Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The unusual sunshine this late into autumn was a sign of good will for the land’s new ruler. A stark contrast to the bleak summer that had been filled with abnormal dreariness and storms. As if the entire universe conspired to make clear that the king Draco’s family had put into power deserved to be overthrown in a bloody coup, to be replaced by a younger, brighter, more beloved king. The sort of sign that encouraged the nobles who had once scrambled for Draco’s father’s good will to believe larger powers would forgive them for turning their backs in his moment of need.

Except, when it came to it, no one could turn their backs, could they?

The entire court stood outdoors to watch the glorious sunrise climb over the King’s castle. The courtyard packed solid with bodies, with more people spilling out over the grounds. Nobles with the lowest standing, as Draco supposed he now was, were so far away Draco doubted they could even see the stage.

No such luck for Draco. He and his mother stood rigid in a place of honor, mere meters from the new king himself. The seamstress had told Draco to be grateful for the new king’s generosity when she had painstakingly tailored a new, golden suit with vibrant red outer robes. His mother was dressed similarly in scarlet with gold trimming, stark against her pale skin. It was not lost on Draco these were the finest things they may ever wear again, and they were not given to his family with generosity.

Draco wished the sun would rise all at once and blind him with the light of the morning. Instead it crept, dragging out each millimeter. It was worse because the crowd was silent. Hundreds of people collectively stood at their stillest, watching the sunrise crest over the buildings.

The light first hit the king. He wore bronze armor, meant to resemble the gold on his crest and purely decorative in nature. Draco had seen his battle armor and there was nothing decorative about it. The king wore a simple gold band upon his head as a crown. He’d rejected his predecessor’s more decadent headpiece, and rumor was he wouldn’t have worn one at all if not for his advisors’ conjoling. His dower continence was fitting for the solemn occasion, and on cue his eyes bored out into the crowds, distrusting and judgemental. Yet, they loved him.

Draco didn’t look at the king. He looked only forward, his eyes on the platform in front of him. He captured each moment of his father’s slow reveal in the morning light. Draco wondered if his father appreciated this last beautiful sunrise, or if he wished, as Draco did, that he’d died honorably in battle when their kingdom was taken.

In any case, the time was now.

Lucius Malfoy had long ago learned to look elegant while posturing as contrite. He could hang his head low with a straight back and a graceful tilt to his chin. He demonstrated this now as he lowered to his knees.

The executioner raised a sword, which Draco had been told was the most dignified of murder instruments. That must have taken cajoling by the advisors as well. This new king would not have granted Draco’s father the sword. Draco imagined the king’s desires. Perhaps fire, stoning, or drawing and quartering would have better fit his inclination. The sword was the equivalent of being killed in battle, an honorable death. It acknowledged Lucius’s rank, which had already been stripped from Draco and the Malfoy line. It set Lucius up to stand in place of the former king, who had died so bloodily that not even his body could be displayed to the court to send a message. The message would be seen here, instead.

Draco didn’t dare turn away as the executioner lowered the sword into Lucius’ exposed neck, cutting through the spine and killing him. The ragged tunic they’d dressed his father in had yellowed with age. Now it was caked with his father’s blood. It was a mockery of the gold and scarlet the king had forced Draco to dress in. The entire Malfoy family wore their conquerors' colors.

Draco cheered with the crowd when the mantra began: long live King Harry! Three calls to their monarch broke the silence, and suddenly the crowd was gleeful. This was it, the end of the war!

Lucius’s body was left prone on the platform while the revelry began. Lucius’s blood pooled, leaking through the cracks of the wood, even as the executioner cleaned his blade. Draco was captivated by the blood dripping through to the gravel below. He wondered how long the stain would leave some piece of Lucius here in the castle he had all but ruled.

A figure stepped between Draco and his father’s corpse. Shiny bronze glittered in the sun. Draco’s eyes flitted up to meet the green eyes of King Harry himself.

Draco’s mother was already dropping into a low curtsy, prostrating herself before their new ruler before Draco realized he must act. A lifetime of lessons had been ingrained in Draco, the chief of which was never to debase yourself for anyone but King Voldermort himself. Lucius was swift to remind Draco that the court was quick to treat you as lowly as you let them, and so you must never give an inch. Intuition instead of sense drove Draco now to merely nod his head in a bow, to the precise level required by a son of a duke to greet a king. Not one inch more.

The hush around them alerted Draco to what he’d done. It was a slight caused by pride. Not an intentional pride, but one that went back so many generations it would be impossible to note which of his ancestors had made the fateful decision to prove themselves the cleverest and most powerful. The pride that leads a family to make their motto, “Vincet Semper,” or “to always conquer.” The Malfoys conquered much, before being conquered themselves. Draco knew he must let the pride be stripped away, just as everything else had been.

It was too late, now. His mother was already rising, taking Draco’s arm in her own and patting his hand as one might a child. Draco knew she had begged for his life to be saved. His father, who had been long past self preservation, also had begged. Any favor they might have had left after their defeat was spent to rally support to convince the king not to kill their son.

The full force of the king’s glare was put on Draco now, making clear he regretted ever sparring Draco’s ungrateful life.

“Congratulations, your majesty,” Draco said. Ungrateful, but not discourteous.

The king’s bushy eyebrows furrowed as he considered what fault to find in Draco’s words. “He got what he deserved,” said the king. Presumably about Lucius, who was still lying dead just out of sight.

Draco, naturally pale, went white as a sheet. Anyone who hadn’t been watching was paying attention now.

“Your verdict was just, and the kingdom is better for it,” Narcissa attempted to intercept the king’s wrath with words he’d heard from her before.

King Harry only looked at Draco. “Do you agree? Is the kingdom better for it?” the king stepped to the side so he could point at the corpse behind him.

Draco was surprised that he could feel emptier than he had for the last week, which he previously had thought must have been as empty as a human could possibly be. Now, though, there was a cavern in him. A void so large that the king’s words couldn’t reach whatever lay at the end. They just bounced around against walls, losing themselves to the echo. That vacancy let Draco look away from his father’s corpse and to the king who had killed him. “Yes. You’ve brought us peace. Thank you, your majesty.” It was insincere, but the Malfoys never let that stop them from conveying the appropriate message.

The king’s jaw clenched. The only tell of his rage. In a way, Draco understood. He, too, yearned for vengeance. He wished he had a knife so he could stab it into whatever weakness the decorative armor might provide. If Draco could, he would make the new king as dead as the old.

Draco could do no such thing.

However, the king could do plenty. Angled as he was, the entire court could see him hold out his left hand. On it he wore a prominent ring with the symbol of a lion. Noise dimmed as more and more people caught sight of the king’s demand. Draco realized, this is why the king had come to speak to them at all.

Draco, only recently a man, had not cultivated the same grace as his father managed when he bowed. He did his best, though, to bow without belittling himself. The king held his hand low so Draco had to dip far to brush his lips over the signet ring. He wondered, as his lips grazed the metal, how long he should linger. Should he have knelt like King Voldermort would have insisted? Why had no one instructed him on how to pledge fealty? This must be long enough, he figured. Draco pulled himself back to standing.

