Author's Note: This is the sequel to my story, "Shattered", which mainly concentrates on the post-Hogwarts relationship between Severus Snape and Hermione Granger. Don't let that squick you . . . Draco Malfoy played a significant role in that story and now he has one of his own. You don't have to read "Shattered" to understand what's happening in "The Prince of Avalon", but you may want to read it at some point. If you love Draco, I think you'll love "Shattered".
At least, I certainly hope so . . . "Shattered" is here on this site. Just click on my author name to find it in my profile.
And just to give a little background: In Shattered, Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater and spy for the Order of the Phoenix . . . a protégé of Severus Snape. Malfoy worked with Harry, Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Order, to defeat Voldemort. In part because of the role he played, the MoM worked with the Ancient Houses to name Malfoy as the future monarch of wizarding Britain.
It will all become more clear as you read this story.
I also want to say that while this story will be a romance, it will also have drama, mystery, humor and not to mention, a bit of parody of the British Royal Family. There will be references to "The Order of the Phoenix", so if you haven't read it yet, you may want to skip this until such time you complete the book.
This fic is rated R for language and sexual situations . . . Hey! This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about! What did you expect?
and joy and greed and sex
That's what makes our town the best
Pride and joy and dirty dreams and still surviving on the street
And look at me, I'm in tatters, yeah
I've been battered, what does it matter
Does it matter, uh-huh
Does it matter, uh-huh,
From the song, "Shattered" by The Rolling Stones
Needless to say, the Final Battle had not gone as Lord Voldemort had intended.
He knew when he saw the triumphant smirk on Draco Malfoy's face that it was all over. Damn the bratty bastard to hell! All his well-laid plans were shattering . . . and now, his soul was shattering as well.
He'd drunk the Potion, thinking it was going to bring him Immortality, but instead, all it was bringing him was Death.
An angry green vortex of magic began to swirl around his body. He had the presence of mind to curse as he dropped to his knees, but even he wasn't immune to the drama of his situation. For one surreal moment, he remembered an old movie he'd seen as a child, when he'd lived amongst the Muggles and didn't know who he really was. He recalled the scene where Dorothy killed the Wicked Witch in "The Wizard of Oz".
His mind screamed at Malfoy: "Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting!" He wanted to shout it at the loathsome boy, but when he opened his scaly mouth, nothing came out. "It's strange, the things one thinks about at the time of death," he thought fleetingly.
Then he felt the pain.
As the Order of the Phoenix began to utter the Soul Shattering Spell, his broken mind reached for Ginny Weasley. If he was going to die, he was taking her with him. It would be the perfect revenge on both Potter and Malfoy, as they both loved the traitorous girl, but once again, fate intervened and instead of pulling Ginny Weasley into the vortex of his shattering soul, he pulled in her stupid, dimwitted brother. The Dark Lord felt Ron Weasley's soul slip by him but by then, he was beyond caring.
He was too busy writhing on the ground in agony.
In a sudden flash of green light, his soul exploded and everything that happened next, happened very slowly . . . at least to his shattered mind.
Even as the pieces of his soul were being flung away, some of them fought to coalesce. They gathered at a focal point . . . random pieces of his very being. As his soul battled vainly against oblivion, he heard a voice calling him . . . calling the lost parts back to a gathering place. Most of his soul ignored the voice and flew away in different directions.
But some of the stronger pieces paused, as if looking for a place to rest.
And then his fractured spirit found its mark.
"Come to me, father. Come to me." The voice was the barest of whispers.
In an instant, a tiny bit of Lord Voldemort's consciousness dropped into the body of a middle-aged man in East Sussex, having a late dinner with his wife. The man felt an energy slam into his body and he thought he heard triumphant laughter in his head.
"That's strange," he thought. "Why do I suddenly have the urge to take over the world?" He blinked and let out a strangled gurgling sound.
"What's that, dear?"
"Oh, erm . . . nothing, my pet. Is it drafty in here? I thought I just felt a draft."
"Don't be silly. Why would there be a draft in the middle of our dining room? You charmed it to stay warm, right? Are you catching a cold?"
"No, I feel fine now." His wife shook her head in exasperation.
