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Peas in a Pod: based on The Princess and the Pea by Hans Christian Andersen
1984, Summer: Once there was a Prince who wanted to marry a Princess. Only a real one would do.
“The Lady of the Manor went to the bedchamber, stripped back the bedclothes, and put only one pea on the bottom of the bed. Then she cast no less than twenty cushioning charms to the mattress, and took the three eiderdown feather beds and added twenty cushioning charms to them as well. Up on top of all the charms, the girl was to spend the night.
"In the morning they asked her, ‘Did you sleep well?’ To which the girl sighed and replied, ‘Oh! Not at all! I scarcely slept at all. Morgana knows what’s in that bed. I lay on something so hard that I'm black and blue all over. It was simply terrible.’
"And the Lord and Lady of the Manor could see she was truly pure of both heart and blood, for only the purest of girls would be so delicate to be hurt by such a small thing as a single pea. They deemed her worthy for their precious son, and when they got married, they lived happily ever after.”
“Mother, how could you add twenty charms to one mattress?” asked a slightly whiny Draco Malfoy.
The corners of his Mother’s mouth lifted slightly. Draco loved storytime because Mother and he would always spend it together, and no one was to interrupt them until he got sleepy. He hugged his stuffed dragon, named Stuffy Draco, a little tighter. “Also, why did the boy want the girl to stay? Girls are silly. Couldn’t he just become a Quidditch Captain and travel the world?”
Draco pouted into Stuffy Draco’s neck and couldn’t see the twinkle in his mother’s eyes.
“The Lady of the Manor was a very gifted witch to be able to cast so many cushioning charms and not have them detected, my love. The boy was quite a bit older than you are now, and he didn’t find girls particularly silly any longer.”
“But they are so silly, mummy! Pansy always wants me to wear her dresses when we’re at Parkinson Manor! And she’s so pushy.”
Narcissa tutted but Draco didn’t think she looked cross. He sunk into his own mattress and let his Stuffy Draco whizz over his head.
“Also, Mother! You said yesterday that pretty boys only fall in love with pretty girls. And that girl in the story didn’t sound very pretty at all.”
“You don’t know that, Draco. She just happened to be a little discombobulated after the rain and storm she was caught in.”
Draco didn’t really know what the long word meant, but he decided that it didn’t matter. Girls were silly anyway. Both the pretty and cleaned up sort, like Pansy, and windswept girls like the future Lady of the Manor in the tale. He let Stuffy Draco fly as Mother began stroking his hair.
“Just remember that she was of the purest of both heart and blood, my love. These are the ladies that will make brilliant companions.”
He nodded, watching Stuffy Draco who looked right back at him – Draco just knew it!
Early January 1998, so early in the year, in fact, that most students have yet to return to Hogwarts: There were Princesses aplenty, but how was he to know whether they were real Princesses? There was something not quite right about them all.
“What are you reading?”
Draco looked up at Hermione Granger, standing in front of his library desk in all her holier-than-thou glory. What was she doing here?
The question seemed to be written all over his face because Granger’s lips quirked briefly. “This didn’t seem like any of the library books I’d ever seen before, so I was curious. What is it?”
Draco scoffed. Of course, she would be able to differentiate a book that wasn’t already in the library. The swot had likely read almost everything at Hogwarts. He briefly closed it and held it up for her to see.
“Magiske Historier af Christian Andersen – you’re reading Andersen ? In Danish ?”
Draco shuffled his feet and leaned back in his chair. “It’s the first edition from the manor library. I only ever heard the oral iterations when I was younger,” re replied. He wasn’t going to tell her that he had run a translation spell over each and every single page. Speaking Danish? Who was he, the young Lord from the Manor who married the Lady who was unable to sleep with a pea under her mattress?
Granger seemed incredulous. “You were told muggle fairy tales when you were younger?”
“Muggle? Why?” What was she on about? Andersen was one of the most famous magical children’s authors just after Beedle the Bard.
Instead of replying, Granger rummaged in that curious bag of hers. Draco had been eyeing it since the beginning of their eighth year. It was always with her, had even been with her in the manor last year, too. He presumed she had an incredibly strong undetectable extension charm cast on it.
“Ah, here!” She pulled out a worn copy of a colourful book and placed it next to Draco’s. The cover illustration of the little merperson on a rock looked much more modern than his edition, but it could have been a depiction out of How the Merpeople lost their dearest daughter to a noble pureblooded boy, nonetheless.
“Andersen was a muggle author,” Granger concluded confidently.
“Oh no, Granger, he surely wasn’t. And you folks got his name wrong.” Draco pointedly stared down at the additional Hans before Christian Andersen’s name.
A mixture between a huff and a groan left Granger’s mouth as she tore the muggle copy from Draco’s hands. “Fine. Happy new year, Malfoy! Enjoy your pureblood fairy tale!”
