Fic: A Fairy’s Tale

Author: MamaLaz

Pairing: Ron/Draco

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Once upon a time a spoilt little princess called Draco Malfoy awaited in his tower for a prince to rescue him. But things don't quite go the way he expected... A Ron/Draco fairytale in rhyme.

A/N: Took months to finish but I finally did it. Dedicated completely to Manu, my wonderful, beautiful Noo who helped me with so much of this. Love you! Also must give a shout out to Jaime, Ria, Soph, Dee and Maud – love you guys! xxx

If Draco Malfoy could have said what was trite,
About a princess in a tower on a cold winter’s night,
The aforementioned princess would have probably said,
The want of a mirror and a warm comfy bed.

But since Draco Malfoy was alone in this plight,
For no man nor a maid was clear in his sight,
His tale of woe could only befall
The attentive ears of no one at all.

So his scowls and his sneers went largely unheard,
To the majority and minority of the magical world,
For his tower was as far as could possibly be,
From all classes and forms of society.

So Draco decided, on his own on one evening,
Instead of being alone and moaning and grieving,
That he wait for a man to fight with and whine,
And keep him complaining for all of all time.

So he awaited this ‘prince’ from night until day,
Until four empty years soon dwindled away,
And Draco’s shrewd plan, that he thought a great pitch,
Now seemed to have quite a rather large hitch.

His favourite green gown, that was once so pristine,
Was now rather stained and ripped and unclean,
And his belief in himself, which was always so high,
Was beginning to shake with no sign of his guy.

And just when our princess began fearing and fretting,
That a beau or a mate he would never be getting,
And a person to fight with would never appear,
A figure on horseback was spotted quite near.

So Draco perked up, and quite gaily he stated,
"My Prince! He has come! Although somewhat belated..."
So with more than a flurry, he skipped to the door,
And eagerly waited for what was in store.

With a creak of the door and a step on a stair,
In stepped a stranger, with flaming red hair,
And with one look at Draco, his face quite a-glower,
Cried, "Buggery hell! I've got the wrong tower!

"I'll kill Fred and George! I'll murder those gits!
With their stupid directions, those troublesome twits!
Through swampland and marshes, I have travelled all day!
To find, not a horse, but a cross dresser at play!"

To this Draco grasped, with quite some surprise,
That this was no prince to come claim his prize,
But a poor stable boy who had quite lost his way,
Through fog and wet mist on that cold winter’s day.

But Draco, you see, is not the kind sort of fellow.
That we read of in tales, all caring and mellow.
He was, for a princess, a rude sort of guy,
Who relished in pain and making men cry…

And so Draco didn’t play the gracious young host,
And welcome this ‘Ron’ with cold drinks and a toast,
But instead placed his hands on his dress-clad hips,
And foul, evil words soon escaped from his lips.

“A cross dresser!” cried Draco. “How dare you say that!
Now you listen to me, you poor little rat,
I am awaiting my prince, for soon he is due.
A person far richer and grander than you!”

"Your Prince?" said Ron, sounding rather confused,
For his forehead had lined and his eyes looked bemused,
Then eyeing the room in its disorderly state,
He turned back and said, " 'Reckon he's a bit late."

Now Draco, for years, had not spoken a word,
For talking to oneself was completely unheard,
And although he had missed the odd chance to chitchat,
He’d prefer be alone than stuck here with this prat.

With a clench of his fists and a low sort of growl,
Draco stepped himself forward and wore a sharp scowl,
And with his face a light pink and his eyes a long slit,
He soon began to rant and to rave and to spit.

"Shut up!" hissed the princess. "You know nothing at all!
My prince on his steed will take me to the ball!
His hair will be black, and his eyes emerald green,
And skin as fair as a snowy white scene…

And perhaps his sight is not the best in the place,
And an ugly scar may be distorting his face,
And brunettes may not be my particular type,
For short, speccy midgets are not near what I like…

“But he is my prince and he shall ask for my hand,
And we’ll be the happiest men in the land,
For everyone who’s anyone will surely agree,
We’re the finest pair in literary history!"

To this Ron replied with a snort and scoff,
“I’ve had enough of this rubbish. I think I’ll be off.
If your prince does arrive, tell him to run for his life,
For what could be worse than you as a wife?”

