Author: kabal42
Theme/kink: Serenading
Warnings: AU, humour, misuse of Shakespeare, use of a storyteller and heavy influenced by Baz Luhrman. Written very romantically with all the sillyness that may cause. No spoilers
Rating: R – or soft-core ;-)
Word Count: 3737
Compliant to: Nothing, really.



Title: The Malfoys and the Potters
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: See above
Summary: You know this one, I think. Two warring families, two young people in love, a secret marriage. But this one has a happy ending.
Notes: For elfflame who loves H/D and Shakespeare and who wrote most of our collaboration fic while I wrote this silly thing.
Also for tarie who had Romeo Montague show up in Tabula Rasa and who writes him in iambic metre! I bow to that :-)
My apologies to old William – I hope he's amused in his grave and not turning enough to drill new holes in his coffin.



Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Wiltshire, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers make their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their tale bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their fate-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's lives, nought could remove,
Is now the two pages' traffic of our tale;
The which if you with patient eyes attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

Yes, yes, I'm sure you have all heard that before. Or something very like it, at least. So who are they, these two families, both alike in dignity? And are they really from Wiltshire?

The answer is that they are the Potters and the Malfoys; two of the old Wizarding families prominent in Southern England and actually, it's only the Malfoys who are from Wiltshire, but trying to make a sensible rhyme on "Wiltshire and Surrey" would be a nightmare, so there you go. It's called creative license and besides most of this takes place in Wiltshire anyway.

Where was I? Oh yes. Right here.

In Wiltshire. Where the House of Malfoy has invited all of Wizarding kind (or all of it with money and/or influence) to a grand masquerade! And the scion of Malfoy, a beautiful young man of the name Draco, is entering society on this night, at this masquerade, causing much fuss in the household.

Look, there he is, with his nurse and his mother, trying out the costume his mother picked out. He is to be an angel, fitting for a boy so fair of skin and hair that it seemed to be almost snowy white. His mother hopes that tonight is when they will see an alliance form through her son, a joining of two great houses. A distant cousin of the house of Black is interested in Draco for her daughter and both will be at tonight's party. It is a match made in a possible heaven, and for that her son's costume is doubly appropriate (the first part of the double being that he, to her at least, is an absolute angel and white suits him so well).

Thus was the day for the heir of Malfoy, preparing, waiting, and slowly getting that soft thrill of anticipation, of hopes for the night and of small dreams of what entering society was truly like.

Let us now turn our eyes – and ears – to the scion of Potter to shed some light on how he ever came to meet the son of his father's mortal enemy:

On this day, which marks the beginning of our tale, young Potter, named Harold, though he was Harry to his friends and most of his family (save Great-aunt Aurora who always called him Henry, but no one minded her much), anyway, young Potter was supposed to be sitting with his friends. Said friends were Ronald, the youngest son of the well-known and -liked Weasley family and a fellow of the rather unfortunate name Longbottom; thankfully, fate and his parents had granted him a nice first name: Neville.

Supposed to be sitting, yes, because the friends had agreed to meet this day and have a drink near the town square, but Harry was not there. As often before, he is late.

"What keeps your cousin, Ronald?" Neville asked. "Is he off spending his father's fortune or perchance being kept by his mother?"

"Nah," said Ronald, his voice as lazy as his countenance, "you know Harry; he is mooning about in some romantic dream. Likely of his latest love. Look there!" he pointed 'cross the square, "my cousin doth approach!"

And behold, he did. Head in a cloud and eyes staring afar, so affixed on his vision as to completely miss that he was knocking over a pile of apples and blissfully ignorant of the tirade of shouts that followed him towards his friends.

"What be up, cousin?" Ronald asked as Harry, ungraceful as only an adolescent boy can be, fell into a chair at the table. "Who is she this time?"

"Ah!" cried Harry. "I doth take offence! She is the same as always: my muse, my love, the only one who I will ever want to see in the morning!" (And by 'always' he meant the last week or so.) "She is the fair Hermione, none other, with her brown eyes and soft, curly hair." He sighed deeply. "I spent last night, basking in her presence, and have walked all night, trying to soothe my poor heart. For it is broken beyond repair. She will not give me her love!"

His friends could with ease tell that Harry's eyes were indeed sleepless and with a look as though a deep sorrow had deprived him of any rest.

