All You Need Is Love

Chapter Twelve

One Final Murder

Draco expected the final week leading up to the wedding would fly by in a blur. He thought his final days of bachelorhood would vanish in the blink of an eye.

Instead, the time went by incredibly slowly.

He almost wished it would speed up. At least the wedding was something to do. Since he wasnÂ’t required to help in any way with the wedding, he had nothing to do while the entire castle was bustling around trying to prepare for it.

Draco, Ginny, and Elle wore out just about every single game there was to play indoors. A few times he and Ginny had bundled up and went for a walk in the dead gardens. They never spoke, but somehow, he found he enjoyed the strolls, though he would never admit it.

However, it was incredibly cold each day, due to the sun being hidden behind gray clouds.

It wasnÂ’t long before he started to wish the snow would melt, or the temperature would rise, so he could just leave the bloody building. It was beginning to reek in certain places.

He knew why; these people werenÂ’t very efficient when it came to cleaning up. GinnyÂ’s parents began to have large feasts in the evening, instead of eating with just the few royals. They invited many people into the main hall, where they ate and had music playing and watched fools dance. Draco had managed to talk his father into letting him be absent from the joyous occasions, but Ginny had been forced to attend.

On Christmas Eve, the last day before the wedding, the castle was at its busiest. It seemed wherever Draco was he was in the way. Sighing, he went to find Ginny, wondering if maybe she wanted to take a walk with him.

In the past six days heÂ’d sort of developed a way around the large place. He was no longer worried about getting lost. And even better, he knew what rooms Ginny would be in, so he wouldnÂ’t have to search around the entire castle to find her.

It took her about ten minutes to get all her clothes on – her maid Maria insisted she dress insanely warmly, because she still might be sick – and when she finally was, she joined Draco outside.

He hadnÂ’t kissed her since that late night outside six days before, and he hadnÂ’t touched her, either. But there were several times a day when their eyes would meet, and he would have the urge to wrap her in his arms. The feeling startled him; instead of his thoughts on her fading as time went by, they were only growing. It didnÂ’t help, of course, that they saw each other almost every moment of everyday, and that she always seemed to make him laugh at least once in her presence. It also didnÂ’t help that he couldnÂ’t get her kisses out of his mind.

Nothing seemed to be helping, in fact.

As they trudged wordlessly through the gardens, most of the plants and trees bare branches, Ginny spoke up for the first time.

“We’re getting married tomorrow.”

He glanced at her, only to see her face expressionless. He was used to her emotions displayed all over her features, but not this time. “I wouldn’t really consider it marriage,” he said with a shrug, looking straight ahead as they continued to slowly walk. “Once we get back to the future, it won’t count.”

When she didnÂ’t answer, he looked at her again. This time she seemed forlorn, clearly ignoring him even though she was aware he was staring at her.

Something in his chest jerked suddenly, and he stopped. Noticing his footsteps were not in time with hers anymore, she stopped, too, and threw a glance over her shoulder at him.

Attempting a grin, he said, “Don’t look so upset, Ginny. You’re going to marry the best looking guy in twentieth century England. Hell, the best looking guy in any century England. Any normal girl would be whooping for joy.”

She smiled at that, turning fully, though her eyes were still dark. “The fact that there’s a very powerful, evil wizard who created the world we’re living in kind of puts a damper on my whooping.”

That answer stunned him slightly. He had anticipated her to say something along the lines of not wanting to marry him. She hadn’t said anything of the sort in the past week. He hadn’t, either, come to think of it. He had sort of begun to accept the fact that they couldn’t stop the wedding. Or was that really the reason? Maybe he wasn’t accepting it – maybe he was beginning to like it.

No, he thought fiercely. Even if he did like Ginny, which he couldnÂ’t very well deny at the moment, he didnÂ’t want to marry her. He had made a vow when he was younger that he wouldnÂ’t ever get married, and he wasnÂ’t about to break it, despite the hopelessness of the situation.

Right now, though, he had no choice. But in the future, in their normal time, it wouldnÂ’t matter. The marriage would be history . . . ancient history.

Besides, if this world wasnÂ’t even real, how could the marriage be real?

“This is boring,” Ginny announced suddenly. “Want to make a snowman?”

“Not particularly,” Draco answered automatically, arching an eyebrow in her direction.