The king’s eyes were still hyper focused on Draco as he lifted himself back to his full height. He could not hide his unsteadiness or the slight embarrassed flush on his cheeks. Every micro expression laid Draco bare to the king and Draco feared his vulnerability shined bright under the scrutiny. Perhaps this is what the king needed to feel secure in Draco’s submission. Only after cataloging each moment of Draco’s discomfort did the king turn away.

Chatter resumed, louder now as the spectators gossiped over what they had witnessed. Malfoy did his best to sink back into the void where he had no feelings and did not care how low his family had sunk.

The king and his followers all left the royal dias, leaving both the living and the dead Malfoys behind in favor of the celebration.

Chapter Text

Draco lamented how one day living at Grimmauld Place stopped feeling like deja vu and began to feel normal. At first, wandering the halls had conjured memories of large Black family gatherings and of his mother teaching him their family tree so he could recognize every second cousin and great aunt, and so he could earn the favor of the important men who led the family affairs. Narcissa was a gem, the only Black to have married a Duke. Draco was the favorite, doted upon by everyone. For a long time his memories of this manor house were only happy.

Now they were not.

When they first arrived they had been met at the door by who Draco first swore was a ghost. Aunt Andromeda had never been in the lessons his mother taught him about their family tree and Draco did not know better than to whisper, “Aunt Bellatrix?”

This had been a mistake, the first of many.

When Draco was informed he would be moving into Grimmauld Place he thought he knew every inch of the house from his years exploring it as a child. Aunt Andromeda personally led her sister and nephew to the back of the house and up three flights of stairs, the last of which Draco hadn’t realized existed. He had never before considered where the servants must live. They lived in small rooms with half ceilings tilted by the roof and furnishing so sparse Draco imagined it wasn’t too dissimilar from prison.

He didn’t dare say that aloud, he wasn’t foolish.

Andromeda did not take pleasure in leaving them in their new quarters. Draco recalled her frowning at him, eyes drawn down in a bafflement as if she simply didn’t know what to do with Draco being in her home. The home was new to Andromeda, who had been gifted it by King Harry after he secured his throne. But she had been there long enough to feel it an imposition to take on unwelcome guests.

Draco had been there for two years now, and one could no longer call him a guest. Even if Aunt Andromeda had never become welcoming.

Draco’s mother had mantras she repeated to him everyday.

“We must be thankful,” she reminded him. She told him this when he scowled at his morning porridge. They lived in servants quarters, but they were invited to the family table for each meal and Narcissa would not let Draco forget they didn’t have to be.

“We must be helpful,” she insisted. She told him this when he tried to hide anywhere in the giant house which had too few Black family descendants to fill it. It also didn’t have enough earnings to keep a staff to manage the entire house. Narcissa was ever aware that she and Draco could not afford to be a burden.

“I love you,” she said often. She said it when Draco was sad, which was always. She said it in a way that made Draco’s heart ache because he knew her only purpose in life was to take care of him. A person his parents loved so much that when their own lives were on the line they chose to sacrifice all they had to keep him alive in their stead. She said it so sincerely Draco couldn’t resent her for loving him so much that he knew he could never fail her and decide he didn’t actually care if he was living or not.

So, Draco wasn’t thankful, and for a while he was only begrudgingly helpful, but what kept him going was the unconditional love he shared with his mother.

One day he understood a little better why his mother tried so hard with him.

Aunt Andromeda was busy managing the entire estate, and also was frequently called to court by the King. It became clear in time she was very important to the King. When she was gone for long stretches of time, sometimes days, she had to take servants with her and that meant fewer staff to run the house. It was on one such day that Draco discovered a way he didn’t mind being helpful.

The baby was crying that day. Draco had met Edward, affectionately called Teddy, of course. Narcissa and Draco were always called upon to be present for formal visits, where one of the housemaids would have Teddy dressed up in his finest clothing and the guest would ignore the Malfoys in favor of cooing at the child.

Draco was on the second floor avoiding his mother when he heard Teddy crying. Draco peaked through a wide open door and saw the boy standing in a crib, clinging to the bars. Snot leaked out of his nose and big crocodile tears leaked out. No one was around to tend to the baby.

Draco made one of those choices he knew everyone would chide him for, but the back of his mind still held his father’s voice reassuring him that he was born to lead and should never shirk away from it.

The baby squiggled when Draco lifted him up and it took a moment for Draco to determine how to hold an infant. He propped one arm beneath the baby’s bottom and steadied Teddy’s back with his other hand, holding Teddy close to his chest. Propped up against Draco’s chest, Teddy began to cry again in earnest, smearing his tears and his snot against Draco’s clothing.

“Oh, shush Edward,” Draco scolded affectionately. He liked that Teddy was allowed to cry out all his displeasure and did not judge him for it. Seeing the baby close up for the first time, Draco was pleased to notice Teddy had his mother’s nose, all scrunched up like his mother’s got when she was cross. Draco started to bounce up and down, as he vaguely recollected others say to do with little ones. Teddy wasn’t soothed so much as confounded by the motion. “There, there,” Draco dead panned, smiling a little.

When the nursemaid, Angie, rushed back in holding a bottle she found Teddy contentedly clinging to Draco, his eyes dried of his tears.

Over the following weeks, Draco took over the nursemaid’s morning responsibilities with Teddy. Angie felt horrible, but also had to keep Aunt Andromeda’s rooms cleaned and assist cook with meals. Draco gave her precious time, and no one in the house looked too close as to where it came from.

For three hours a day, between breakfast and nap time, Draco was responsible only to a baby. Draco always greeted him, “Good morning, Edward.” He read Teddy the paper Aunt Andromeda had delivered but hardly opened. He used stuffed dolls to act out the heroic stories his parents told him as a child, like the legend of the great green dragon, and King Voldermort’s victory over Diagon. He only told that one once before he realized it would definitely get him killed if anyone told King Harry he was corrupting young minds. Besides, Teddy spat up on him during the tale. Clearly, he had chosen his side and Draco would defer to Teddy’s wisdom. Teddy liked to squeeze Draco and laughed at all his silly faces. Draco would give him anything.

After a month, when Aunt Andromeda had gone to town for the day and his mother was off resting, Draco would bring Teddy downstairs with him. Teddy loved to crawl, and Draco would follow after him on his own hands and knees.

That day, the one that mattered, Draco was making loud dragon sounds, roaring and puffing as he chased little Teddy down the hall. Teddy shrieked with laughter and scrambled forward. Draco would hold the sound of that laughter close to his heart. They scrambled all the way to the vestibule, just in time for the door to the manor to be pushed open. Teddy squawked the sort of noise only a child without words could make. Draco scrambled to standing and swooped Teddy up off the ground just in time for the guest to walk in.

“What the hell are you doing with my godson?” The man asked. Draco blinked at him in vague recognition. The man was broad shouldered and muscled in the way that soldiers managed through constant battle practice. His clothes had been quality but were now well worn. His dark hair was long and shaggy, falling almost to his eyes, his beard unkept. Draco met his bright green eyes, and it was the glare that finally revealed the man’s identity.