So with one final look at the evil princess,
Who was glaring and sneering in his tatty old dress,
Ron turned on his heel and stomped into the night,
And he and his horse soon galloped from sight.

So Draco sat back on his sill one more time,
And waited once more for his prince to pop by,
For now was the time for his beau to arrive,
And take the young man for his willing new bride.

So eagerly awaiting a knock on the door,
He twiddled his thumbs and he whistled a score,
But since lasting patience from Draco was rare,
But three weeks had passed before deepest despair…

Began to close itself in and make Draco scream,
And pull at his hair and make his ears steam,
And make Draco trash his small little room,
As he found himself sinking quite deep into gloom.

“Oh why!” he did sob. “Oh why is he not here?
Not that I’m worried or feel any fear…
But food is quite short and I’ve nothing to eat,
And my skin, although always as white as a sheet…

“Is now rather grey, with no health and no tone,
And my body sheer skin and nothing but bone,
And my hair limp and greasy with a dirty blond hue,
And quite speckled with dandruff – oh what shall I do!”

But wait – what was that, that thing over there?
Balanced on the horizon and right in thin air?
And approaching his tower with a spluttering buzz?
A figure on broomback? Oh surely it was!

In jumpy excitement, Draco hopped on his sill,
Allowing the man to approach closer still,
And closing his eyes, lips puckered in vain,
He heard the words, “Blimey, not you yet again!”

On seeing the head of flaming red hair,
Draco let out a screech as he clawed at the air.
With a yelp of a cry, Ronald fell off his broom,
And on top of the princess and into the room.

“You brat!” Ronald howled, going as red as his hair,
But the screaming subsided as he opted to stare,
And looking at Draco as if the boy looked unwell,
He gasped and then shouted, “You look like pure hell!”

“Get off me, you oaf!” the princess wheezed out.
For a knee in the stomach made it awkward to shout.
And pushing poor Ron with no kindness at all,
He jumped to his feet from his previous sprawl.

Then kicking the boy with a half broken heel,
He let out a scream that no damsel could steal,
And demanded Ron leave and go back to his kind,
But it seemed that young Ron had a query to mind.

“What happened to you?” he questioned once more,
Still lying flat down on the dusty stone floor.
He then turned his red head in an astonishing feat,
And noticed the blond had no food left to eat.

“So what?” Draco hissed, voice as soft as a snake,
For he mistook the concern as quite paltry and fake.
Then dropping the scowls and the horrible sneers,
Draco falls to his knees and bursts straight into tears.

He really does look such a pitiful sight,
As he blubbers and cries and tells Ronald his plight,
Eyes swollen and red as he sobs his distress,
And wipes his wet nose with the cuff of his dress.

He tells of his shoes, all scuffed and near breaking,
And the woes of his scalp, which was dry and all flaking,
And the state of his nails, all chipped and unclean,
And his mess of a dress that was once so pristine.

And of course of the food, which now was all gone
(for his prince was so late and was taking so long),
And the fact he was lonely and here all alone,
And just wanted a man he could fight with and moan.

From hearing this tale of deepest despair,
Ron conjures a hankie from out of thin air,
Then handing it over, turns back to his broom.
And splutters himself back out of the room.

But if Draco thought that’s the last he would see,
Of the boy with red hair and a freckle or three,
Then Draco’s assumptions were really quite beat,
For another big chance for the two boys to meet,

Came the following Monday, where Ronald was found,
Shouting up to the tower from his place on the ground,
And giving the princess a gleeful ole grin,
He called for the Malfoy to let him straight in.

Confused and frustrated, Draco unlocked his room,
And with a rush of a breeze and a magical zoom,
And a glitter of sparks like a firework’s burst,
Exploded a bright and rather fanciful curse.

And as the smoke parted, the sparks dimming out,
The princess’ face soon turned to a pout.
And eying the table that was just conjured there,
And the potions and lotions and food that lay bare…

Draco eyed the cheap brands and raised up his chin,
With the hauteur and pride and conceit of a king,
And crossing his arms and lifting his nose,
Said, “I would rather die than use any of those!”

If sound could convey the fall of a face,
Ron’s would have crashed and then shaken the place,
And if a hue could have told us the state of his sight,
Then red would have been quite the colour that might.