She grinned back, all depressing thoughts clearly banished from her mind. Then she bent over and tried to scoop snow from the ground, only to find that her clothes would not allow her to be so flexible. With an oof she dropped into the snow and rolled into a sitting position.

“Damn these bloody dresses,” she muttered under her breath.

Casually, Draco sat beside her, lifting one knee and resting his arm on it. “Maybe if we end up staying here for a while we can teach these idiots a thing or two about comfortable fashion.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “I don’t hope to be here long enough for it to come to that.”

There was a long stretch of silence. Draco was sure Ginny was trying to figure something important out, but as for himself, he wasn’t thinking of anything specific. Tilting his head upwards, he glanced at the gray-clouded sky. It smelled like it was going to snow again. Just what the place needed. More snow –

Something cold and wet hit the side of his face, and he jumped. Ginny began giggling madly. SheÂ’d smacked him right in the face with a snowball.

Half upset with himself for letting her get him so easily, he lowered his fingers down and scooped up some snow, glaring at her. Still laughing, she saw what he was doing and turned over to get on her hands and knees to crawl away. SheÂ’d gotten nowhere when he grabbed the back of her cloak and pulled her back towards him. With a shriek of laughter she fell across his lap, lifting her hands to try and cover her head.

She was too slow for him. He managed to maneuver around her and mash the snow in her face. She squirmed and struggled while he made rubbed it all over her skin, and she sputtered it out of her mouth. When he was able to see her expression he found she wasnÂ’t angry, like heÂ’d thought she would be. Instead, she was grinning, though trying not to.

“Draco! I can’t believe you just did that, you bastard!” Before moving, she grabbed a handful of snow, and swiftly sat up. This time he was prepared and managed to throw his body against the ground. When she threw the snowball, it sailed over him and landed a few feet away.

He glanced at it, smirking, as he lifted himself to sit. “Ha, nice try, Gin –” he began, and turned his head back to face her. He was able just to see her throw back her hand and heave her third snowball, and stopped talking abruptly as it hit him directly in his right eye.

At first, it was just cold. But as the snow clopped off, the iciness was replaced with a stinging pain.

Blinking his left eye rapidly, he pressed the heel of his hand to the wounded one, trying to soften the throbbing. GinnyÂ’s laughter slowly died down as she noticed he was hurt, and crawled to his side.

“Are you okay, Draco?” she asked, sounding deeply concerned and a bit worried. “I’m so sorry – I didn’t mean to hurt you –”

He glared at her with his good eye. “It doesn’t hurt; it feels great.” She was beginning to bother him with how sincerely sweet she was being. He simply detested sweetness.

She gave him a weary sigh and lifted herself to her knees. She wrapped her warm, gloved fingers around his hand to pull it away from his eye. “Let me have a look, Draco,” she ordered gently.

Draco jerked from her grasp, keeping his hand firmly against his hurt eyelid. “Leave me alone, Ginny. Go away.”

“Oh, you big baby, just let me see it,” she persisted, grabbing his wrist again and calmly peeling his hand off.

This time he didn’t move away, but scowled at her darkly. Pretending not to notice, she placed her palms on his cheeks to hold his head in place and peered at his eye. It was watering – not by choice, for sure, but from his body’s natural reaction – and it hurt to open. So he squeezed it shut and continued glowering at her with one eye, which wasn’t nearly as effective as two.

“It’s nothing,” she told him dismissively, flashing a superior smile. “Ice on the eye is good for it.”

“It’s probably going to be swollen shut,” he muttered through gritted teeth, very aware of her hands still on his face. Trying to ignore it, he wiped his watering closed eye with the back of his own hand. “And it hurts.”

She laughed shortly. “I never thought I’d live to hear you admit that you hurt,” she told him.

Instantly she sobered when she realized what a serious thing she had just said. Her merriment vanishing, she sighed again. Leaning her head close, he didnÂ’t know what she was doing until she did it. She pressed her lips softly against his pounding eyelid.

It immediately felt better.

Or maybe it was because he was too busy concentrating on the feel of her mouth than the pain in his eye.

Either way, it wasnÂ’t so painful, and when she slowly pulled her face away and met his gaze, for a moment he wasnÂ’t able to speak.

“Better?” she asked, slightly breathless.