Draco bowed forward, off balanced and awkward. “Your majesty,” he managed. Teddy giggled in his arms, thinking the swooping motion a new game. King Harry all but growled as he stomped forward. Draco wasn’t back to standing before the king yanked the baby from his hands. “Wait!” Draco said, but it was too late. Teddy began crying as soon as King Harry took him. He wiggled and screamed, reaching out for Draco. “He doesn’t like strangers,” Draco finished to the King’s back as the King carried the baby into the house, ignoring Draco behind him. Draco could hear Teddy crying even long after they’d turned out of sight.

After that Aunt Andromeda glared at Draco over their shared meals.

Angie didn’t let Draco tend to Teddy. Draco couldn’t bear to be angry at her as he watched her do her best to care for the child while accomplishing all her required chores. Seeing Draco sink into deeper sadness, Narcissa had paused her insistence that he make himself helpful.

Strangely, Draco found himself choosing to be helpful anyway. He’d grown used to his mornings being the most active part of the day, and couldn’t bear to sit alone. Or worse, be close enough to hear Teddy crying because his guardian was unable to care for him as he deserved. So Draco got up and wandered to another area he had never visited before. This time he went down. He found the staircase behind the dining hall that led into another part of the house only for servants. It was there he found the kitchens. Large hot rooms lorded over by a man who had worked here longer than Draco had been alive.

“Master Draco,” the chef said in surprise when Draco walked in.

Draco shook his head. “I’m not master anything, Kreacher. I’m here to work.”

And Draco did. Peeling carrots and cutting potatoes and any number of other tasks so that Kreacher could send Angie on her way when she came to help him and Draco knew that she’d repay him by giving Teddy all the love he deserved.

Chapter Text

The Malfoys were given a small stipend that Narcissa reminded Draco would be enough for any of the servants in the household to live off of, should they not need to consider room and board. Narcissa’s creativity came out as she tried not to spend a penny of it.

They had made due with what Narcissa insisted was a generous allotment of their former wardrobes, after removing anything green, or black, or embroidered with the Malfoy’s family crest or the previous king’s emblems. A very limited selection.

What they couldn’t account for was Draco. Draco’s final growth spurt hit right before Teddy’s first birthday. All of Draco’s sleeves were suddenly too short, his trouser cuffs ending too high on his legs.

Narcissa had kept herself busy trying to revive a magnificent rose garden, and with mending whatever would be helpful to the household. The latter might have served them now, if her skills went beyond simple stitches.

Draco would have settled for less, only… they both knew what sort of event Teddy’s party would be. Narcissa emptied their entire savings to purchase a single suit, properly fitted, with room to grow should anyone know how to let it out once the occasion called for it.

It was just enough for Draco and Narcissa to remain dignified as they stood together on the side, being seen yet unseen, as Aunt Andromeda welcomed all her dear friends. The war heroes who had defeated everyone Draco had loved.

The King showered his godson with gifts and praises. It was the first time Draco had ever seen him smile. The smile faded when King Harry looked up and found Draco watching him. The king sneered.

“Thank you all for being here to celebrate our Teddy,” Aunt Andromeda started her speech. She held her grandchild close as she spoke of lost loved ones and chosen family.

The king, teary eyed, spoke as well. He remembered all his dear friends whose lives were lost too soon. He asked the crowd to raise a toast. “To Remus and Tonks!” Draco started to raise his glass with the others, but the king’s gaze settled on him like a weight. The king’s eyes narrowed and Draco lowered his glass. Draco let everyone who’s aunt and father hadn’t killed Teddy’s parents share in the toast.

Afterwards they ate cake. Draco took some solace in knowing he had baked the cake nearly on his own, following the careful instructions of old Kreacher. No one told Aunt Andromeda that Draco was working in the kitchen, the same way no one had told her he had been tending to Teddy. The servants knew, though, and they let Draco have his moment of watching from afar as Teddy laughed while being spoiled with sugar.

At one, Teddy was soon walking. He grew fast and needed new clothes, and mended clothes, and clothes scrubbed clean from all the ways Teddy soiled them. Draco took to these chores as eagerly as he helped in the kitchen. He asked his mother to teach him sewing, and when her skills reached their limit, Draco asked Angie’s mother Fannie, who managed the entire household. Fannie was loyal to Andromeda and didn’t want to teach Draco, but she knew there was no one else to be spared. She taught Draco the basics of how to make a pattern and how to tend to different fabrics. She taught him different stitches and let him access the manor’s supplies, whereas his mother had to dip into her own funds to purchase thread when she mended.

Draco knew this wasn’t out of the kindness of Fannie’s heart. No, when the time came payment was demanded. One day a valet came home from errands with yards of fresh blue fabric, which Fannie assigned to Draco. His evenings were suddenly filled with sewing, learning how to take fabric and make it something new. In this case, servant uniforms meant for a family as high status as the Tonks had become.

The servants wore them for the first time when Andromeda welcomed the Weasley clan to her home. Draco lined up outside, next to the servants like he was one of them. Only they wore solid blue dresses and suits with clean lines and straight collars, and Draco wore grey linen, open at the throat and somehow once again too short at his ankles.

The father Weasley ignored him. The mother Weasley scowled. The five of their children who’d joined them snickered. The grandchildren didn’t know Draco from Adam, and were too little to judge Draco just as Teddy was.

Draco still sat for dinner at the table after all the little ones were put to bed, although his mother excused herself as ill. This was the first time Draco had seen Narcissa fail to gather her courage. Draco knew, though, that Narcissa had been there when Molly Weasley killed Aunt Bellatrix. It must be something like how King Harry could only look at Draco with scorn, only Narcissa knew she could not afford to be scornful so she hid away instead.

“I can’t believe Andy was forced to let murders live here,” one of the Weasleys said in a loud whisper to his sister after their parents left the room with Andromeda.

Draco had no better judgment to act against, only the judgment that called on him to say, “I’ve never killed anyone,” without even bothering with the pretense of whispering back.

All the children froze in their conversation to stare at Draco.

Draco stared back. One elegant eyebrow lifted as he shrugged at them.

“That’s what makes a person decent, not being a murderer?” Said the same Weasley. He was tall with half of one ear torn off, causing a lopsided appearance when you faced him head on.

Draco’s gaze back at the man was as cold and dead as he felt inside all the time. “Each one of us can choose to be decent, and now I know better than to wait for you to set an example if I’m ever to try my hand at it.”

The other man launched to his feet, eyes blazing with a ferocity Draco envied. His sister and elder brother were both on their feet, nearly as fast, holding the man back before he could challenge Draco to some form of battle by combat. Draco sat impassively while the two siblings dragged their brother from the room.

Draco was left with one red head Weasley and his wife, who’d accompanied him and their children to visit. Both still sat properly, trying to pretend the outburst never happened. Their stubborn obliviousness reminded Draco suddenly of his time in court, when the nobles would ignore cruelties as long as they weren’t aimed at themselves.

It infuriated something deep in Draco, to see these people ignore not only his own shame, but that of their family.