Shrugging, he went back to sipping his tea and doing the crossword puzzle.
Sirius Black regarded the young woman below him, as she moaned in ecstasy.
"Oh Sirius . . . Siiiiiiiiirius!"
He couldn't help an arrogant grin as the girl shuddered beneath him. Great Merlin, she was a hellcat and half his age, to boot! "Ol' Snape has nothing on me, the fucking fertile bastard," he snickered to himself. As her body began to convulse, Sirius felt himself letting go and with a barking howl, he came hard and ferociously. The woman continued to moan as his movements slowed, then finally stopped. Spent, he reached down to give her an affectionate, biting kiss, before rolling off her.
"You were magnificent, love," she murmured. "Even as drunk as you are, you're still the best lover this side of Hogsmeade."
"Only on this side of Hogsmeade?" he pouted.
She gave him a knowing leer. "You are a cad, Sirius Black." He reached for her again and began nibbling on her neck. He could feel his arousal springing to life once again.
"Gods, Sirius! You're insatiable," she laughed, shaking her head. "No more for me tonight. I have to get some sleep, I'm working tomorrow. Daddy will be expecting me early."
"But I have a few more tricks up my sleeve. I want to practice them on you," he whispered seductively.
She giggled and pushed him away. "Perhaps if you're a good little doggie, we can have a bit of a lie-in before I have to leave. You can show me your latest in the morning." She turned over on her side and it wasn't long before Sirius heard her breathing become slow and regular.
Sighing in defeat, he sat up and walked over to a table in his bedroom. An empty bottle of Old Ogden's Fire Whiskey was perched on its surface but he tried to pour another glass anyway. Only a couple of drops came out, as Sirius gave the bottle another futile shake.
"Nothing is as grim as it seems . . . there has to be another bottle here somewhere," he muttered to himself. He knew he'd probably finished the last of the Ogden's that he'd stored in his liquor cabinet. He remembered sharing it with his mates the night that Voldemort had been defeated, two months earlier. Undaunted, he continued to search his room for another bottle.
Sirius was used to beating the odds.
Eight years earlier, he'd fallen behind the archway of the Veil of Shadows while dueling with his bitch cousin, Bellatrix LeStrange. If it hadn't been for Albus Dumbledore, he'd have eternally floated in a bubble of oblivion, caught in a dimension between Life and Death.
As his hand reached under the bed, his fingers curled around a familiar bottle. Chuckling in victory, he poured himself another drink and allowed his mind to drift back to Harry's sixth year.
Unbeknownst to all but a few, Albus Dumbledore had spent the better part of that year researching a way to get Sirius back and had finally gone to the Ministry building to retrieve him. That had been a true moment of weirdness. As time didn't exist behind the Veil, in Sirius' mind, he had just slipped in when suddenly Dumbledore's head had poked through the curtain. "Ah, there you are," the Headmaster had murmured, as if he'd misplaced his glasses. Before Sirius could even form a thought, Albus had pulled him through to the other side.
As quickly as that, his ordeal had been over.
Once he'd appeared again at the Department of Mysteries, Sirius found to his surprise that a whole year had passed since he'd been gone. His return had cost Albus a lot of magic and it had taken almost a year for the Headmaster to completely recover from his mission. In a feeble voice, he'd told Harry and Sirius that he'd owed it to The-Boy-Who-Lived to bring his godfather back.
The barmy old wizard had figured that he'd somehow failed Harry and that now his debt was paid. Harry had been ecstatic to have Sirius back and whatever problems he'd had with the Headmaster were laid permanently to rest.
Finishing his drink, Sirius eyed the blonde woman in his bed. Some folks thought she was a bit "off", but Sirius liked that about the girl. In fact, a lot of wizards said the same thing about Sirius himself. He and the young witch had been going out for about a month now and while they had very little in common, it didn't seem to matter much when they were shagging like there was no tomorrow.
"One never knows," he thought cynically.
Climbing next to her, he snuggled under the blankets as his mind drifted off to sleep. He reached to pull her closer and his last conscious thought was, "I'm glad Remus had me de-fleaed this morning. Fleas would have killed the mood."
