able to recover on her own, with a father like her's she was used to it. But Blaise did not seem to think that she could, or else he had other intentions.

"Blaise, thank you for staying with me, but I am fine, I was just being dramatic," she lied to try and make him leave.

"No, you seemed truly upset, not just dramatic, I've never seen you like that before. I'll be here for you. Like husband and wife. But you must remember that a relationship is a two way thing."

As he spoke he leaned towards her, smoothing back a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She looked into his hazel eyes that stared back at her; she was frozen to the spot. Her mind went blank, but fury and panic creeped into the corners of her brain, warning her, but not quickly enough. Blaise's eyes then lowered to look down into her eyes and she went to protest but Blaise leant forward towards her mouth that was parted in confusion and he kissed her. Alarms sounded in her head. What was he doing? She had wanted comfort, but hadn't expected to have to return his kindness like this. Blaise stopped kissing her, and his hands relaxed their grip on her waist, sensing her reluctance. She took advantage of the moment and stumbled off of the bed.

Blaise seemed unconcerned with her reaction as he smiled slightly at her as he also stood up.

"Won't you be there for me as well, Arabella?" he asked with a superior smile. "Won't you act like my wife?" He advanced towards her and she could not believe that he was turning the situation around to get what he wanted. The dislike that she had felt for him before turned to hate but it was also mingled with hints of fear. His eyes flicked over her figure and she clutched the opening at the top of her dressing gown, her eyes darting around for the quickest escape, like a wild, trapped animal.

Her mind was too confused to fight back. She could not think of any intelligent snipe to say that would make Blaise turn away, too annoyed and concerned for his dignity to pursue her. She stumbled backwards away from him, knocking over a little footstool and tripping on the carpet as she went.

The strong, defiant person that she was could not save her and the innocent image that she had perfected over the years was no help now.

Her former self had vanished. The cold and collected inner-self, the girl who obeyed her father to stay out of trouble, the girl who had diminished Blaise's advances for so long, with her mocking tone that used to dent his arrogant pride so directly that he'd almost always stopped and left her alone.

Her father's visit had left her open in a moment of weakness, torn down by his fierceness, and Blaise had used it to his advantage.

Fresh tears filtered from her wide sorrowful eyes and down her white cheeks. If she screamed, no one would come. Blaise looked at her expectantly and his gaze chilled her to the heart. You've always been able to deal with him, she told herself. But as she watched him walk over to her, smiling, enjoying her more vulnerable state, the reality of her imprisoned situation crashed down on her. Everyone who surrounded her only wanted her to be what everyone wanted. Their supposed love for her was corrupt by their own selfishness.

She backed away as far as possible, until she hit the hard dresser and could go no further. Blaise continued to slowly follow her hungrily, his eyes never leaving her face. He came up in front of her and looked down from above as her father had done earlier. His head leant to one side and he whispered in her ear as he held her back against the dresser, his hands gripping the sides of her hips.

"I love you, Arabella, and I know that you love me back, and a loving wife should do what she is expected to do, don't you agree?" he whispered.

Arabella shuddered as one of his hands roamed up her side and round to the nape of her neck where he held her head up to look at him.

"Don't you think, Arabella?" he continued.

She swallowed nervously, unable to give an answer, her hands scraping alone the dresser top, searching for something, anything, a weapon.

"Are you listening to me?" His voice suddenly grew harsh and impatient as he pushed her against the dresser painfully.

"Yes, yes..." she managed to whisper.

"Good."

He smiled at his achievement of getting her to agree with him. His eyes wandered over her face again and she lowered her eyes, disgusted at the way he was studying her.

"You are very beautiful. I don't want to hurt you; I just want to love you," he said and then he leaned in to kiss her again but she turned her face away, his lips only brushed her jawbone. He laughed sinisterly.

"Don't make this difficult for yourself, girl, I've waited too long."

He pulled her chin towards him and his other hand began to tug urgently at the dressing gown material that covered her bare legs. She jerked instinctively and he pressed all of his body weight onto her as he kissed her roughly. She struggled desperately, and when he pulled away to untie her dressing gown cord, she cried out in terror.

"Please Blaise! Don't do this...Please!" her cry ended softly as her words choked in her throat.

"Be quiet!" he whispered angrily as he pulled her towards the bed. His grip returning to her hip, never letting her go. He flung her onto the bed and pounced. She gasped as his full weight pushed down on her and she squirmed as his hot breath sounded in her ear once again.