Chapter Text

Two years at Grimmauld Place. Cooking and sewing, watching and listening, growing from the last vestiges of boyhood into what was unmistakably a man. Aunt Andromeda had grown lax in monitoring Draco, and the servants had grown fond of Draco’s willingness to help. So Angie once again let Draco visit Teddy, if only to bring him milk before nap time and read him picture books before putting him to sleep. For his second birthday, Draco had purchased him a book with the tale of the green dragon and begged Angie to give it to Teddy. All of Andromeda’s friends had thought it so kind of the nursemaid and a sign of her devotion to her charge. Draco didn’t mind, he had learned to be thankful of what truly mattered, as his mother always told him he must be. Angie had made sure Draco was the one who read the book to Teddy, and Draco read it as many times as Teddy wanted.

By now, the clothes they’d been allowed to bring had worn out and Draco did his best to make new dresses for his mother and suitable outfits for himself. His mother never complained that they were left to dress like peasants. Not that you could ever mistake her for a peasant. Even in undyed cotton she held herself with the grace of a duchess and portrayed only impeccable manners.

Still. Andromeda eyed her family members from head to feet. “The Baron Lovegood deigned to invite you to this dinner, and that’s the best you could manage?”

Draco and Narcissa stood in their best clothes. Draco wore the suit trousers purchased for Teddy’s first birthday, which he had been able to adjust far enough that they almost fit. He wore his only white shirt, and a secondhand waistcoat he’d traded off one of the other servants. Narcissa’s dress was simple, but with flair in the bodice and sleeves from where Draco had repurposed parts of other dresses.

Narcissa smiled tranquilly. “Cousin Lovegood will not mind our humble appearance,” she assured.

Andromeda scowled. Draco suspected she was more angry at his mother acknowledging their familial ties. “It’s about showing respect. Surely there is something in the attic that would be suitable, for you. Go find it before the next visit.” Narcissa was always graceful in these moments. Draco barely managed to maintain a straight face while wondering how he’d allowed his life to devolve into discussions of clothes.

Of course, Xenophilius Lovegood paid no mind to how they were dressed. He himself wore workmen’s breeches and muddy boots and claimed he’d been out early feeding the fae folk who lived in his woods. He insisted they call him “Xeno” every time Andromeda referred to him as “Baron Lovegood”. He grinned when Narcissa called him cousin and kissed her on the cheek.

The drawing room was unlike any Draco had seen. An entire wall was lined with desks, each covered in glass tubes connecting round containers to metal beakers and bottles with long neck flasks that gathered condensation. Concoctions simmered over gas burners, and various materials were stored in jars, sacks and cupboards with tiny drawers.

“Father’s an alchemist,” Luna Lovegrove explained, popping up at Draco’s elbow without him realizing she had joined the party. He startled at her appearance but she didn’t mind. Peering up at Draco, she remarked, “You got tall.”

Draco laughed to hear so obvious a statement. The first of his laughs caused by anyone but Teddy since the war had ended.

He looked at Luna then, at her thick white hair and rosy cheeks. She dressed more peculiar than him, in men’s trousers and a silk blouse with frills. “You look well,” he remarked, a statement as obvious as hers.

“Being released from a dungeon does wonders for your health,” Luna said in a sing-song voice.

Xeno saw the pair together and said something saccharine like, “It’s so good to be together with family!”

Then Luna looped her arm in Draco’s and tugged him along, calling to the older family that they were off to do something more diverting. Draco suspected she was wary of her father’s sentimentally, too. In Luna style, her next words were a non sequitur, “I still like those minced meat hand pies, though. Although my father can’t get the recipe quite right.”

“Don’t you have a cook?” Draco asked. Luna shrugged, as if that was truly an unknowable question. Draco remembered the pies in question. He’d smuggled them from his own dinner plate down to the dungeons to share with the young girl he once played with under the table at family parties. “Kreacher does something similar. I bet I could make one for you.”

It was a disaster, but also the best time Draco had in months with another person who could string sentences together. Luna insisted they eat the pies, although they were burnt and under seasoned and spoiled their appetite for dinner. Only Luna was right, dinner wasn’t any better.

“Come visit us and I’ll make the pies right,” Draco promised.

Luna’s eyes hardened for a moment and she stared at him too long. For the first time Draco was physically aware that they’d last seen each other with bars between them, and Luna being on the bad side of the bars. Draco could only stare back now, unrepentant for who he was and the side he had chosen, wondering if she would be the sort to slip those on the bad side small treats so they didn’t starve in their imprisonment.

Luna turned around then, reaching back behind her to open a drawer. She pulled out a stack of envelopes and thumbed through them until she found the one in question and held it out to Draco. “You should come,” she said.

Draco’s mouth fell open when he pulled out the embellished invitation. “No,” he said.

Luna shrugged. “Take it anyway, I’ll tell them I lost mine and they’ll give me another.”

Something heavy began to fill Draco’s stomach as his fingers traced the words on the card. “You know the planners, then?” he asked.

Luna patted his shoulders. “Let’s go to dinner,” she said so gently that Draco knew in his bones that she was trying to be kind. The sort of kindness that was a lie.

Draco looked up at his distant cousin and knew that she was not only invited to the most prestigious, selective event of the season, but likely she was on the even more elusive planning committee, so secretive that most did not know it even existed. Draco knew, because his parents had each been on the committee. His aunts and uncles had been on the committee. You could only join the committee when someone stepped off and personally selected you to inherit the role. He was raised with fairy tail stories of love matches made at the ball and how he would one day lead it all.

Only he never would. The invite in his hand was a charity gift from a girl who was meant to die in his cellar dungeon, but now had such power in court that she was one of the chosen few planning the Equinox Ball.

“No, thank you,” Draco said this time. He put the invitation down on the kitchen counter.

Luna sighed, disappointed. She took his arm in hers again and this time led him back to their parents to sit through a dinner only Xeno seemed to enjoy.

At home that night, Draco took off his nicest clothes and gently laid them out so he could clean them the next day. It was then he noticed something in the pocket of his coat. There, folded in half, was the beautiful invitation card to the Fall Equinox Ball.

Chapter Text

Revealers are to rejoice
When day and night once more align
We call on you to make the choice
To present to us what’s most sublime

This evening we celebrate the night
In dance we each highlight a feature
That inspires awe, fear and delight
As one transforms to midnight creature

Choose now fur, scale or feather
Leave your skin at the door
Our beastly forms will dance together
We frolic to our hearts’ galore

Autumn will not be delayed
Join the equinox masquerade

“It’s far from iambic pentameter,” Draco muttered, “and quite on the nose.” He was speaking to Teddy, of course. “When you chair the Committee you best submit better lines than this.” The toddler snuggled closer into Draco’s side as he sucked on a carefully constructed sipping cup. “We’re meant to be animals that come out at night, and they didn’t work in the word nocturnal. I could have whipped up something clever for that. Eternal, or kernel, or diurnal if we wanted to make people stretch.” Teddy slapped at Draco’s hands, trying to grab the invitation. “No, no, Edward. This isn’t good enough for you. I’ll write you spectacular poetry, just you wait.” Draco kept the invitation out of reach until he tucked it safely away in a pocket. He put Teddy down to bed and smiled at the child’s babbling on his way out.

His smile quickly ebbed as he walked back to his room, rubbing his fingers over the invitation in his pocket the entire way. The invitation might be crass by the standards he had expected for his first Equinox Ball letter, but what did that mean against the fact that Draco couldn’t go even if he wanted. What, would he drape on one of Teddy’s stuffies over his face and show up in paupers clothes?