He nodded, and pressed his hand on the back of her neck, drawing her face back to his. This time, he made sure her lips met his own.

Draco had kissed many girls before. And occasionally he felt something other than boredom when he did so, which he thought was something more then, but now realized it was probably just lust. Because kissing Ginny made him feel so indescribable it was obvious that heÂ’d never felt that way before.

The moment DracoÂ’s mouth was on hers, everything bad in the world seemed to disappear into a huge white blur. It was as if being in the strange world didnÂ’t matter, and the fact that she wasnÂ’t his type of girl didnÂ’t matter. Nothing mattered, except the sensations her touch caused and the feeling of her body pressed firmly against his.

And he knew, deep in the back of his mind, that once he was able to sit and reflect on his feelings, he would mentally slap himself for thinking such mushy, very not Malfoy thoughts. But now it didnÂ’t seem to sink in. Like everything else, it just wasnÂ’t significant.

Ginny used a surprising amount of force to push him onto his back on the snow so she was able to lie directly on top of him. The position seemed to bring him back to earth, and he turned his head to break off the kiss. Meeting her clouded dark eyes with a raised brow, he asked, “Why do you get to be on top?”

She grinned as she tugged off one of her hand coverings. With her now bare hand she reached up and twirled a strand of his hair around her forefinger. “Because I’ll get sick if I’m on the bottom,” she told him.

His eye was still watering, making parts of her blurry. He quickly rubbed at it to see her better.

Ginny smiled at him, pulled her finger from his hair, and rested her cheek on his chest. He watched the top of her head rise and fall with his breathing. Why was he feeling so full at that moment?

“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home, Draco?” she asked, tracing the lining on his cloak.

He thought a moment. “Probably make myself a decent meal using my wand.”

There was a pause before Ginny answered. “I’m going to put on a pair of jeans and a shirt,” she said, and he had to smile. “That’s the very first thing I’m going to do.”

And then they stopped talking. Draco stared up at the cloudy sky, willing his mind to be blank. He didnÂ’t want to think about anything then. He would worry later. God knew heÂ’d already worried enough in the past week.

For the first time, Draco felt like nothing in his life was wrong.

Which was exactly the opposite of reality.

* * *

The wedding. The wedding. The wedding.

GinnyÂ’s mouth felt like cotton. Her voice croaking, she asked a nearby servant for a glass of water. The girl hurried off to do the order, but even with her absence, there were still too many maids in her room for her to count.

Ginny sat on her bed, her hands clasped in her lap, dressed in her heavy wedding dress. It was white, of course, with a spectacular bodice brocaded with gold thread, making some sort of swirling design. The sleeves were long and poofy, which Ginny had noticed was the style. The skirt had to have been made of layers of silk, and even though she wore a hoop under all the skirts she’d ever had on in this world, the one she was wearing now seemed even bigger. As it normally was, the corset was uncomfortable to the point of pain. But now she had something else to be uncomfortable about – the neckline. It seemed to dip down a little more than Ginny thought proper for a wedding.

SheÂ’d thought these people were the type who would burn someone alive for wearing such a thing, but apparently, the queen had approved of the dress beforehand, according to Maria. So she shouldnÂ’t have been stressing about it.

Still, it wasnÂ’t something sheÂ’d normally wear.

Her hair was down, but that was about it when it came to her head being anything unusual. TheyÂ’d powdered her face and put what she assumed was rouge on her cheeks. Other than that, she was just about plain.

At the moment, her body was growing numb with nervousness. The servant returned with her water, but after Ginny drank it quickly, it didnÂ’t help much.

Another ten minutes passed, and she sat, staring at the floor vacantly, wringing her hands in her lap. All around her was chattering of the maids, rushing in and out of the rooms doing various things. The entire castle had been full of activity since dawn – Ginny had woken up before the sun had risen from the feeling of her muscles tensing and had listened to everyone.

Now the wedding was only an hour away, and she was having difficulty breathing. Despite this, however, her brain was able to focus in and concentrate on one thing: Draco.

He was good looking, and considering the way he kissed, would make a good lover. . . but marriage? Even she wasnÂ’t sure she could handle being a wife, and if she couldnÂ’t, being raised by a wonderful family, then Draco probably couldnÂ’t even be half of a good husband.

