The Fall of the House of Malfoy

Part Three:: In Which Climbing Towers is Proven to be a Risky Business.

The young lord woke early the next morning, before the birds could sing the sun out of its slumber, before any other set of eyes in the castle had opened. He dressed himself carefully in his best clothes and could not help a broad smile from creeping across his face as he gazed in a huge gilded mirror. To you, Reader, he may have appeared slightly ridiculous, in boots too big for him, belt too large, waistcoat too embellished for one as small as he, but to his eyes he looked every inch a fabled prince. What care had he that his toes would soon drag, or his waist would soon ache? He was light-hearted at that moment for he was both very much alive (here he stopped and gave a grateful blessing to the old Gypsy) and he was soon to set out on his quest.

His young mind quivered with excitement. What would his first Lady look like? Would she be small? Frail? Delicate? She would be quiet and demure, he decided, for princesses always were and she would need his help for everything and call him Sir Knight and smile rosily at him, with long raven hair and smooth unblemished skin.

He set about practising a suave greeting to his lady love, finally deciding to use an embellished bow and a careful flick of his snowy hair that could usually melt the most hardened old maid into submission. Satisfied, he lay in front of the double glass windows of his chambers and watched the golden fingers creeping across his father's lands, eyes closing in a dreamless sleep long before it had touched the distant dark line of fir trees marking the forest.

And so his young nurse found him, exclaiming loudly at the sight of her sleeping charge sprawled, fully dressed, on the floor.

"My little dragon!" his mother exclaimed, smoothing down his ruffled hair as he was brought to her. "What is the reason for this?!" He looked up gravely at his beautiful mother,

"I fear I cannot tell you, mama," he said, "for then I should be forced to smite you and I would miss you terribly."

The queen smiled to herself and possessing that gift of practicality innate to all mothers, bade the young lord to mind that no dirt should ruin his clothes. The young lord was perhaps deafened by his imagination, for he hardly heard this reminder as he ran gaily to his lessons. The old Latin tutor with his mythical tales that were all true, was suddenly agonisingly slow in speech and had the young lord squirming in his seat with his mind elsewhere, but finally that glorious hour arrived where those mundane tenses could be forgotten and he could run outside.

As he neared the grove of trees, he slowed down his pace, for princes were never out of breath or sweaty in Cook's tales. As he paused by a giant oak to catch his breath, he heard something that brought a smile to his face. A sweet happy melody hung on the breeze, sung by one who was surely an angel. The young lord quickly straightened his boots, hoisted up his belt and marched straight backed into the clearing.

The music died away immediately as the young lord began his embellished introduction.

"Fear not, good lady, for I am Draco Malfoy; son of Lucius, Lord of these lands and I come to keep true my promise to thy mother and defend you..." He slowly stretched back up and flicked his hair out of his eyes with all the flourish he had practised; and stared. He blinked again at the sight before him.

A few curious squirrels stared back at him, before scurrying about a clearing that was unhappily and, for the young lord, heartbreakingly devoid of admiring princesses.

He stood that way for several moments, blinking in surprise and burning with embarrassment. A slight relief washed over the boy, for at least his foolishness had not been witnessed. His relief was soon vanished, however, as a giggle broke the silence behind him, a wretched sound that made his stomach find itself firmly lodged somewhere near the region of his feet.

Cheeks burning, the lord turned around quickly before staring in confusion. There was nothing there. Another giggle broke the silence, coming from somewhere above him. Looking up at the trees, he was met with the sight of two impish brown eyes brimming with poorly contained laughter.

"Who are you?!" he exclaimed, recovering from his shock.

"Why, your 'good lady' o' course!" grinned back the face. The boy flushed red again, before scowling back at the stranger.

"Well how did you get up there?!"

"Flew, o' course."

"Psssht."

"What are you 'psshting' at me for, boy?"

The young lord bristled. Never had anyone addressed him in this way, certainly not a mere peasant girl.

"You tell a falsehood, girl. No one can fly."

"Says who?" she glared at him. This stumped him. No one had ever said you couldn't. It was just... just... highly improper to be able to do so; and therefore something a Gypsy may very well be able to do. The young lord decided to let this question pass, lest she prove him wrong.

"And what happened to 'good lady'?' she continued, sarcastically. The lord glowered back at her, before fixing her with his best look of utter disdain.

"You are no lady." he scoffed. There was an indignant huff above him.

"I am too a lady!"

"Ladies never climb up trees."

"Oh, you just wait!"

There was a loud rustling above him as the young girl began turning around on the branch. The lord looked on with increasing alarm, for years of tutelage were telling him that assistance was demanded of him. She was, after all, only a slip of a girl and it was an awfully long way to fall. With a sigh, he rolled back his sleeves and began to pull himself up.

"Do not fear!" he called out, "I am coming to help you down." She threw him a fierce glare, before continuing to inch along the branch.

The lord continued his slow climb, cursing grubby haired peasant girls whenever he accidently grasped a thorn. There was suddenly a loud THUMP behind him, and when he looked up to see what was wrong, he almost let go and fell out of the tree himself. There was no one there! With a startled yell, he clutched the nearest branch.