The universe insisted on rubbing it in Draco’s face. They had guests for dinner again that night, and once more Andromeda chided Narcissa and Draco’s appearances. “You’re hardly paupers,” she insisted, directly contradicting Draco’s own assessment of his situation, before accusing them both of being lazy and wasteful.

The next morning Narcissa tugged on Draco’s arm after breakfast. “Perhaps you can ask Kreacher to show you how to access the attic today?”

“I thought we lived in the attic,” Draco muttered. His mother gave him a motherly look of disapproval. Draco huffed and stomped off towards the kitchens.

Kreacher huffed as well at Draco’s request, but after they worked together to prepare everything that would be needed for lunch Kreacher trudged through the house. Each flight of steps took an eternity for the aged man who refused to rush on Draco’s behalf. The actual attic was only accessible through a storage room where servants kept their bedding. Kreacher pulled at a cord Draco hadn’t even noticed hung from the ceiling. It took four hard yanks before the hatch door would budge, and then they had to heave to make the creaky door shift further. Kreacher left him not long after to figure it out on his own. After a brief break to put Teddy to bed for his nap, Draco returned to the storage room. He’d brought a lamp to see better and a small stool to step onto so he could climb up directly onto the folded stairs still hanging too high from the ceiling. Draco decided to find a way to scramble up as is, just to make sure whatever was hiding in the attic was worth the effort of fixing the trap door to access it.

There was so much dust that Draco had a fit of sneezing when he first climbed into the room. He covered his nose and mouth and tried to breath through his sleeve. Draco held the lantern up, his arm hitting the short ceiling above him. The light spread out, though, to reveal a long, cramped scuttle space that traveled further in either direction than the light could reach. Slanted ceilings traveled all the way to the floor, and storage crates and trunks of all sizes were crammed everywhere. Draco plopped onto a trunk and took it all in. Hundreds of years of his family’s history must be stored here, deliberately forgotten.

He steeled himself for disappointment before he pried open a trunk. In it was carefully wrapped table settings, finer than what Draco saw in their kitchens. Perhaps a wedding gift for someone long ago.

The next crate held old toys. Some were dinged up or broken, likely kept for sentimental value after being well loved.

Finally, Draco uncovered a trunk with clothing. It held winter garb, quite dated, but made from fine wool with fur fringes. Miracle of miracles, the clothes were in good condition and had not been soiled by rodents or moths. He held up one dress in a quick estimation and decided that yes, he could work with this. Draco did his best to drag the crate towards the hatch downstairs, then gave up and grabbed two of the heavy dresses instead. He tossed them down the shaft before hobbling down himself, and left the hatch partway open for the evening.

The next day he begged for help from one of the stable boys to fix the latches on the hatch. The boy, Doyle, taught him how to oil the hinges and fix a broken bit. It took two days of working around the openings in Doyle’s schedule, but the hatch was then fixed and Draco could pull down the ladder himself and focus on his investigation. He promised Doyle some bobble for his effort, should he find something he was certain Andromeda wouldn’t mind being given away.

For the next week, Draco worked methodically. He opened crate after crate, mentally cataloging the contents and even trying to reorganize so like things were stored together. It was a struggle, since there were so many things and not enough space to shift things around. Draco ended each evening sweaty and covered in dirt, but usually also with a few choice findings to add to his project pile for a growing wardrobe.

The trunk he didn’t know he was looking for was jet black. It was the first item locked on the outside Draco had discovered. An intriguing proposition. Draco scrounged up a few different sized hair pins and paperclips, and spent his afternoon fiddling with the lock. He smiled to himself, remembering youthful days with Aunt Bellatrix and her love of puzzles. In another world, this was another family scavenger hunt prepared just for him. He grinned when the lock finally clicked open, turning to look over his shoulder as if his Aunt would be there grinning back. Of course she wasn’t. She was dead.

Draco’s grin faded. Somberly, he pulled the lock off the trunk and heaved open the heavy lid.

He lifted the stack of letters first, opening them one at a time and reading the contents reverently. Each letter was a formal invitation, each with a handwritten sonnet in the most beautiful prose, inviting the reader to the most spectacular events of years past. On the back of each letter, in simpler writing, were names. Elladora. Cygnus. Belvina. The names went on. Draco’s ancestors who one by one chaired the Equinox Committee and had the honor of their words being preserved forever as part of its history. There, in the pile, was Narcissa. Draco’s own mother, who had written a beautiful poem about the night sky.

She had told Draco once that she and his father met under the stars.

Gingerly, Draco stored the letters back in the crate. He could not bear for a single one to dent or crinkle.

With greater care than ever, Draco began to unwrap the other contents in the crate. He hardly dared to touch what he unveiled. Each mask was a piece of art, telling complex stories with such intricacies that Draco knew the makers poured their heart into them. He saw flowers, trees, demons, reptile scales, elaborate feathers, sparkling rainbows, each more fantastic than the last.

And there, wrapped so carefully together as one, were three masks he realized he knew. A pearly white moon, a radiant sun, and a silver constellation. Three masks for three sisters who once loved each other very much.

Shaking, Draco put the masks back in the crate and shut it tight. He struggled to put the lock back on, but couldn’t bear to leave this box unprotected. Draco pocketed the tools he’d used to open it, lest anyone else find them and use them to get inside.

Draco found himself rushing out of the attic. His heart was pounding in his chest. He ran down the stairs to the third floor and unceremoniously began to open doors. He couldn’t remember where it was, only that he would know it when he saw it. A faint memory from childhood only half accessible in an adult mind.

Down another floor. Draco grew more frantic, fearing his memory was wrong after all. It wasn’t Teddy’s rooms, he knew those well. He feared he’d be caught in his aunt’s, although she was out for the day like she so often was.

It was in her rooms, afterall, where Draco’s memory snapped into place. The study looked the same. Same large desk, same wide window, same looming bookshelves along the wall. The curtains had changed, something lighter and embroidered. There were more candles and lanterns to conjure more light.

Draco walked in. He stepped around the desk and examined the book shelf that took up most the wall beside it. There were knicknacks still, but not the items his grandmother had displayed. There were books, but Draco had no memory to compare. There were photos, the way there had always been photos. These highlighted the people Draco had nightmares about. The Weasleys. King Potter. His lion nights. And of course, one person Draco loved, his cousin Teddy.

“What are you doing here?” Fannie barked.

Draco jumped from fright. He was thankful it was just Fannie, not his aunt. “Where did the pictures go, the ones from before?” he asked.

Fannie glared as she stomped into the room. She pinched Draco’s ear and began pulling him like he was a naughty child. “You know better than to pry in your aunt’s affairs. I should send someone to her right now to let her know you’re causing trouble.” Draco yelped when she twisted his ear for emphasis.

“I was looking for a picture!” Draco said, honestly. “One I remember from when I was a child. I just wanted to see if it was there.”

Fannie shoved him off towards the stairway. “Ms. Tonks cleared out the whole house when she moved in. The Black family was bad news and treated our mistress terribly. Good riddance to be rid of it all.”

“All of it?” Draco squeaked. “She didn’t keep anything?”