She stormed off. Draco watched her drawn-back shoulders and the messy topknot of curls that slowly unravelled on her head, like every day. Strands of hair were falling free and slightly obscured his view of her slender upper back.
Her posture had gotten better, he noticed. She had been slumped all throughout September and October, and unusually quiet in classes. It was completely normal, Draco thought, that he’d notice, and it had absolutely nothing to do with her. She seemed like a shadow of herself. It was better now. He could stop paying attention.
Tapping the cover of Magiske Historier af Christian Andersen absentmindedly , he remembered her on the day of his trial. Standing as tall as she could at her full height of five feet and not so many inches, testifying for his immediate release before a disbelieving Wizengamot. They had sneered at her for the testimony on his behalf, questioned her motif, and even questioned her sanity. Hermione Granger did not falter.
Before he noticed, Draco used the plain cover of Magiske Historier as a gateway for a little exercise in occlusion.
Focusing on the dark blue of the cover and the elegant golden letters, he carefully placed the glowing thread that was the memory of a slumped Granger at the beginning of the school year in one imaginary palm and the memory of his trial in the other. Draco began interweaving the threads, carefully adding their earlier encounter after a bit. There, Granger-related memories were slowly turning into something like a braid, interwoven, belonging together.
He carefully avoided the memory from last spring. This belonged with the other memories he usually shoved at the back of his mind, far from reach, easy to forget during the day. They always made themselves known at night, when nothing distracted him from the carefully assorted categories he had constructed for himself.
This particular memory didn’t spare him now. “We only met him tonight! We’ve never been inside your vault … it isn’t the real sword! It’s a copy, just a copy!”
Draco took the memory, which had escaped the category of war memories on its own volition as Granger showed up in front of him just now, and folded it carefully. He didn’t want to intertwine it with any of the other memories he had, of her or the war. It was meant to be standalone.
Soon it was nothing more than a shining, neat spiral in his hand, much heavier than many of his other memories. Sorted away, for now, stockpiling on the very top of a number of memories from the war he’d taken part in, simultaneously as a victim and an offender. He would tuck all of these thoughts away until she unknowingly triggered it again with her swotty questions and occasional attempts at civility between them.
Always her attempts. Always him screwing their tentatively friendly conversations.
No matter how many times he sorted through his memories, Draco would always begin with recent events and move on to readjust the memories of last year.
No matter from where Draco started, he always ended with this particular memory of Granger in his parlour.
Belatedly, he wished he would’ve been nicer to her. This time, and all the other times before.
2002, Spring: Who should be standing outside but a Princess, and what a sight she was in all that rain and wind.
Draco suppressed a smirk as Teddy unwrapped his present from Granger.
“A book,” the birthday boy said flatly. “Thanks, Aunt Mione.”
“You’re welcome, Teddy!” She didn’t seem to notice that Teddy was less than enthusiastic. “I got my first copy of Andersen’s fairy tales when I turned four, too, and thought you might love the stories for bedtime.”
Draco looked up and stared at her. Granger paid him no mind.
“I don’t like stories for bedtime,” Teddy said, his cheeks a little flushed. “I like to play and then sleep.”
Granger seemed at a loss for words, especially when an amused Andromeda confirmed that the boy did indeed wreck the house until 7:30 pm sharp and then declared himself tired every day without fail.
“My mother read the same stories to me when I was four, you know. She said on my fourth birthday that it was time to get to know the Merpeople’s dearest daughter. That’s the third story in the book, but they will call her a mermaid in yours. I always liked it,” Draco said.
He pointedly focused on Teddy as he spoke. From the corner of his eye, he could see Granger’s astonished face, her mouth slightly open. “But I think the book you have is a little better, Teddy.”
This time, Draco had to force himself to not look Granger dead in the eye. He trained his gaze on his nephew, who seemed to contemplate what he said. “Why is it better, Uncle Draco?”
Draco paused. Because it didn’t perpetuate stereotypes about pureblood superiority? This was maybe not the right topic for a four-year-old's birthday party. Frowning, Draco eyed his piece of the abomination-cum-cake on his plate, one Teddy had apparently insisted on. Whoever had decided to commemorate poor Colin Creevey by turning him into a caterpillar and the caterpillar into a cake?
“It has pretty pictures,” Draco replied lamely.
Granger giggled at the other end of the table. He was really, very tired of not looking at her, so he did. Their gazes met and Granger flushed deeply.
“I like pictures.” Teddy seemed reconciled with the book and flicked through it, pausing at a picture of a dishevelled girl. “What’s that, Mione?”
“This is The Princess and the Pea, love. She couldn’t sleep because there was a pea under her mattress.”
Teddy frowned. “That’s silly.”
Potter chuckled from the side. “I agree, mate. But you know what’s even sillier? The prince falls in love with her because of it.”
