The French cook and the English prince.

Anxiety and Beauty

Draco

A few months have passed since king James had his talk with me. It's now May, the air is warm and the breeze is just right, flowers have bloomed and have painted beautiful pictures on the hills. You can always hear people enjoying their day and the soft sounds of children's laughter.

Sadly, Harry and I haven't been able to spend much time together due to party planning and preparation. Queen Lily is in charge of this whole soirée. She seems like a woman who knows what the hell she's doing. Strong-willed, independent and refuses to bend to this man's world. She's a wonderful role model for young girls and it's an honor to be even in her presents.

The little time we did spend together I was slowly teaching him, French. Harry is a slow learner but passionate nonetheless. I've taught him proper greetings, a few numbers, and basic household items. Grammar was hard to penetrate his skull; he would constantly use the wrong pronouns. He still can't wrap his head around the fact that in France we have pronouns in-front of almost everything.

The huge function has taken up most of his time, Pansy has kept me busy along with the tailor. My suit is ready and just in time for the party.

Tonight, people from all kinds of different nations will come to throw themselves at Harry's feet and try to seduce Harry into marriage. It's going to be a clusterfuck of horny young adults and overflowing hormones.

I could never stoop so low as to throw myself at a man I just met.

I didn't throw myself at Harry so shut up.

I begin my day by staring at my cream-colored walls feeling the knot in my stomach slowly make its way into my throat. The sun has just peaking its way into my room warming my frigid skin. Birds are chirping but it sounds so far away almost as if I'm underwater, I know I need to get up, great ready and help Pansy cook breakfast but my legs refuse to carry me. My body even refuses to lift a finger.

Dread fills my body like I just inhaled a thorn-bush; it fills my lungs making it hard to breathe and when I do the thorns stab at the walls of my lungs, my head feels ten times more heavy with the weight of how many thoughts are being laid on me. I try to remind myself of my talk with James and Pansy but I can't help and feel outmatched by everyone who's going to be attending this party. Men and women from around the world who have years of political strategies and just general knowledge of upper-class politics and manners. My studies only went so far until I was shunned out. I haven't been to a lesson in a while. These people have riches as far as the eyes can see, they could buy nations while I can barely afford my suit. My French manners seem so foreign to these English folks. Trying to have a conversation with any of them would be pointless, I don't stand on equal grounds. We would have nothing in common, I don't fit in their world. I won't fit in at all, I'll stand out like a sore thumb. Harry would be much more interested in someone who he can relate to.

The cream wall in front of me slowly becomes blurry as tears fill my eyes, I wish a hole would open up underneath me and swallow me whole. My body begins to shake as I let myself fall back on to my bed. Maybe if I just lay here Harry will forget about me. The tears break free from my eyes slowly burning a path down my face. A loud knock brings me out of my thoughts. I roll away from the door but the pounding continues. Whoever is on the other end is trying to break in with how hard there pounding my door.

"Draco open up! Get your ass out of bed now!" Pansy sounds like she's about two seconds from busting the door down and tearing off my head.

Just go away. I want to wallow in my misery.

The pounding continues after a moment of gathering all the energy in my body; I force myself to stand and unlock my door. The door flings open to show a rabid Pansy.