Fannie glared at him, and Draco realized in a new way that any help she’d given him in the past couldn’t have been actual help. There was too much resentment in her heart to leave room for any kindness. “She burned it all.”

Draco didn’t realize he could still feel the disappointment that coursed through him in that moment. It had been so long since he’d hoped for anything the way he had hoped he could connect with that memory. He had wanted, desperately, to put the picture to the masks he discovered. He knew he had seen it before. His mother, his Aunt Bellatrix, and who could only have been his Aunt Andromeda, arms wrapped around each other as they smiled for the camera at a masquerade ball.

For generations, the Black family treasured their role in the Equinox Ball. Draco would not let that legacy end with him.

Chapter Text

Magic. How else do you describe walking into an old manor and finding yourself in an enchanted forest? It was unfathomable that so much brown felt existed to construct the giant trees that stretch to the ballroom ceiling. Massive stretches of wall had been turned into murals of a night time forest, complete with half hidden animals and the occasional fairy. Huge crystal chandeliers lit the room from above, sparkling like starlight between tree leaves. One wall was made nearly entirely of windows, illuminating the ball with natural moon night and revealing the acres of actual woods not too far into the distance.

Draco lingered just inside the room, marveling at it all. His lips twitched upwards. This is where he was meant to be.

He sauntered into the room, appreciating every detail and appreciating more that no one glared at him for holding his head confidently high. Those who looked admired. When prejudice was eliminated, they saw only Draco. Tall, slender, fit. Decked in leather that made him look daring, perhaps dangerous.

Owing Doyle a favor had been a gift. Draco convinced him to let Draco alter leather riding breeches he found in the attic to Doyle’s size. Draco had admitted it would be shoddy work, but still, leather breeches were several steps above what Doyle had been fitted with and when would he get that for free? Draco had studied each stitch until he learned how to work the material and shape it to another’s skin. Then he’d altered the outfit he found for himself.

Wine flowed freely, and savory treats were never far from hand. Draco’s smile was growing. He watched and he ate and he drank and he savored every detail so he could remember it forever.

“Wolf,” a deep voice said to draw Draco’s attention.

Draco turned to it. He had chosen to be a wolf. He wore a fur lined leather jerkin over a black silk shirt, tucked into tighter leather pants that hugged his legs until they themselves were tucked into splendid black riding boots. The boots had been too large, but they were fierce with their buckles and straps so Draco stuffed cotton into the toes to make up the difference. Draco had caked his hair black with soot and greased it to shoot straight up, curving to either side of his head like ears. A black fur tail hung out behind him. Draco completed his look with a silver wolf pendant he’d found in a drawer in the attic, and the full moon mask Aunt Bellatrix once wore. He imagined her his fairy godmother, laying out everything he needed to follow in her footsteps and shine bright at the ball.

A wolf had not been his first thought - thankfully he had avoided his first thought. Over a dozen lions prowled the room, with any manner of manes created with fabrics, yarn, feathers, beads, and some actual strands of gold. Draco had dismissed it as too obvious and clearly he was right. So many people were making a blatant play for the king’s favor, since surely the king would be here. What king would miss the ball?

The man who spoke was another lion. The man’s broad shoulders and chiseled features carried what otherwise would have been a plain disguise. The mask was made of tan cloth and straw, the straw spun into braids that crested around his face. The suit was simple brown, but impeccably tailored. There were no further adornments. The simplicity extenuated his natural grace and form.

Draco tilted his head, curious. “Cat,” he acknowledged.

The lion smirked. “I’m more than a cat.”

Draco’s eyes gazed from his muscular legs, up to his chiseled chest, then finally to his green eyes that shined with mirth. He was much more indeed. “Kitty cat,” Draco purred, drunk on wine and the power of anonymity.

The lion threw back his head and laughed, leaving Draco to admire his long neck and strong jaw. “Dance with me, wolf,” the lion demanded.

Draco considered it. There was a thrill to being approached and desired. He glanced at the lion’s eyes again, wondering what about them held him off.

The smile slipped from Draco’s lips when he realized. It was a cold slap to the face marring an otherwise wonderful evening. Draco would not spend a moment longer with him. “Alas, I have no taste for lion,” he tried to keep his tone light.

The lion didn’t hide his shock. He was not used to being refused, Draco imagined. “Where do your tastes lie?” The lion asked.

Draco gazed at him, wondering if the lion hoped to get confirmation that Draco refused him for being male rather than simply not desiring him. Draco scanned the room before speaking, certain there must be someone to assist him at this moment. Then there he was. Another man, taller than Draco or the man beside him, broad shouldered and bedecked in black with a fur mask sculpted unmistakably to be a wolf.

“There,” Draco said, pointing. He turned back to the other man, somehow closer than he’d been to him before. Draco angled his face so light from across the room would glint off his luminescent mask and make him shine like the actual moon. “An alpha wolf if ever I saw one. If I ask nicely, do you think he would howl for me?”

The lion’s eyes sharpened, but not with anger. Draco watched him lick his lips as he examined Draco again. “You’re not his type, I’m afraid,” he said, the look in his eyes assuring Draco that Draco was very much the lion’s type.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Draco quipped, then turned away from the king to stride across the ballroom.

Up close, the other wolf man looked even finer, although there was the unmistakable mark of red hair. Still, Draco rathered a Weasley than the king. “Wolf,” Draco said, aiming to adopt the same tone the king had used to greet him.

The wolf did turn to look. He blinked in surprise, then grinned from ear to ear. “Look at you, mate, that costume is fantastic. Look, Hermoine, another wolf, only he’s done it better than me.”

“My gosh, I’ve told you, stop using my name,” a woman hissed, sneaking out from behind the wolf. Her entire gown was expertly assembled and looked to be entirely of feathers. The feathers extended to her mask, perfectly sculpted into a round shape with a downward facing beak covering her nose. She’d woven feathers into her dark curly hair so the frizz around her face complemented the overall owl effect.

Draco forgot about the wolf. “You are stunning,” Draco admired, stepping around the wolf to greet the lady. He ached to reach for the clothes and examine how she’d managed it. “Dance with me,” he said instead.

“Wait now,” his fellow wolf was saying, realizing Draco sought to displace him.

The owl laughed merrily. She looked at the taller wolf and said, “If you wanted a dance you should have asked,” before accepting Draco’s offered hand.

The first clumsy steps were mutual, but between one step and the next Draco’s body remembered how to do it. Then they were gliding, with Draco confidently leading Hermione through the waltz.

Even this close Draco couldn’t see the trick to the feather dress. “You must tell me how you assembled your dress,” he said, feeling brave enough to demand instead of ask.

Hermione laughed again. “My friend Lu-, well my friend, she did it. I watched her half the way through and I couldn’t tell you how.”

“It’s marvelous. You must introduce me to this ‘Lou’ so I can entreat her to teach me her ways,” Draco said, intentionally mistaking Hermoine’s meaning. In truth, he did not want to meet Luna that evening, and he would politely escape any such introduction.

Hermione was content to just live in the moment and appreciate the thrill of a talented lead dancer helping her glide across the floor. In the end Draco bowed deeply to her and kissed her hand as any gentleman should. “I will let you get back to your beau, before he gets too jealous. Unless,” Draco smiled mischievously, “Would you like him made more jealous still?”