“Yuck!”
Potter and Draco shared a rare laugh over the boy’s flailing. Granger only shook her head but seemed amused as well.
That was until Teddy opened Draco’s present.
“A dragon!” He jumped out of his seat excitedly, the stuffed dragon grabbed with both tiny hands. “Uncle Harry! Uncle Draco got me a dragon!”
“Yes, and he’s very cool in all green and silver, Teddy,” Potter said, laughing. As Teddy ran to Granger to show her the dragon up close as well, Potter leaned over to Draco and mouthed a silent Gryffindor!
Draco raised his eyebrows in return.
After tea, they went into the garden so Teddy could play with his new toy broom, courtesy of Potter. Andromeda levitated the stuffed dragon next to her grandson as he travelled at a record speed of two miles per hour.
Watching the three of them – Teddy on the toy broom, Potter walking next to him, and Andromeda levitating the stuffed animal – Draco and Granger stood on the veranda.
“I was impressed with your knowledge of muggle fairy tales earlier,” she began, eyes trained a little too hard on the band of three on the lawn, cheeks lightly flushed.
“I did some comparative reading,” he replied as nonchalantly as he could. “After you mentioned another version.”
“So did I.”
Draco noticed that she didn’t try to hide her smile this time, and he let out his own half-smile at the companionable moment between them. Still watching Teddy and the two adults, Granger turned her shoulders slightly towards him.
“What did you think of the muggle stories when you first read them?”
He deliberated his reply for a few seconds, but Granger didn’t rush him, she just continued to watch Teddy on the toy broom.
“They… they weren’t inherently different at first. Held similar notions of aristocracy and royalty, although of course witches and wizards never had kings, only more or less influential families.”
“Pureblood families,” Granger said quietly.
Draco bit the inside of his cheek. “Yes.”
“Have you heard of Jack Zipes, Malfoy?” But Granger barely waited for his reply. “Zipes is a Muggle scholar on German and comparative literature. He interpreted Andersen’s narration of ‘The Princess and the Pea’ as a manifestation of Andersen’s obligation to act a certain way within the social circles he was in at the time. Namely, Zipes interprets Andersen as obliged to act as if he was a subject dominated by the higher social circles despite his fame and recognition as a successful writer.”
Draco was going to reply but apparently Granger only needed a half-second to catch her breath before she continued.
“Zipes goes on to argue that the tale is a social commentary that ridicules the curious measures the nobility took to establish the value of bloodlines.”
Draco’s gaze followed Teddy. He could sense that Granger was watching him now, but he wasn’t sure if he could meet her eyes.
“One of Zipes’s colleagues, Maria Tatar, has another viewpoint. She focuses on the aspect of the princess having to establish her identity – her aristocracy. Tatar notes that the princess can verify her nobility through her sensibility alone, and thus concludes that Andersen wanted to convey that nobility is not linked to a birthright, but on sensitivity. This might seem very old-schooled for us because we measure social worth differently. But it could be argued that the princess’s sensitivity is actually referring to her compassion and not just the bruising she receives.”
Draco didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry if this was a little much,” Granger said softly. He looked at her. Her eyes were warm as she watched him. “What I wanted to say is, I think it doesn’t actually matter for the message of the tale if Andersen was a muggle or a wizard. And I think both interpretations are not only very interesting but carry a lot of meaning today. For us.”
And the Lord and Lady of the Manor could see she was truly pure of both heart and blood, for only the purest of girls would be so delicate to be hurt by such a small thing as a single pea , his mother had said. Utter bollocks.
“I agree,” he rasped. “I … I was going to say that. Before. That … that blood superiority was unfounded in both cases. But the point is, while it’s a historic account from the muggle perspective today, wizards and witches still live it. That it’s harmful. And that the value of a person is measured in many ways, but not this one.”
Now it was Granger who remained silent.
He looked at her. “I mean that when I say it.”
“I know.”
2004: Nobody but a Princess could be so delicate.
“This went slightly better than expected,” Draco said carefully, and Hermione huffed.
“Yes, aside from the fact that I thanked the house elf for the entrée and your mother nearly had a heart attack.”
“But she regained her composure by dessert. That’s a success in my books,” he tried.
Hermione sighed. “If you say so. I would label this dinner an utter disaster.”
“I would not. Now, off to your guest bedroom.” Hermione rolled her eyes and Draco kissed her lightly. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be there in a few minutes, alright?”
Hermione just turned on her heels and stomped off.
When Draco entered her room, she was in the adjacent bathroom, braiding her hair for the night. “This room looks so sterile. Has it ever been used?”
“Yes. It’s the same room Pansy and Daphne stayed in whenever they were over, actually.”
“I see,” Hermione said primly, and Draco rolled his eyes.