"Only basking in her presence, eh, not her bed?" Neville said, a smile playing upon his lips. "Are thou sure it is thine heart that is broken..?"

"You mock my pain, oh cruel friend," Harry moaned. "My intentions are pure and honourable."

"Yes, yes, we know all of thy purity..." Ronald said, the irony in his voice making it quite apparent he agreed with Neville. He held up a hand to stop Harry from another round of protesting his innocence. "Take comfort, dear friend, I have just the thing to cheer you from love's labours: three invitations to the Malfoys' ball tonight!"

"The Malfoys!" Neville cried, nearly in shock.

"Will kill us on sight," Harry added in a more subdued morbidity.

"Oh," Ronald said, a sneaky smile upon his face, "it is a costume ball..." He took a deep drink from his ale. "Think, my friends! To go to the very lair of our enemy and they none the wiser! Should they even discover us, they cannot do a thing – to harm a guest would do them great dishonour and all their friends would bear witness."

The friends looked to each other and laughed. It was a challenge and as such it had to be met.

"I do believe," Harry said as they left their table to prepare for the evening, "that fair Hermione is invited to this ball. I will attempt one last time to win her favour."

Ronald and Neville looked at each other behind his back and rolled their eyes; they quietly hoped their friend would at least be silent about his heart that night.

- - - ~ ~ ~ & ~ ~ ~ - - -

That same night the three friends rode for Malfoy Manor to attend a much-anticipated ball, having had a few drinks to get their courage up. A host of stunning witches a handsome wizards were arriving at the Manor where so many lights shone as to make it seem like the starts themselves were inside; the faces of the arriving guests betrayed their anticipation; the Malfoys were famed for their grand balls and lavish feasts.

Young Harry Potter felt an even more imminent anticipation than anyone else; of course he didn't know this, he just knew that his stomach was tied in a knot and his eyes were staring far and wide, searching impatiently for the fair Hermione.

But he did not see her. With growing fear he searched high and low, faster and more hurried, roaming the vast mansion in its entirety. His friends all but forgotten, he turned corners and scurried along halls, listened at doors (mostly in a discreet manner) with increasing haste. As he did, he narrowly avoided bumping into other guests and several called out to him in displeasure, but he had no ear for anyone not the beauty he was seeking.

Until he turned a corner and passed someone. Someone so white and pure that he thought it a vision. A creature of light. An angel.

"Oh..." he breathed, the sound so soft he almost did not hear it himself.

"Pardon?" the creature said and the sound of the voice was what brought Harry to realise that he was looking at a person.

It did not, however, grant him the use of his own voice. Instead he looked, smiling softly, and took a step towards the creature, his feet taking him without the say-so of his mind.

As for what young Draco, for him it was, of course, thought of this behaviour, well, there is not much to say. For he was almost as stricken, having seen a knight in shining armour, a person out of a fairy-tale, someone who would whisk away a lucky princess... And the thought nearly broke his heart for he knew too well that he was no princess.

Harry had indeed set out to whisk away a princess, but she was forgotten in the face of this Angel.

"Who are you who have hair of light and a face like the angel you resemble?" Harry asked, still slowly moving closer, unable to stop his feet as he was drawn to this bright flame.

"Draco," he said, standing as if rooted in place while the other was drawn closer. Unlike Harry, he wanted to move and closer at that, but he could not command himself. "And you, with your jet-black hair and eyes like the leaves of the oak outside my window, who are you?"

"Harry." He was almost there, so close that in a heartbeat he could reach and touch this being.

"Draco!" A voice cut through the air, hitting the two young men and striking one immobile even as the other was set into motion; a switch of abilities, called by the very voice of fate: mother's.

"Yes, Mother," Draco called, knowing that tone meant he was sought after. "I am on my way."

"Do not go," Harry whispered, reaching out his hand and Draco tried to reach it as his feet took him away.

"Find me," he said. "Please."

"Draco, where are you?" The voice was closer and Draco hurried, rounding a corner with a last look at the stranded knight.

- - - ~ ~ ~ & ~ ~ ~ - - -

"Harry," Ronald tried for the third time in a row. "Harry, have you been hexed?"

Finally, his friend did move and shook his head, black locks dancing. "No," he breathed. "I have been struck by purest beauty. The light of the moon pales to what I have seen tonight."

"Oh, so Hermione is here," Neville concluded, looking around, searching as he spoke, for he had not seen her yet.