His next conscious thought was "What the bloody hell?"
His companion was shaking him awake, a look of fury on her face.
"Eh?" Sirius was still half asleep, but was instantly aroused when he felt the sting of her hand against his cheek.
"Who is she?"
"Who is Cissy?"
"You stupid prick! Is that all you can say? A moment ago you were moaning in your sleep. Cissy . . . Cissy . . . I love you, Cissy."
Sirius fought the urge to say, "Wha?" one more time. He searched his mind and suddenly, he reddened. He reached for the girl in a plaintive gesture.
"Luna . . . love . .. there is no Cissy. You have to believe me. You're the only girl for me."
"Likely story, you two-timing pillock! Hermione warned me about you. I should have listened!"
Sobbing, Luna Lovegood gathered all her clothing and stormed out of his flat. Sirius was left alone and stunned.
He groaned, running his hands over his face.
He knew perfectly well who Cissy was. His face reddened again in mortification. He'd been dreaming about her recently, and once again, they'd been in the midst of passionate lovemaking.
Oh Gods! What was happening to him?
He'd never thought of his cousin that way, yet lately, he'd been plagued by vivid dreams . . . dreams that were too shocking for him ever to consciously admit.
Why was he having sexual dreams about Narcissa Malfoy?
Sirius got up and began to nervously pace in his room. Finally, he sank down in an armchair and buried his head in his shaking hands.
There would be no sleep for him tonight.
And if these dreams continued, he never wanted to sleep again.
"Where's the food? You promised food, Hermione!"
Hermione gave Harry an affectionate grin as she huffed, "Hold your Quaffle, you git! The food is just around the corner in an adjacent room. And I thought Ron was bad! Are you sure you're not channeling -" she stopped awkwardly. "Oh, I shouldn't have . . . I'm sorry, Harry." She looked at him in apprehension.
"Don't be sorry, love. Ron would have really enjoyed this. I only wish he were here."
"Me too," she sighed.
It had been a difficult three months since Ron's death.
Hermione gave Harry a small, comforting smile as they linked arms and surveyed the room. The Great Hall in Hogwarts was decorated in beautiful white roses and champagne coloured linens.
The wedding guests were milling about, talking animatedly with each other.
There was an excited buzz in the air: Voldemort was dead and the world was full of fresh new beginnings.
After all, it wasn't everyday that an old, crusty and confirmed bachelor married the most brilliant witch of the twenty-first century. Or so everyone kept telling Hermione and Severus Snape. Hermione chuckled as she remembered her new husband's look of irritation at such pronouncements. "Don't worry, love," she'd cooed tenderly. "You're not that old and I'm not that brilliant." He'd given her his most dazzling smile.
"You married me, so you must be brilliant," he'd whispered in her ear, before giving her lobe a playful nip.
"Oh, I'm only marrying you because --"
The rest of her reply had been decidedly naughty.
While they'd kept it simple, it had been a beautiful ceremony. Hermione's ivory gown clung to her curves, showing the barest hint of her early pregnancy, and while she'd fretted about that, Ginny Weasley had assured her that the tiny baby growing inside of her gave her a most becoming glow. She was truly radiant.
And when Severus Snape locked eyes with her the first moment he saw her walking towards him, she felt like the most beautiful witch on Earth. Their love for each was clearly evident on their faces.
All their friends and families were there. It was a truly magnificent celebration.
Peering around a corner, Draco Malfoy met Hermione's eye and motioned for her to join him. Hermione looked hesitantly at Harry, who just shrugged. "Go see what the little poofter wants, Hermione. You'll pardon me if I don't join you."
"I heard that Potter! And that's Prince Poofter to you, wanker!" Draco yelled, giving Harry a superior smirk.
"Wanker" was Malfoy's favorite term of endearment for Harry. Harry was beginning to think his name was Harry Wanker.
He shook his head and counted to ten to calm his temper. Ever since Malfoy had been approached by The Ministry to become the next Prince of Avalon, he had been bloody impossible. Harry still couldn't understand the political forces that had made that abomination possible. He recalled Albus Dumbledore trying to explain it to him, but the only thing his frazzled mind could think of was, "Oh great! Here's just another thing that's sure to elevate Malfoy to the Obnoxious Hall of Fame."