Hermione blushed and she giggled. Draco didn’t listen to her assurances that there was no need for all that, instead he caught the lion’s green eyes watching him. Draco smirked at the lion, then said his farewells to Hermione and boldly walked on to find his next dance.

It continued on. Draco enjoyed wine and refreshments, and increasingly complex dance steps with people, mostly men, that he increasingly considered desiring. With masks, everyone was bold enough to try and be charming. While many failed, Draco was willing to forgive the more attractive of the lot. A fit body pressed close to him on the dance floor was more than he could have hoped for a month ago. Tonight he felt it was his due. Draco had stepped back into his rightful place, a high lord, future duke. Powerful, desirable, brilliant and talented.

And from time to time, throughout the evening, the lion watched him. It made Draco giddy, as if he had the entire room in his thrall.

The midnight gong rang too soon. Most of the revealers cheered at the noise, celebrating with more drinks or faster dancing.

Draco sagged. He put down his glass and took one last moment to admire the splendor. This was it, his one night to be glamorous. It would hurt terribly to go back to his real life, but he wouldn’t regret his decision. When he was certain he had memorized as much as he could, enough to tell Teddy stories for years to come, he turned and walked out of the ballroom.

The outside air was too cold but he had a way to walk before he could recover his stashed jacket, hiding with the horse out of sight on the side of the road half an hour away. He had snuck off with the horse while the servants were eating their dinner, and just hoped no one would notice before he had a chance to return her to the stables.

“Wait, Wolf,” came a call.

Draco paused and turned, not believing what he knew to be true. The king himself stood at the top of the grand entry to the Longbottom Manor, where the ball had been hosted. Draco looked up at him from the bottom of the steps, unsure of what to do.

The king bounced down the steps after him. “It’s early, why are you leaving?”

“Why not?” Draco asked instead of answering.

The king frowned at that, which looked silly on his costumed face. “The party isn’t over,” he said.

Draco sighed heavily and glanced up for inspiration. The beautiful night took the king’s side, beckoning Draco to continue to enjoy what was in front of him. Tomorrow could be stormy, but he still had today.

“I have to work tomorrow,” Draco said, honestly. Lying felt like it would ruin the night he had.

The king smiled at that, as if it pleased him. His eyes were filled with admiration. Draco wondered what story the king was making up about Draco, the beautiful young man who wasn’t just a pretty face.

“Can I see you after your work?” the king asked.

This startled a laugh out of Draco. He tamped it down for a moment, then when he tried to look at the king and saw only sincerity he started laughing all over again. “No, I think not,” Draco chuckled as he wiped at the edges of his eyes before water could leak out. Draco almost made a foolish remark, such as to ask if the king really didn’t recognize him.

The king took Draco’s hands in his own. “Then if we only have tonight,” he murmured in his deep, warm voice, “Stay a little longer,” he leaned closer, “with me.”

Suddenly Draco’s throat was dry. He didn’t know what to say. His skin prickled as it had each time he felt the king’s eyes on him. He wanted to know if his hands felt as good upon on his body.

Something in Draco’s face must have said words he couldn’t, because the king decided to lean in until he held his lips just shy of Draco’s mouth.

Draco whimpered, uncertain and afraid, but maybe he didn’t want to leave. He had only this one night, and he wanted every piece of it.

Reason be damned, he closed that last gap and kissed the lion king.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t a mistake, kissing him. Draco leaned against the broader man, feeling the lion’s warmth against his chest, his hips, his thighs. It lit something in Draco. Their lips opened naturally, tongues slipping into each other's mouths to explore each other’s taste. The king cupped Draco’s face in his hands and tilted his head to make the kiss deeper and Draco just clung to him and let it happen.

None of that was a mistake. What was a masquerade ball for if not for stealing secret kisses while your hidden identity kept you safe? Brief romance to blush over the memory of.

Only it didn’t end with a kiss. Draco went when the king pulled him by the hips, their lips hardly parting as they climbed back up the entry stairs and slipped back into the manor. Draco was lightheaded but didn’t make space to breathe. He clung to the older man, one arm wrapped around his neck and the other inside the other’s suit jacket, grazing fingers over firm muscles with only the barest fabric between them. The man gasped each time Draco caressed him. He moaned into their kisses.

The king led them down a hallway and tried door handles until one opened and suddenly they were alone in a room with the king locking the door between them and everyone else.

The king’s hands were on him, fumbling with buttons and the leather ties holding Draco’s clothing together while his lips kissed Draco’s mouth, chin, neck.

It wasn’t what Draco wanted, some fumbling encounter in a dark room where a man who didn’t know he loathed Draco had his way with him.

Draco grabbed the king’s hands, yanking them away from his clothing. He braced his entire body against the king’s and maneuvered the larger man backwards, twisting their places and shoving the king backwards further with his weight, until the king was forced to back up into the furniture behind him, landing hard on a wide desk. Draco kicked gently at one of the king’s legs, nudging it to the side so he could step into the space he created and grind his hips down onto the king. The king’s head fell backwards and he groaned, his body lifting up against Draco’s, eager for the sensation.

Draco kissed him again, rougher. Gone were the gentle caresses, replaced with a thrusting tongue and teeth that nipped at swollen lips. It drove the king wild. Draco had the upper ground, but the older man was strong and found leverage to thrust his hips against Draco, grinding their lengths against one another until Draco was nearly incoherent with lust. The king matched Draco’s eagerness. The older man gripped at Draco. One hand carded through Draco’s hair, causing a brief pause as the king laughed at the feeling of soot and grease that Draco used to disguise his while-silver hair. The feeling didn’t deter the king. His fingers slipped further, winding under the string holding Draco’s mask onto his face.

Draco grabbed the King’s hand. He yanked it away from his mask, twisting it and shoving it onto the desk, trapping the king under him in the process. “Masks stay on,” Draco growled.

The king licked his lips, his eyes glossy and his breathing harsh. “Yeah, good,” he said, either about the masks or Draco having taken charge once again.

This was what Draco wanted. The chance to live as he ought, so powerful that the king submitted to him and yearned for more. Draco still held him down to the desk when he kissed him again. Soft and sweet, just to hear the king groan against him.

Draco released the king so Draco’s hands could be free to unbutton the king’s shirt. Draco captured every patch of freshly revealed skin in his mouth, sucking love bites as he went until the shirt was mostly open. Then, Draco returned to the king’s shoulder to bite and lick at his collar bone until the buttons were completely undone.

That was when the king put something into Draco’s hands. He glanced down at the items, his mind blanking on what they could be.

“Does the big bad wolf want to top?” The king huffed in his ear, the mockery belied by his clear desire for it to happen.

Draco flexed his hands around what the king had handed him. Lubricant and a condom. He’d seen these before, when he and his boyhood friends first discovered what it was to be very, very horny. He vaguely knew what they were for. Draco’s eyes flickered to the king’s. He was waiting for Draco’s answer.

It would ruin everything if Draco were to tell him the truth, that he hadn’t thought this far and absolutely did not know what he was doing.