"Not her," Harry said, his eyes still focused on what his mind retained. "Draco. The purest creature I ever saw, so beautiful as to make all others seem bland and grey."

"Draco!" Ronald said; he would have cried but this would need to be kept quiet. "But do you not know, Harry? Who that is?"

For the first time since his return, Harry did look at his friend his voice cause of alarm for Harry knew that tone and knew that something was amiss.

"He's Malfoy's son."

- - - ~ ~ ~ & ~ ~ ~ - - -

"He's a Potter!" the nurse whispered, drawing young Draco away from the stairs where he stood, watching amongst leaving guests to catch one glimpse of his knight. "Not fit your time of day, my darling," she continued as Draco pulled away to see Harry look up and catch his eye.

"And what of nights?" Draco asked in a voice laced with dreams. "He will be in my sleep and there nothing will take him away."

"Do not speak like that," his nurse chided him, "it is not proper and this your first ball at that! Your mother has found you a suitable match and you were not even speaking with the poor girl, whose parents are now very displeased! You have brought shame on your parents with your behaviour, boy, so no more talk of Potters. Go to bed."

But Draco did not.

- - - ~ ~ ~ & ~ ~ ~ - - -

As they left the Manor, Harry could not still his beating heart, it ached for another glimpse of that light he had seen, the only thing that would make him feel alive and he stopped his horse.

"Do not wait for me," he called to his friends. "You will see me in the morning." He set off back to whence they came and was deaf to the calls of his friends, who, surprised by his actions, did not have time to follow before he was away.

Tall trees made entrance easy for one such as him, though he had to leave parts of his armour behind with the horse, and he crept across well-kept lawns, hiding behind bushes and trees, searching for a large oak as he remembered Draco's words.

Fortune smiled at our young lovers this night and as Harry discovered that there were several large oaks close to windows of the manor, a door opened and he hid quickly behind one of the oaks. And then, as he looked up, he saw again what he had before and all else was forgotten; his light was there, beyond yonder window a sight to make the moon herself an envious shade of grey.

"Oh, Harry," Draco spoke softly into the friendly night, going from room to balcony "Harry, wherefore art thou Harry? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name; or, if thou wilt not, be sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Malfoy."

Torn between hearing his angel speak and speaking to her himself, Harry climbed the low branches of the tree, needing to get closer to the light and at least feel its presence again.

"'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; thou art thyself, though not a Potter. What is a Potter? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O! Be some other name: what's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; so Harry would, were he not Harry call'd retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Harry, doff thy name; and for thy name, which is no part of thee, take all myself."

At that, Harry could no longer stay hidden in the tree, but climbed forth, reaching stone and balcony, and took Draco's hand.

"I take thee at thy word," he said, "call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; henceforth I never will be Harry."

"But Harry," Draco said, shy at being overheard and joyed to see his knight so close, to finally have his hand in his own, "you are in grave danger here! You must go, my love, before you are seen!"

"I care not for life without you," Harry said and knew no other way of describing his love than in song and though he kept his voice low, it was sure and Draco's hand in his was all he needed to sing as if inspired by the very gods themselves.

Yes, dear readers, that was how much in love these two were; ready to give up their very names to be together and as Harry climbed onto the balcony he was met with an embrace so tight as to take his breath – had it not already been gone with climbing. There were no more words or songs and no need for either, for mouths can be better used when kissing if young lovers are using them.

- - - ~ ~ ~ & ~ ~ ~ - - -

If his friends had before thought Harry distant and dreamy, it was nothing to what he was the following day. Perhaps because they did not see him.

Harry had left Draco in the early hours of light and they had exchange dear vows and many words, the last of which were that Harry would find a way for them to be together though both were sure their families would be outraged. Some things are greater than even the ties of blood, and our two young heroes had just discovered this.

Thus, Harry left, sleepless still, and rode on to visit the only man who could help them: his old teacher, the wisest man he knew and one who had the power to wed two such as them, if only Harry could persuade him that it was a good idea.

"Master Dumbledore!" he called, still on his horse, "Master Dumbledore, please, art thou awake?" He jumped off his horse and ran to the stairs leading up to the door of the small castle.

"Hurry more slowly, young Harry," a dear voice said as the door was opened and the old man let Harry in. "Tell me, what brings you here? I pray that it not be more deaths."

