Much Ado About Nothing [The Wizarding World]

Act 2, Scene 3

'I'm back already, sir,' said the boy.

Draco smiled. 'I know, but I want you there and back again.'

The boy took off, running.

Draco sighed. It was strange how a man, seeing what fools other men make of themselves when they devote themselves to love, will become the very fool he has scorned, by falling in love himself. And after he's laughed at such shallow folly in others! That was Bas. He remembered a time when there was no music in Bas' soul other than the military sound of the drum and the fife. But now he would rather hear an accompaniment to romance – the music of the tabor and the recorder. He remembered a time when Bas would have walked ten miles to find a good suit of armour but now he would lie awake for ten nights thinking about fashionable clothes. He used to speak plainly and directly like an honest man and a soldier but now his language was all flowery: his words were an elaborate banquet full of exotic dishes. Could he, Draco, ever be converted like that? He wasn't sure: he didn't think so. He wouldn't swear that love would never shut him up in a moody silence, like an oyster, but he would take an oath on it that until love did make an oyster of him it would never make a fool of him. One woman he might meet may be beautiful but he was safe: another may be wise but still, he was safe: another may be virtuous and he was still safe. He was safe until he found all those qualities combined in one woman. She would have to be rich, that was a must: clever, or she was out: virtuous, or he would never offer himself: beautiful or he wouldn't even look at her: gentle, or she wouldn't get near him: as noble as the coin of that name or he wouldn't touch her even for ten shillings. She would have to be a good conversationalist, an excellent musician, and after all that, her hair could be whatever colour pleased Merlin.

He heard voices. He got up and crept forward, to the edge of the orchard. The entrance was protected by a trellis, thick with creepers and flowers. He peeped round it. Ah, it was the prince and Monsieur Love! He crouched down behind the trellis. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket, lit it, and prepared to listen to what they were saying.

Muhammed, Bas, Cepheus, and the singer, Handy, stopped at the fountain close to the trellis. Cepheus had halted the garden boy and asked him where he was running to so fast, and in that way had discovered the whereabouts of Draco. He had told the others, and so here they were.

Muhammed sat down on a bench. 'Come on,' he said to Handy. 'Let's have a song.'

'What a still evening it is,' said Bas. 'Perfect for listening to music.'

A wisp of cigar smoke rose from behind the trellis. Muhammed placed his finger over his lips and pointed. 'See where Draco has hidden himself?' he whispered.

Cepheus and Bas laughed silently. 'When the song's over we'll give the crafty fox more than he's bargained for,' mouthed Bas.

'Come on, Tonkey,' said Muhammed loudly. 'Sing that same song again.'

'Oh, my good lord,' said Tonkey, 'don't tax such a bad voice to ruin the music any more than once.'

'It's a sign of excellence to pretend not to recognise your own talent,' said Muhammed. 'Please sing, and don't make me woo you again.'

'As you're talking about wooing I'll sing,' said Tonkey, 'because many a wooer starts wooing someone he's not really interested in and yet he'll still carry on, and swear he loves her.'

'Come on,' said the prince impatiently. 'Or if you want to keep arguing about it, do it with musical notes.'

'Note this before I start my notes,' said Handy. 'There's not a note of mine that's worth taking note of.'

Muhammed appealed to the others. 'He's talking in crotchets. Notes, notes, and noting.'

Handy began strumming on his lute.