"I'm down here, silly." Her voice! A rush of relief ran through the boy, soon replaced by annoyance as he looked down. The girl was standing with her hands on her hips and exasperated look on her face. He looked down to where she stood and suddenly came to the realisation that things looked a lot different going down than they did when one was going up.

"What are you waiting for? Come down!" The lord closed his eyes, before risking another glance down. His stomach fluttered violently, seeming to wholeheartedly agree with the conclusion he had just made.

"I- I can't." He closed his eyes and waited for another girlish giggle. It didn't come.

"Why not?"

He was not, he told himself, going to answer that question. A small voice in his mind told him that he could either ask her for help, or stay perched in this tree until he was missed, with only his pride for company.

"Do you want some help, then?"

Being stuck in a tree was starting to look very attractive. After all, if a monkey could do it, then he certainly could. He began to look around him, in the vain hope that a fruit would magically appear within arms reach. The girl was looking up at him curiously, a look of understanding crossing her face.

"Here, climb onto me shoulders"

"No!" There was a point when one had to draw the line.

"Why not?!"

"One does not step on a girl." he said, with the air of one explaining something painfully simple to a child. The girl looked affronted before she rolled her eyes and walked close to the tree.

"How about a lady? Now hurry up."

His hands had begun to hurt from clutching the rough bark. Closing his eyes, he carefully began lowering himself down, stretching out his leg until it landed on a small shoulder.

He was mortified. He was being rescued. By a girl.

The moment he had both feet planted safely on the ground, he stalked away to the old log he had rested on the previous day. He ignored the surprised look that came over the young girl's face and sat with his back turned, scowling as if the trees in front of his were responsible for his severely battered pride.

"Well thank ye, my lady, for saving me life," came a sarcastic voice behind him, before it continued in a higher pitch, "Oh twas nothing, o' course, but I'm glad you were polite enough t'say so."

The young lord felt his cheeks flare up once again and decided the best course of action was to glower and scowl harder at the trees. Suddenly, the log shook violently as a small body jumped up and sat next to him. She looked at him, at the trees and then back at him. The lord scowled again when he realised that his ruse of ignoring her was a miserable failure.

"Go away." he muttered, gritting his teeth.

"No, I don't think I will." The lord blinked in surprise before his feature settled back into a scowl that was in danger of sticking.

"You are... you are... an insufferable girl." he spat out, expecting her to finally go away and leave him his peace. She, however, had other plans.

"Yes, I s'pose I am. And don't call me girl, boy." She jumped down, turning to him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Do not fear!" she began with a grin, "For I am Ginevra, a gypsy child and rescuer of spoilt little boys." And giggling, she swept into a bow that mirrored his previous one. She looked up at him and grinned. "But you can call me Ginny."

A flush came over the lord's cheeks as he realised she was mocking him and he looked down at his lap. The girl- no, Ginny, laughed and sat back up next to him, nudging him with her knee.

"Oh don't be like that." she said with a smile, "If it makes you feel better, I won't tell anyone."

The boy looked up and smiled shyly back, finally looking at the girl beside him. Her hair was not brown, as he had first thought. It was a dark red, framing a small delicate face. She was at least a few inches shorter than him, wearing a dark green dress which came to her knees and was covered in tears and dirt. She was swinging her legs now, showing knobbly knees and small worn shoes. She was definitely not a lady, he thought to himself, he doubted very much that she would call him 'Sir Knight' and he was surprised to find that he wasn't disappointed by it.

"What would you like to do now?" he asked.

"I think," she replied, suddenly jumping off the log, grabbing a stray stick and crouching en guard, "today, I'll be a pirate!"

For a moment the young lord was shocked, a voice in his head telling him that it wasn't proper to want to be a pirate, but another voice whispered that apart from Father's friend McNair, only pirates got to wear eye patches and he'd always wanted to wear one.

With a grin, he jumped off the log.

And so the afternoon was spent. Pirates ran aboard ships of leaves, ruthlessly attacking knights who guarded ancient trees that hid precious fairies. Long lost Indians perched atop spirit mountains, taunting a most vicious monster with such veracity, that said monster oft froze in place, eyes wide in shock as it remembered that the Indian was, in fact, a girl. They played until the sky was a dark red and the shadows began to grow, slowly creeping up on a grave fight between a one-eyed, one handed, child-eating fortune teller and a noble horse, who was really a child she had transformed and who had the unfortunate destiny of being her dinner.

Suddenly the fortune teller stopped, looking up at the sky in surprise.

"It's already dark!" she cried, brushing herself down. The horse looked up in dismay.

"Must you go already?"

"Yes. Or me mam will be worried." Relatively clean, the teller looked at the horse, who smiled back, fight long forgotten.

"Goodbye Draco." She smiled again and was gone, running past the trees. The horse started, moving forward.

"Will I see you tomorrow?!" he called anxiously, straining to see her through the trees.

"Perhaps!" her voice floated back, "If I've got nothing better to do!"

The horse stopped, uncertain, before smiling broadly. He picked up his coat and slowly trudged back towards the warm halls of the manor.

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