So advancing himself like a thundercloud’s clap,
Ron pulled back his arm and gave Draco a slap.
With a rose tinted cheek and a princess’s gasp,
He then stormed to the door, pulled open the clasp…

And thumped down the stairs in a temper so smart,
And kicked off his broom in a mode of quick start.
And just as Ron turned at his back to lift off,
He heard, with keen ears, the sound of a scoff.

So turning his head, face still in a funk,
Ron got off his broom with a loud sort of ‘thunk’
And marching back up in a manner so stout,
He decided to see what this ‘scoff’ was about.

On ascending the stairs and pushing the door,
Ron drops his jaw down so it’s scraping the floor.
For what should he see on checking the place,
But the uppity Draco quite stuffing his face.

He had scoffed down the bread and the cheese and the wine,
Which, although lowly priced, still tasted divine.
And such was his hunger that he ate the fruit, too,
And even gulped at the cheap dandruff shampoo.

With a munch and a crunch and with one final slurp,
He finished his meal and then belched out a burp,
And with crumbs on his chin and his collar as well,
He said a reluctant “Thanks” for the spell.

To this Ron replied with an awed sort of nod,
(Not quite expecting a ‘thanks’ from the sod).
Then staring at Draco and awkwardly hush,
Ears going pink with a fetching light blush,

And scratching his head and looking confused,
And biting his lip as he stood there and mused.
And pawing his shoe on the dusty stone floor,
Said, “I’ll come back later to spell you some more.”

And so it became quite a regular thing,
That Ronald popped in for a spot of rowing,
And to drop off shampoo and loaves of fresh bread,
So Draco’s hair shone and his stomach was fed.

And to bring him new shoes, all buckled and black,
And velvet green gowns all piled up in a stack,
And to keep Draco smiling and smirking all day,
And argue and fight til his blues went away.

Which carried on until a year had soon flown,
And a strange sort of fondness between them had grown.
And although neither boy would say it aloud
(Both being stubborn and incredibly proud)…

They liked one another, and more than a friend,
For both their hearts sank when a visit would end,
And both count the hours til the next one began,
And thought of the other as much as one can.

So Draco, an impatient and ruthless young chap,
Who got what he wanted by ploy or mishap,
Thought, “Screw it, my Prince is quite obviously dead.
“ ‘Better trap and then marry Ron Weasley instead.”

But the princess, a creature of greatest denial,
Who would lie and deny until words were futile,
Refused to admit that he’d fallen for Ron,
“He’s there to replace my prince who is gone!”

So Draco thought and he drew an infallible plan,
Ensuring that Ron would want him for his man,
And recalling the words his mother once said,
About men and their brains being south of their head…

He wore a tight gown when Ron would come by,
And licked at his lips and winked with his eye,
And wiggled his hips when fights got quite tense,
But sadly for him, his ‘prince’ was quite dense.

Not only did Ron not spot these at all,
Or wonder why Draco’s green dress was so small,
But brought a new potion when next he popped by,
To help Draco fix up that ‘twitch’ in his eye.

Resisting the urge to give Ron a smack,
The princess decided, “A new change of tack!”
So concluding that Ron had the sight of a flea,
He had to be clear as could possibly be.

Preparing himself the next time Ron came,
With rose petals scattered and candles aflame,
He shucked off his dress and posed on a chair,
And waited for Ron in his best underwear.

With the swing of the door and a knock on the wood,
Ron stepped in the room and then froze where he stood.
Then creasing his brow and looking perplexed,
Enquired if the boy had mislaid his dress.

With screaming so strident that glasses did break,
The princess stalked forward and gave Ron a shake.
Through scraps and through scrapes and through a good pound,
They fought and they brawled til they both hit the ground.

They rolled and they clawed until Ron was on top,
Who pinned Draco down til the boy would soon stop,
But Draco did struggle and scream and did squirm,
And, growing frustrated, Ron yelled in return.

And just when their tones became breathy and such,
And their faces so close that their lips could have touched,
And Draco’s light eyes were a smoky dark grey,
And young Ronald strived for an insult to say…

And their legs tangled up in an intimate pose,
And palest of skin pressed upon Ronald’s robes.
And breaths mingled jointly, so warm and so quick,
With Ron’s nerves so bad that he feared he’d be sick…

And their pulses so fast that they hurt from inside,
And their blushes so red they were tricky to hide,
And Draco reached up to stroke at Ron’s jaw…
Did Draco’s Prince Charming blow open the door.