And what about children? At this time in history, people were expected to have children early. Her mother would probably nag her forever to have a child so Ginny would be sure to have an heir.

But if Ginny struggled with the idea of marriage, she knew she definitely couldnÂ’t handle kids. Definitely.

The minutes trickled by like days. Ginny steadily felt her body getting colder with apprehension. She wondered if people who were in love and wanted to get married felt like this, if it was what cold feet happened to be.

Only for her, the iciness seemed to spread through her veins and reach every part of her.

“Come, Your Highness,” Maria said, her voice sounding quiet. “It’s time to go downstairs.”

Nodding, Ginny tried to stand, using MariaÂ’s shoulder until she could find use of her legs. Vaguely she wondered why her mother wasnÂ’t there helping her, but then decided the queen was probably too busy getting herself ready to even think of her daughter.

The wedding was taking place in the same place the ball had – in the Great Hall. Ginny had heard Maria call it that and had felt such a wave of longing for Hogwarts she’d almost burst into tears.

A few minutes later, Ginny was waiting outside the closed doors to the hall, along with a dozen other women. She didnÂ’t recognize any of them, but they were wearing nice gowns, not the outfit of the servants, so she guessed maybe they were her bridesmaids. It appeared that there was no flower girl.

“All the guests have arrived and are already in there,” Maria whispered to Ginny, dusting off invisible lint from the shoulder of Ginny’s dress. She was stating the obvious. She seemed just as nervous as Ginny. “In a few moments they shall be opening the doors. Stay to the side, and allow these other girls to go first.”

Ginny found it a bit odd she was being told what to do five minutes before it actually happened. But she nodded anyway.

“Here, Your Highness.” A servant popped up at her side and handed her a bouquet of flowers.

Ginny allowed a tiny smile, marveling at how modern the wedding was. She lifted the bouquet to her nose and sniffed. Smelling rosemary and lavender, she deduced that perhaps it was not made of flowers, but of herbs.

“And you cannot forget this,” Maria added, accepting something from a nearby maid and turning so Ginny could see it.

It was a crown – not like the tiara she’d worn at the ball, but a gold, circular, feminine crown. There were several tiny gemstones embedded in it, which she could only assume were real sapphires, rubies, and diamonds. It was pretty, but not as elegant as the tiara.

Maria smiled and placed it on GinnyÂ’s head. It felt heavy.

“You look wonderful, Your Highness,” Maria said quietly, her warm eyes swelling with tears. “I am so glad this day has come for you.”

Ginny was too horrified to even attempt a smile.

Those final minutes were the worst of all. She felt like she was aging a century every moment that passed. Obeying Maria, she stood to the side out of sight while the bridesmaids went in. There was no music from inside. The quietness did nothing to help her uneasiness.

The blood was rushing in her head, causing a roar so loud Maria had to nudge her to get her attention. Was it time for her to go already? No, it couldnÂ’t be. Once she went in, there was no turning back. Once she stepped in the room, she would be on her way to marriage.

To Draco Malfoy.

She was going to be sick. For a horrible second she had visions of walking in there and vomiting all over her beautiful dress.

Then again, forget being ill. What if she tripped on this horrendous skirt? What if she sprawled to the floor and couldnÂ’t get up without help from someone else?

“You shall be fine,” Maria said kindly, noticing her absolute terror.

It did nothing to soothe her. Maria pushed her gently into the doorway.

She stood there for what seemed like years, but it was only a few seconds. A nice scent reached her nostrils. She couldnÂ’t take pleasure in it. Her legs were set in stone.

Maria swatted her behind, though it wasnÂ’t very effective due to the huge hoop skirt she was wearing. Still, the message got across, and Ginny commanded her feet to move.

Oh God. IÂ’m not doing this. I canÂ’t be. This isnÂ’t happening . . . IÂ’m dreaming. IÂ’m not here. IÂ’m asleep, somewhere . . . anywhere, just not here.

She walked incredibly slow. Gasps and sighs and oohs of appreciation for her rose in the crowd. There were no chairs for the guests; they were all standing, and those in the back were craning their necks to catch a glimpse of her. She tried to stare straight ahead, gripping her bouquet to the point of snapping the stems in her fingers, and forced herself to breathe.