"Too long you have toyed with me girlie, and too long I have stood for such inappropriate behaviour. Now you will act as you should, I will make you enjoy this just I as I know you want to!" With that he tore at her gown again and she let out another desperate cry as her worst nightmares began to unfold.

Draco was returning from the cellar and wandering down the main hall towards his room that was situated at the end, when he heard a muffled cry from behind one of the many doors that led to the guest bedrooms. He stopped, looked back a little and watched the door that he knew belonged to Miss Ostivia. At first, he did not know what to do but something inside instinctively told him to investigate. He pushed his silver hair out of his eyes and knocked uncertainly on the pine-scented door, leaning against the doorframe leisurely, waiting for an answer.

In the room, Blaise swore violently under his breath and yelled "What?" at the door.

The knocking continued, and he sighed exasperatedly, looking down angrily at Arabella who had just screamed. She stared back at him with eyes full of anger and fear that almost made him flinch, ashamed for being the one for creating that fear. She shifted up the bed as he climbed off her. She was still clothed to his annoyance, and he reluctantly flung open the door.

"What the hell do you want?" he screamed before seeing who stood outside in the corridor.

"Such a splendid greeting, Blaise," Draco drawled sarcastically. "I was simply knocking as anyone trying to get any sleep in this house would have been woken by the noise coming form in here," he lied.

"Oh... I didn't expect it to be you, Draco... I was just, well..." Blaise mumbled, scratching his shoulder embarrassed at his unacceptable greeting to the house's family heir. He tried to tilt the door to one side to hide Arabella who was sat nervously on the bed, clutching her knees to her chest. But Draco saw Blaise glance anxiously over his shoulder and he put out his hand to stop the door and it opened to reveal Miss Ostivia looking very confused and distressed. He took one glance at her torn robe and pleading expression, and Draco knew immediately what had been going on. A surge of unexpected anger ran through him, but he showed no emotion as he spoke.

"Well, Blaise, it appears as if Miss Ostivia is not too happy about your company and this is not your room, so why don't you just leave her and the rest of us to sleep," Draco spoke sternly.

"Oh...sorry, I'll just...um.... go," Blaise responded cautiously as he trudged off down the hall, glancing back at Arabella quickly, his eyes warning her not to mention the events that had almost taken place. He then glared at Draco subtly, annoyed that if anyone else had been at the door he would have told them to bugger off, but to mess with a Malfoy in his own home was not a good idea.

Draco watched Blaise walk away, his lip curled ever so slightly in a disgusted sneer. He then stepped into Arabella's room and closed the door silently behind him, he suddenly felt embarrassed, and had no idea what to say.

Arabella tried to look remotely unaffected and failed miserably. Her tears had stopped as she had gone way beyond crying but her eye's showed how deeply traumatised she was. Draco wanted to ask her if she was all right; he wanted to go and pummel Blaise until he looked just as shaken as Arabella did, sitting huddled on the bed. But he could not think of anything to say. They both knew that Blaise would get away with it, any man would because this was the way their world worked. They both knew that Draco would not always be there to save the day. Blaise would try again and again and one day he would inevitably succeed or they would already be married and Arabella would have no choice. Not that she had much choice now, but after wedding vows, there was no hope at all.

"Did he... will you... shall I go?" Draco finally managed to utter. He rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the sentence, usually he would have been mortified by such foolish words escaping his trained mouth, but that was not the issue at the moment.

"Thank you, Draco, I will be fine," Arabella managed to answer. "He did not do... he did not get far... I just want to sleep... this night is not one that I wish to remember." She lowered her eyes, ashamed to look at him; she did not want anyone to know what had almost happened or how she was not strong enough to stop it.

"I'll leave you then." Draco nodded respectively and ran his hand through his ruffled hair as he opened the door to leave. He looked back only once to see Arabella's small form climbing into the bed, and he was overwhelmed with pity for her. He closed the door and leant back against it. Draco had spent many a time wallowing in the self-pity of his own situation, but tonight had opened his eyes to something much more horrifying that made his life look almost bearable.

The fire torches that lit the hallway cast shadows that danced across his face and highlighted the dark rings that encircled his grey eyes; exhaustion flooded every ounce of his body. His mind became too heavy to deal with as he made his way back to his own room and collapsed into bed; the events of the day flashing across his restless dreams.