In came a stranger, quite skinny and small,
Hair messy and black, knees knobbly and all.
And wielding a wand, armour shining and gold,
And wearing a look that was daring and bold…

He stepped through the rubble with purpose and steam,
Before blinking a bit and then eying the scene.
With a groan and a moan and a cry far from joy,
“Oh no,” wailed the Prince. “Another cross-dressing boy!”

At this Ron jumped up, quite suddenly prude,
And muttered that he did not wish to intrude.
For a poor stable boy, though kind and with pride,
Cannot take a rich princess for his bride.

So face burning red, freckles lost in the hue,
Limbs awkward and restless with nothing to do,
Eyes coy and downcast and quite suddenly sad,
Like a chance had been lost and would never be had,

Ron walked up to Harry and shook at his hand,
And wished them the happiest pair in the land.
And avoiding at watching the princess’s face,
He feebly waved before leaving the place.

“So,” said the Prince as Ron slumped his way out,
Face grim with defeat and mouth wrinkled with doubt,
As green eyes did skim and regretfully stare,
At Draco’s flat chest and quite boyish short hair.

But the Prince, a noble and decent young man,
Being as kindly and honest and just as one can,
Decided though Draco was not to his taste,
(For he had no breasts and quite manly a face),

That it was his duty to ask Draco’s hand,
With an offer so flash and proposal so grand.
So awkwardly crouching on one armoured knee,
“Good Lad – err, Good Lady, won’t you marry me?”

As doubtfulness laced through every which word,
With reluctance so strong that it sounded absurd,
Draco’s mind wandered and thought on instead,
A tall lanky frame and a redheaded head.

Of turquoise blue eyes and a boyish-like grin,
And of wrists and of ankles and elbows so thin.
And annoying big hands and of tatty old clothes,
Two paddle-like feet and one silly long nose…

And by golly! By gosh! It hit him like lightening!
A thinking so foul and a notion so frightening,
For Draco soon grasped though his prince was alive,
He somehow still yearned to become Weasley’s bride.

So with a jump to his feet in a manner so gay,
He sneered at the prince, “Get out of my way!”
And pushing poor Harry so he fell to the floor,
He thundered his way through the half-broken door.

And rushed down the stairs til he got to the ground,
Where Ron and his broom and his horse were all found.
Then shoving Ron down so he fell on one knee,
“Go on then, propose. Say ‘Will you marry me?’”

And so the boy did and was replied a bored, “ ‘Kay”,
And with a snog and a grope and a roll in the hay,
A couple were formed and a courtship begun,
With kissing and touching and all sorts of fun.

And though trouble loomed with Draco’s mad dad,
Who could not see his son with a poor stable lad,
And King Lucius pronounced, “The Kingdom or him!”
And the princess’s future was looking quite grim…

Draco decided, “To hell with the brute!”
“I’m smart and I’m mean and incredibly cute.
“And have gold coins galore in the tower’s back shed,
“And a man who is fit and so nimble in bed.”

So giving his father the finger so foul,
And sending a rude and quite coarse-worded owl,
Was Draco disowned and then sent on his way,
To marry his Ron on a warm summer’s day.

And so they did wed in a function so grand,
Where the Dukes and Duchesses and Sirs in the land,
Who’d been slighted by Lucius by some bitter end,
Did buy them great gifts and their wedding attend.

And even Prince Harry, who still had no wife,
And an evil Dark Lord who was after his life,
Wished them the best and did buy them a cake,
With a roaring red lion and hissing green snake.

But though cakes and presents were kindly to give,
Both Ron and his wife needed somewhere to live,
For the Burrow was small and incredibly packed,
With no privacy, floors riskily stacked.

So with some of Ron’s magic and the princess’s dosh,
They rebuilt the tower to make it quite posh.
With huge added spires and gardens in bloom.
And marriage-consuming in every which room.

So now comes the end of this limiricked tale,
Where a princess and pauper’s true love did prevail,
Where the spoilt lonely Draco and the hot-tempered Ron.
Both fought and then loved til they soon got it on.

And though they still argued and had the odd scrap,
With punches and snogs and the odd little slap,
They lived out their days in contentment and laughter,
And spent their lives shagging quite happy ever after.