Ginny couldn’t look at Draco yet. She just couldn’t. Moving her head to the side, she took in the Great Hall. Almost every available space was covered in flowers – no, they had to be herbs. In wreaths around the candles, lining the aisle, draped on the stairs leading to the altar. They were all color coordinated, and made the place beautiful and comforting, despite the oddity at having herbs instead of flowers.

As slowly as time had passed before, it now sped up double. She reached the altar before, it felt, sheÂ’d even blinked.

Standing at the bottom of the three steps were the bridesmaids. They smiled at her.

On the altar at GinnyÂ’s right were her parents, looking proud in their own arrogant way, dressed in what had to be their most elaborate clothes. At her left was Draco, his father, and Elle. Elle giggled behind her hand and winked at Ginny, only to receive a reprimanding look from her dad.

Ginny quickly glanced at Draco. He wore his usual outfit, only in different colors. His tight trousers were red, his doublet gold and red. His cape was also crimson. On his head he wore a bigger crown, with many more jewels than what was on her own. He looked uncomfortable, though she couldn’t tell if it was because of what he wore or because of the marriage. Most likely the latter – even he had to be frightened of this.

In between both families was an elderly man wearing an impressive white robe. Clearly he was the one who was to perform the ceremony.

Ginny realized she had yet to step on the altar. Her mother was shooting her icy glares and her father was giving her a look that indicated he thought she were daft.

She didnÂ’t even have the power to scowl at them. Bunching her skirt in her free hand, she stepped up beside Draco, but avoided his eyes.

The man before them smiled a bit, then opened his book and began reading.

Ginny sucked in a shaky breath, clenching her bouquet between her palms.

This is it.

She tried to tell herself it was only marriage, and nothing else. Once everything was normal, back in their normal time, they would ignore it and each other. It didnÂ’t count. It couldnÂ’t count.

Then why, even if she reminded herself all this, did she feel so absolutely petrified?

* * *

Draco saw the sheen of sweat on GinnyÂ’s face and heard her ragged breathing. She was clearly nervous beyond feeling.

Draco was just beyond feeling.

He couldnÂ’t even think all that rationally. Every time he tried to form intelligent thoughts it always came back to, IÂ’m marrying Ginny Weasley.

What would his father say? His real father? If he ever found out, Draco would be disowned for certain. Draco was too worried to even realize that his father would never find out, unless he decided to tell him once he got back to the future. He had no intention of doing such.

But still . . . Draco would know. If they made it back to the future, he would know heÂ’d gotten married once, even if it was four hundred years back in the past.

He barely heard a word the man in front of him was saying. Was he the Pope? A minister? He had no idea. He didnÂ’t care. He tried to concentrate on keeping his face from contorting into an awful grimace.

Time dragged by. The man presenting the marriage wouldnÂ’t stop talking. He droned on in a monotone, causing Draco to just about fall asleep standing. It took a very dull man to cause Draco to want to sleep in the most dreadful time in his life.

Then, he was yanked from his boredom when the man addressed him. “Your Highness, the ring,” he said, looking at Draco.

Ring? Oh damn. No one said anything about a ring.

Draco stared blankly, trying to think of something to say. For the first time ever in his life, he felt embarrassed.

Then someone poked his arm. Looking down, Draco saw Elle at his side, holding up a tiny pillow and smiling. On the pillow was a gold band with a large diamond on it.

Draco managed to grin his thanks, and took the ring off the pillow.

He turned met GinnyÂ’s eyes. She was unsure of what to do; he could tell by the way her gaze darted nervously from him to the man beside them. Draco decided to just do the only thing he could think of. He reached for her left hand, but before he slipped it on her finger, the man started talking again.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” he said.

Draco looked at him with a raised brow. What was he saying? He wasnÂ’t marrying Ginny, Draco was.

Then he realized he was supposed to repeat it. Feeling stupid, he frowned over at Ginny and repeated in a low voice, “With this ring, I thee wed.”

“To respect and keep in sickness,” he went on.

“To respect and keep in sickness . . .” Draco noticed there was no love mentioned there. Fine by him. He’d never loved anybody, and didn’t want to make vows that he would.

“To rule and keep order, to decide what is best for the kingdom first . . .”

Was this a wedding vow or pronunciation to be king?