"No deaths," Harry answered, a deep sigh brought from his chest, "but love, a slower death if I shall not be with my love."

"Oh? I see. Love is a serious matter." The old man sat, fingers pressed together, his eyes twinkling as he watched Harry like an owl. "And what keeps you from your love? Are not your parents glad that you have found love and will settle down?"

"Ah, but you see, I cannot tell them, they would make me swear to never see him again and my love would have the same problem, should he tell his parents of me. The most unlikely of persons has stolen my heart, Draco of the house of Malfoy."

"A Malfoy?" The old man sat up straight, a sudden ray of hope in his heart, such as he had never felt before. Perhaps here was his chance to settle old strife and stop useless bloodshed. The hope of young love. "And why did you ride to my door, Harry?"

"You think not that this is folly?" Harry asked, surprised though he had come here seeking understanding and help. "You will help us?"

"That I will, young Harry," Dumbledore said. "I know thy heart and it will not let go if you come here like this, ready to denounce thy family and be with the man you love. It seems that you have not slept and I see this as a sign of your resolve. Tell me what you need, you and your Draco."

"We wish to be wed tonight," Harry said, eager enough to almost jump up from his seat. "Before anyone knows or suspects. We will leave this place, perhaps even England, and live together always."

The old man nodded sagely. "Bide your time on your wedding night," he said. "Come here at dusk and I shall see that you are wed, but do not flee, stay here one night and perhaps all will be settled."

And however much Harry tried to prod, the old man said no more.

Yet, he was much heartened and left the castle in good spirits. Upon his arrival home he sent a letter to his lover and went to bed. Sleep comes easily to young men in love – at least when they have been up all night.

- - - ~ ~ ~ & ~ ~ ~ - - -

At the twilit hour the two youngsters met in the house of Master Dumbledore, each having brought one friend and confidante; Ronald at Harry's side and Draco's cousin Theodore at his. All were nervous, all were wary, but the couple themselves were too lost in each other's eyes to sense the tension around them. To them, the ceremony was a moment short and lasted a lifetime.

A bed was made for them in the tower of Dumbledore's castle and the lovers taken there to enjoy their night. They did not see, but Dumbledore took their friends aside, having his own plans to attend to. All the two lovers saw were each other.

The room was small and pale blue, like an early morning sky, and candles were all over, giving off a faint scent of beeswax and summer. Later, Harry would light candles made from beeswax to remember that night and Draco would serve honey on anniversaries, but for now both room and scent disappeared, replaced by senses starved for loving attention.

Pieces of fine cloth were delicately removed and cream-white skin revealed, each bit kissed as it showed itself. Harry almost lost his breath at the tantalizing sight and as Draco's soft moans became intense when almost all the clothes were gone.

"Please, let me now," Draco whispered, both shy and eager; he could not bear to have the last cloth gone with his husband still dressed, and his nimble fingers started to release buttons and laces, his moans now mixing with Harry's when gentle fingers traced the lines of his ribs and a soft tongue played with a nipple.

How the two lovers found themselves in bed no one knows – not even I – since by all rights they should have fallen where they stood, but these were wizards, after all, and love can make magic happen even amongst Muggles.

All else gone, there was only lips meeting and hands searching, tongues exploring and bodies melding. The two men on the bed, pale skin on white, were lost to the world. Only they existed in this room, at this time, only the sight of white hair and black and grey eyes meeting green. Draco's legs around Harry's waist, making love to a rhythm set by the wind in the trees and the waves of the sea.

Outside the room, night fell, dawn broke and all the candles inside had all but died before the two fell asleep, still wrapped in a tight embrace that no man could ever break.

- - - ~ ~ ~ & ~ ~ ~ - - -

Dawn became day and outside the world of the pale blue room, an old man saw years of fruitless fighting come to a grudging end. His two messengers brought together two families at the small castle from whence he had so long grieved at the war outside his windows. But now the union of the sole heirs of two warring lines was impossible to overlook and as a vow that holy cannot be taken back or broken – not without most dire consequences – the Malfoys and the Potters found that they had become one. And one thing they did agree upon was this: one does not kill family. (Especially not when the most pressing matter was how to make the two young men continue said families, but that, dear readers, is a whole other story and not one I am about to tell.)

Thus ends my story, dear friends,
Of the Malfoys and the Potters.
Of how war did end with the
beat of two hearts, and how love
doth truly conquer it all.