Obnoxious didn't begin to cover it.
Apparently there were many witches and wizards, especially from the Ancient Houses, who were clamoring for a monarch in the aftermath of Voldemort's demise. But why it had to be Draco Malfoy . . .
Harry sighed. The last thing he wanted was Malfoy spoiling his evening. His eyes searched the crowd, finally resting on the one person he wanted to talk to.
Hermione slowly made her way towards Draco, pausing to hug Seamus and Lavendar along the way. Malfoy squirmed with impatience.
"Take your time," he called out insolently.
Hermione ignored his surliness. "Where's Ginny?" she asked, as she finally stood next to him.
"It appears that Wanker has cornered her. I swear, why doesn't he get his own girlfriend? Why does he have to sniff around mine?" he pouted, not expecting an answer.
Hermione only shook her head in exasperation. She'd heard it all a million times.
Draco plucked a rose from a nearby bouquet, and bringing it up to his nose, he breathed in its fragrance with an irreverent snort.
"I've noticed that the room is decorated in our signature white roses. I knew you couldn't forget our love, even if you're married to that impossible git." Draco grinned in delight as Hermione began to berate him.
"You were the worst fake-boyfriend I ever had," she said severely, before breaking out in a fit of giggles.
"That's no way to speak to your future Monarch. And giggling does not become you."
"Stuff it, Malfoy," she said playfully. "You'll always be just another little bugger to me. Prince indeed."
"That's Prince Bugger to you," he said smugly.
Severus joined them, and he reached for Hermione's hand, bringing it to his lips. "I prefer the phrase, "The Bugger formerly known as Prince," he said in a dry tone.
"Ah, Muggle humor, Uncle Severus. Hermione is clearly corrupting you."
Severus just sneered affectionately at Draco before turning to Hermione.
"It's time to eat, my love. The house-elves are waiting to serve us."
Hermione bit her lip. Although she'd given up on S.P.E.W. long ago, she still wasn't comfortable being waited on by house-elves. They, on the other hand, made it clear that they were delighted to be a part of "Master Snape's wedding." They'd been highly affronted when they'd learned that Hermione tried to talk Severus out of it. They wouldn't speak to her for weeks before she'd finally relented. Severus led her to the main table as Draco went to gather Ginny.
Everyone had happily settled and they were starting on the main course when suddenly Sybil Trelawney rose from her seat.
"Hem hem hem," she said, in an eerie imitation of Delores Umbridge. "Attention everyone!"
Severus gave her a worried frown. She'd been tearing through the cocktails all evening and he'd feared that she was going to make a scene.
Little did he know.
Her bracelets jangled and her eyes looked even more bug-like than usual. She pointed a bony finger at Draco and a deep, unfamiliar voice issued dramatically from her throat:
who came after shall rise!
Sent to stop the tides of the oceans
And the phases of the moon.
A Dark Secret is his weapon,
Nothing is as it seems,"
She swayed slightly before continuing:
only hope is the One who Sees
In union with opposing forces,
Lest the House of Malfoy falls."
Sybil Trelawney sat down, then promptly passed out, her face falling into a plate of chicken salad.
Everyone looked at each other in confusion. Then all eyes turned to Malfoy, staring at him expectantly.
Draco cleared his throat. "Well, that certainly beats the toast I was planning," he said sarcastically. "It's obvious that Sybil has been snorting too much incense again. She's clearly gone 'round the bend."
Nobody moved or made a sound.
Draco drew himself up and gave the crowd a haughty look. "Well? What are you waiting for? Carry on," he commanded.
Everyone abruptly started eating again in unison, as if choreographed by dancing veelas. There was an uneasy silence.
Harry immediately started rubbing his forehead, although it was more out of habit than anything ominous. His scar had disappeared at the time of Voldemort's death, as had the high voice whispering in his head.
Hermione leaned over towards him, noticing that Harry was murmuring to himself.
"Not again," he muttered to no one in particular. "Not another bloody Prophecy!"
To be continued . . .
As always, I'd like to thank my beta Elizabeth . . .