Draco repeated all he was to say dutifully, feeling absolutely nothing as he stared at Ginny. She gave him a small, encouraging smile, and when he was finished, he slid the ring on her finger.

It was too small and jammed at her knuckle, not going any further. She bit her lip and curled her fingers into her palm to keep it from sliding off.

When it was Ginny’s turn for vows, the queen presented Draco’s ring to her, and she began repeating the man. Her vows were different, something about “devotion to your king” and “helping your king in any way possible” as though she were some peasant and not the queen. It seemed a bit sexist to Draco. He ignored what she said for the most part.

She took his hand in her smaller, warmer one, her skin feeling soft. His ring, a thick gold band with Latin writing engraved in it, actually fit. It looked out of place on his finger; he never wore jewelry, and rings were the most feminine sort in his opinion.

Ginny smiled at him. Not a pleased, happy smile. One that was trembling and forced, clearly only put on to try and keep herself from crying.

For some reason, it made him feel something was squeezing his stomach. Was he really so terrible that she wanted to cry at the thought of being his wife?

There was no kissing of the bride. The man announced them “man and wife” and then added, “The new King and Queen of Wales and England.” The crowd applauded appropriately.

Obviously this was both a wedding and an initiation of the new rulers.

Draco was ready to go, but it wasnÂ’t quite over yet. His father stepped in front of him, his back to the audience, and gave him a tiny smile that reached his eyes. He removed his larger, more elaborate crown from his head.

When Draco did nothing in return, Edward gave him an annoyed look. “Your crown,” he mouthed.

Sighing, Draco reached up and took his own crown off. Edward then placed the kingÂ’s crown on, and the crowd began clapping again. Looking over, Draco saw the same changing of the crowns had happened with Ginny and her mother.

Ginny stared out at everyone, her face stony, her lips white. Draco had a strong impulse to put his arm around his shoulders, but managed to ignore it.

GinnyÂ’s father, King Robert, stepped between them and addressed everyone in the room.

“Now that the ceremony is over,” he called, beaming at them all in a false sort of way, “we ask that you join us out in the gardens for some fun and activities. Be sure to dress warmly.”

Fun and activities, eh? Draco glanced at Ginny with a quizzical expression, and she only shrugged at him.

The people slowly began filing out of the room. Unsure of what to do, Draco turned to his father. Before he could ask what was going on, someone tapped his arm to get his attention. He turned to face GinnyÂ’s mother, who was smiling overly brightly at him.

“The artist is here, Draco,” she said.

“Artist?” he repeated without thinking.

“What artist?” Ginny echoed, stepping up to stand beside Lavinia.

“The one who is going to paint your portrait, Virginia,” Lavinia replied, attempting to cover her annoyance and failing. “Have you not heard anything I discussed with you about today?”

“Apparently not,” Ginny retorted. Her sharp voice wasn’t nearly as menacing as it should’ve been – she was clearly shaken up about the fact she was married.

Draco couldnÂ’t believe that he was married. He felt exactly the same; no joy, no depression . . . if anything, he was relieved the ceremony was over. IÂ’m not married, he told himself firmly. He would leave it at that.

“He’s only painting Ginny’s portrait, then,” Draco said, trying to think about something other than what had just occurred.

Lavinia flashed him an infuriated look, her eyes narrowed. “No, he is doing your wedding portrait, Draco.” Her tone wasn’t very controlled.

It took most of DracoÂ’s energy to not reply something vulgar and rude. Instead, he threw her his most angry glare and hoped it would wipe that irritated, know-all look from her face.

She ignored him.

Lavinia led them out a door in the back of the Great Hall, so they wouldnÂ’t run into any of the guests, to a room across the hall. Ginny walked beside Draco, holding up her insanely large skirt and looking down so she wouldnÂ’t trip on anything. The vision of her falling made him smile, but it only lasted a moment.

Inside the room was furniture, but it had all been pushed to the side. Hanging on one of the walls was a long, wide red sheet of some sort, reaching the floor and spreading out like a rug. In front of that was a middle-aged man with a huge canvas on an easel, a chair, and a set of paints.

He nodded at them, but other than that didnÂ’t greet them.

“Do what John says,” Lavinia whispered loudly in Ginny’s ear, evidently wanting Draco to overhear. Then she bunched up her skirts, turned, and left.

“I’m going to kill her,” Ginny swore under her breath.