“Come on, now, Granger. Truly, this wasn’t so bad, and you were the first one to say we should give them a little time.”
Hermione just huffed at him again and went to bed. Brushing his teeth, Draco observed her as she lay down, wiggled a few times, and moved to get her wand on the nightstand. He couldn’t hear the murmured charm she cast, but she was still tossing as he joined her.
“Is it not comfortable for you?”
Hermione sighed and grabbed her wand again, casting a cushioning charm. “Not really, I don’t know why. It’s a soft mattress, but it feels off somehow.”
“Hm.” Draco didn’t know what to say.
“Draco…” Hermione seemed hesitant. “Do you think your parents did something to the bed? So it would reject me or something?”
He smiled briefly but shook his head. “That’s not their style. They welcomed you into the manor, so their hospitality must be impeccable. If anything, they would have rejected my proposal to have dinner altogether.”
Hermione sniffed. She obviously didn’t believe him.
“Do you think you can sleep?” Draco asked, extending his hand to stroke her braided hair.
“I can try, can’t I?”
Draco nodded, his eyes already on half-mast. The stress of introducing Hermione to his parents finally caught upon him. Just as he closed his eyes, he heard her cast yet another cushioning charm on the bed.
He woke up to a wobbling mattress. It was still dark outside. Hermione was seated upright and holding her wand again.
“Did I wake you up? Sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just…”
“It’s fine. Did you sleep at all?”
He could only see the shadow of half her face as she shook her head. “I must’ve cast a dozen cushioning charms by now, but it feels like I’m lying on sharp rocks. My back even feels a little bruised.”
Draco groaned as he sat up as well. “Curious. It’s very comfortable for me.”
“I know.” Draco could recognise Hermione’s features now. She looked worse for wear and bit her lips. “As I said, I can objectively feel that it’s very soft as well, but my body signals pain.”
Draco patted the mattress where Hermione had been lying. Nothing. It was as soft and warm at his side.
“I was thinking maybe something could be under the mattress,” she suggested. “Of course, this thing is at least ten inches thick, so why would I feel it? But nothing seems wrong on the surface.”
Draco hummed his agreement and got out of bed, wrapping himself in his duvet.
“Up, then,” he said. “Levitate the mattress for me?”
As the mattress rose in the air, Draco cast a Lumos to have a better look. Nothing was wrong with the underside of the mattress. It wasn’t even dusty.
But when the small light cone from Draco’s wand roamed the slatted frame, he suddenly snorted.
“I think I found the culprit, Hermione.”
“What? Really?”
Draco walked around the bed to her side and reached down. “Yes, look.”
He opened his palm and directed the light from his wand on it.
Hermione remained completely silent for a moment. Then, the mattress came crashing down next to them in a jumble.
“A pea? ” Hermione screeched. “You’re saying I couldn’t sleep because of a pea? Under ten inches of the mattress and a dozen cushioning charms? Don’t ridicule me, Draco!”
“I’m not,” he smirked, barely containing a laugh. “Try it now, it should be fine.”
“As if. This is really no joking matter, Draco! The last few hours have been a nightmare!” Grumbling, Hermione sat down on the bed. Draco watched her in amusement as her face slowly went from scorned to disbelieving.
“It’s gone,” she whispered, eyes wide. “It’s… it’s comfortable.”
Draco smirked and made to join her again. “I said so, didn’t I?”
“But it’s only a pea! This is impossible!”
“Nobody but a Princess could be so delicate, ” he offered, still grinning. In the growing light of the early morning, he could see her dark irises rolling before he wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her slowly, moving from her mouth to her cheeks and forehead as he could feel her drifting off to sleep.
If only Hermione knew.
1984, Summer: So the Prince made haste to marry her because he knew he had found a real Princess.
“Mother?” Draco had an idea. “We can see if I’m pure of heart and blood! We could put a pea under my mattress and add cushion charms to it and to my feather bed! We don’t need three, we can add all twenty charms to the one I already have!”
To reinforce the statement, he patted his duvet.
Mother tittered. To Draco’s surprise, she called for Dobby to bring in a singular, dry pea, which they then proceeded to place under his mattress. Mother murmured a few cushioning charms, and the bed was indeed softer than ever, but…
“I can’t feel the pea, Mother.”
Draco tried very hard not to let his disappointment be heard. Wasn’t he a pureblood wizard, and a nice one too?
Mother’s hand found his cheeks. “You, my sweet boy, are not a future Lady of the Manor. You’ll be the Lord, and you’re so strong, so you won’t be able to feel any peas under your mattress. Only the delicate ladies are tested this way.”
“Shouldn’t we add peas under all guest beds, then, Mother?”
“We can if you want.”
Draco sleepily watched Dobby grab some additional peas as per Mother’s request, and just as the elf returned with the job successfully finished, Draco fell into a deep slumber, imagining windswept, unruly hair.