Draco chose not to reply and approached the man John. “How long is this picture going to take?” he demanded.

John didn’t look at him; he pressed his brush into some paints and tried out the color on the corner of his canvas. “You cannot rush art, Your Majesty,” he answered vaguely.

“Wonderful,” Draco muttered.

“Where do you want us?” Ginny grumbled. She was in a bad mood. Damn that stupid queen – now Draco would have to suffer with a short tempered Weasely.

John pointed with the end of the brush at the red sheet. It was on the wall and floor to provide a solid background, Draco figured, as he stepped on to it. Ginny followed sullenly, raising her dress even higher so the hem wouldnÂ’t pull the sheet across the stone.

They stood there for a second, and when John continued to stare at his blank canvas, as though thinking, Draco got annoyed.

“Look, tell us how to stand or we’re going to walk out of here,” he snapped. “And then we’ll . . . shun you from the country.”

Ginny rolled her eyes at him, indicating how she thought what he said was idiotic. He glared back, but she wasnÂ’t looking and didnÂ’t see it.

“Stand together,” John said curtly, finally looking at them. He proceeded to give them directions, and Draco had to give him credit on how he hid his irritation when they had trouble following them.

In the end, they were standing shoulder to shoulder, Ginny on JohnÂ’s left, Draco on JohnÂ’s right. Ginny was slightly turned towards Draco and both her hands were in his.

He had his easel set up directly in front of them, so he could look up and see them. “Look at me, and do not move,” John commanded. Then he began to draw.

Their position was comfortable for a little while, but not for the near three hours it took for the artist to paint. Several times Draco had an itch that he just about died wanting to scratch, and after a half an hour he had to go to the bathroom. His legs were aching from standing so much. He began to perspire, and it tickled as it rolled down the back of his neck. He couldnÂ’t do anything and it was driving him half mad.

GinnyÂ’s hands began to sweat in his. She was just as uncomfortable as he was, if not more so, due to her outfit. Yet Draco was too concerned with himself to think of her.

He did anything he could to keep himself occupied. He attempted to see how high he could count in his head, but lost count somewhere around six hundred and seventy four. Then he began to list all the spells heÂ’d ever learned, trying to remember them in the order they were taught. After a while, that got too hard, and he moved on to recalling all the scores of his Quidditch matches. He didnÂ’t get very far with it, because it was near impossible to remember every game heÂ’d had in his life. He then went through all the recipes for cooking he knew, and it didnÂ’t last him very long, as he didnÂ’t know how to cook much.

Finally, after nearly three hours, the man set down his brush and paints, leaned back, studied his canvas for a moment, and nodded with satisfaction.

“I have completed it,” he said.

If he had announced, “I have a way for you to get back to your time” Draco wouldn’t have been happier. He dropped Ginny’s hands and wiped the back of his neck. Ginny sat down on the floor as quickly as her dress would let her, releasing a deep sigh of relief.

John looked at them questioningly. “Do you not want to see it?”

No, Draco had no desire whatsoever to see it. But what the hell – he’d endured three hours of standing just for it, so he might as well make sure it came out all right.

He helped Ginny to her feet and they walked over to the canvas. She sucked in a breath when she saw it.

Well. It was a spectacular painting, but not one that Draco would have wanted to stay put for hours to have made. Then again, he wouldn’t have wanted to stay still for that long for any sort of painting. Still, it was way beyond what he had expected, and very realistic, much like the portrait of his “mother” he had in his room at the other palace.

He had painted their entire bodies, GinnyÂ’s dress and DracoÂ’s clothes drawn in exquisite detail. Yet it was their faces that made it so amazing. They were both staring ahead, though not precisely straight ahead to give the feeling that they were watching whoever was looking at the painting. DracoÂ’s expression was blank, as he hoped it usually was. But there was something about the way his eyebrows were slightly raised that gave off a feeling he was annoyed with something. Ginny looked almost happy. Her lips were closed, but she was giving a half smile. John had obviously added her expression in, or drawn it towards the beginning when Ginny was smiling, because there was no way even Ginny could have been smiling after an hour.

John was clearly waiting for praise. Ginny only muttered a thank you before Draco grabbed her arm and they left the room.

* * *

Elle slammed the door behind her, hoping that someone would hear it over the loud racket of the laughs and shouts. Of course, no one did. No one would even miss her.

For the past four hours, all the guests had been playing, yelling, and laughing obnoxiously outside on the castle grounds. They were celebrating their new king and queen. Elle had seen her father Edward having a good time, which was rare. Even Ginny and Draco had shown up towards the end, after having their portrait drawn, though they were looking mad.

There were so many people, if Elle wanted companionship, she didnÂ’t have to look far. But they were all grown ups. There was no one her age, or even close. It had been positively dull. Her own uncle, who was usually always fawning over her and telling her how much she looked like her mother, had been too busy sticking his head in a barrel of water to retrieve and apple with his teeth to notice her. And heÂ’d never ignored her in his life.

The only way to escape the drunkenness and screaming of the adults was to retreat inside the castle. It was deathly quiet, most of the servants either dismissed for the day until cleanup the next morning or outside with the party. Yet it was a sanctuary, and Elle relished in the silence.

Sighing with boredom, Elle walked towards the kitchens, hoping to find herself a piece of fruit that wasnÂ’t floating in water or surrounding a dead pig. Sometimes she just liked to eat things plain.

She squealed with delight when she managed to find an orange that someone had missed when they took the food outside. SheÂ’d only had an orange once in her lifetime, because they came from America and more than half the shipping normally spoiled, but sheÂ’d decided that it was her favorite.

Leaving the kitchen, digging her nails into the skin to peel it, she thought of where she could go to sit down and eat it without being walked in on. Unfortunately, she didnÂ’t know this castle as well as she did her own, and wasnÂ’t sure of any hiding places. She decided to just go to her room.

Her room was dark when she walked in, which surprised her. She was sure to have her servant leave her curtains open all day so the sunlight could get in. Obviously, the girl mustÂ’ve forgotten.

Elle crossed over to the window, knowing the room well enough to navigate it in the dark. There was nothing between the door and the window, which shouldÂ’ve left her a clean path and no objects to bump in to. She wasnÂ’t expecting something to be lying on the floor.

Her toe caught under something, and with a little shriek and the rustling of her velvet dress, she pitched forward. She dropped her orange and threw out her hands to break her fall, managing to keep from ripping any material on her nicest gown. Hearing her orange thump away, she jutted out her lower lip in a pout. Great, now it would get hairs on it. Good thing sheÂ’d only peeled a little of it.

Her legs were propped up on whatever she had tripped on, and she twisted around and pulled her knees up to her chest. She was angry at whatever it was, angry at whoever had decided to leave something in the middle of her room for her to trip on and drop her most favorite food in the world.

She couldnÂ’t see anything in the darkness. The faint light spilling in from the open door wasnÂ’t helping any. She was too far in the room for it. Reaching out a hand, she nudged whatever was lying there, and felt cloth on something solid.

Elle yanked her hand back and froze. Why, that felt like a person!

Orange forgotten, she hurried to her feet. She felt panicked and her heart fluttering in her chest. It was like sheÂ’d just woken up from a bad dream, only she had a hunch the bad dream was only beginning.

She wrenched her curtains apart, letting the light from the cloudy day outside pour in. It revealed a lifeless body on her floor.

Elle stared at it for a moment, then closed her eyes.

Go away. When I open my eyes, you shall have gone away.

She thought that praying it out of her room would make it do so. But when she opened her eyelids, it remained there, and it didnÂ’t look like it was going to jump up and walk out, cheery and alive.

Slowly, Elle forced herself to move closer to see who it was. Its face was turned towards the doorway, away from her, so she had to lean over it. Terrified that it would somehow come back to life and grab her, she sniffed back a sob and looked down so she could move away quickly.

Elle saw the face and reeled back, that sob escaping her throat and tears of fright trickling down her cheeks. Clasping her hands to her chest, trying to get comfort, she tried to block out what she had seen.

She didnÂ’t know who it was. The personÂ’s features were so bloodied and bashed that it was impossible to tell. But the disgusting, gory look of it had caused her to nearly vomit. It was a good thing she hadnÂ’t eaten that orange.

Hysteria rose in her, and her breathing became heavier. She needed to get someone. She needed to tell. She needed to get out of her room!

Picking up her skirts to nearly her ankles, she jumped over the body and fled as fast as her short legs could take her.