So he stalled by kissing the king again, one hand fisting the back of his hair to hold the king exactly how he wanted him. The other dropped the items on the desk to pull at the king’s trousers, managing to open the unfamiliar clothing by feel alone. Then he pulled back so he could flip the older man over. The king huffed out another laugh. It drove Draco wild that he liked this. This strange, anonymous sex where a younger man took what he wanted. It made Draco want to take more, and in such a way that the king went wild, too.

It was… awkward, but Draco knew how to stretch a man out. He’d tried it on himself, when he was younger and first realized he would quite like to fuck a man. He used a generous amount of lube and started slow until the king made an encouraging noise and Draco eased the finger in quicker. It had to sting, but the king did not complain, so Draco started pumping it, watching as the tight velvety hole swallowed his finger with every thrust. Gorgeous. He added more lube and another finger, then as soon as he could a third.

“Ready,” the king insisted, rocking against Draco’s fingers as they thrust into him.

Draco’s throat was dry as he watched. “Yeah, okay,” he said, voice unsteady. He saw the king’s lips quirk in amusement.

No, that wouldn’t do. That wasn’t what Draco wanted.

Draco pulled his fingers out, choosing to wipe them off on the king’s shirt just to leave the mess behind on something of the king’s. He took half a step back to untie his own breeches, which had been uncomfortably tight for far too long but Draco had not been mentally prepared for this inevitability. His hands were shaky as he opened the condom and slid it over his throbbing cock. He squeezed the base of his penis, trying to calm himself for a moment. He rubbed lube on with the other hand. He needed to be mentally prepared now. This wouldn’t be worth it if it couldn’t be exactly as he wanted.

Draco took a moment to close his eyes, breathing deep and centering himself. He was here, at the equinox ball, and even seduced the king. Also, he had a raging hard on and was about to have sex for the first time. This was his night. It was magic. He could do anything.

Draco felt taller and stronger when he opened his eyes. He let a smirk curled over his lips. He stepped back up to the king, his hands running over his rump and squeezing, pulling the cheeks apart. Draco lined his cock up to the opening, then pushed.

Oh god it felt so good. Draco gripped the king’s hips and thrust with abandon, pistoning his hips hard and fast in and out of the body in front of him. He shifted angles to thrust harder, and underneath him the king moaned. Draco gripped his hips harder and tried to repeat the motion. He was desperate to pull more noises from the man beneath him.

And Draco did. Over and over, his thrusts pulled filthy sounds from the king. The king’s head rested on his arms on the desk, leveraging his body so he could arch his back and thrust up to meet Draco. He was on the bottom but knew how to guide Draco to doing exactly what he wanted, hitting all the right spots. Draco would have ignored his suggestions but it felt good. So fucking good. Draco’s body was on fire. He felt tight, close to bursting.

It was too soon. Draco didn’t want to end so soon. He especially didn’t want to end before the king.

Decisively, Draco reached around the king’s body to grab his cock. It forced Draco to slow, but after a moment he found a new rhythm that was just as good. He ground down, his hand rocking in tandem, rebuilding momentum for both men. Draco tried to use all the tricks he knew to make himself feel good when jacking off, hoping it would translate. In truth, his focus wasn’t there. He didn’t know if it had any effect. He only knew how good it felt when the hole he was fucking clinched tight, an exquisite squeeze to thrust into once, twice, three times, until he did burst. He growled as the organism ripped out of him.

Draco’s hand was sticky. The king had cum, too.

With a groan, Draco slumped forward onto the king’s back. He clung to him for just a moment, relishing the warmth while his head swam. He kissed the back of the king’s neck. His tongue flicked out and tasted sweat. It was good. Too good. Draco wiped his hand on the king’s shirt again then pushed himself up and off.

Draco pulled off the condom, disposing of it in a rubbish bin near the door. He tugged up his pants, but left the trousers untied. Then he turned back.

The king had rolled over and lay upon the desk, entirely debauched. His shirt was still wide open, allowing Draco to admire the sculpted chest fully, then the sculpted abs, then the trail of hair that ran down to his still exposed genitalia. The king was grinning, not hiding his pleasure at watching Draco admiring his body. The king stretched, like a cat in the sun.

“You did well, wolf,” he declared. Somehow he spread himself further, putting more of his body on display. “Should we find a bed and go again?”

Never in his life had Draco been so tempted. Yet, not trusting his voice, he closed his eyes and shook his head.

The king made a disappointed noise. “You said you’d make the other wolf howl. I’d quite like it if you tried that on me.”

He couldn’t help it, Draco opened his eyes back up to look. The king was as beautiful as ever, and was now running a hand slowly down his chest to draw Draco’s eyes where he knew Draco found him appealing. Draco stared on hungrily, not caring that the tables had turned and he was the one yearning now.

“It’s too late, I’m already going to be dead on my feet tomorrow,” Draco said.

The king smirked. “I’ll write a letter to excuse your labor,” he joked.

This rankled Draco, pulling him out of his lustful stupor. Of course the king would think Draco had nothing better to do than fuck him. Draco snapped, “Yes, I’ll just tell them I couldn’t be bothered because a straw lion needed a good fucking.”

Surprise flashed across the king’s face. Draco looked away before his own emotions could give him a way. A part of Draco wanted to say something cutting, but it was better for him if the king misread the situation and thought Draco didn’t know who he was.

Draco clinched his eyes shut. This had been a mistake.

Rapidly he pulled at the cords to close his trousers up even as he walked towards the door.

“Wait. If you must leave, take my carriage,” the king offered.

Draco scoffed. “I brought a horse,” he half lied.

The king was on his feet, trying to pull his clothes back on as well. “How will I find you?”

Draco gave him a derisive look, brutally honest enough to be dangerous for his own well being. “You can’t. That’s the point.” Then he yanked the door so hard it banged against the wall, and he stormed off before the king could get in another word.

Chapter Text

Draco hid the mask and his costume away up in the attic. He tucked away the too large boots that had given him blisters. A small price to pay for the extra height and fierceness. He folded each piece of clothing with reverence and pride. Aching fingers were worth learning to sew so impressively. He wrapped up his aunt’s mask with tender care and stowed it safest of all. In his heart he sent Aunt Bellatrix a message of thanks, for giving him this one evening of the life he should have had. The only thing missing was the wolf pendant. Draco didn’t remember losing it, and was faintly sorry it wouldn’t be stored up here with his other memories.

It was terribly cliche to be sad when no one could tell just by looking at Draco that something had changed. Perhaps it was because nothing had. Losing one’s virginity to the king at a fantastical ball had no impact on the rest of one’s life. No one had even noticed how tired and distracted he was the next day. No one commented on his shabby appearance, or the soot he couldn’t fully get out of his hair. It was horrible, to remember so vividly what it was like to command a room only to be thrust back into invisibility.

Except, when people did see him.

The king, for instance, saw Draco immediately on his next visit. It had been incidental that Draco was descending the stairs as the king walked in the door, coughing into his arm as he came out of the cold weather. Never one to waste an opportunity, the king scowled at Draco on sight.

Draco stared back impassively. He paused just long enough at the bottom of the stairs to make sure the king could truly look at him and not see anything to recognize. Then, after a respectful bow, Draco was on his way.

It didn’t matter that Draco was cast aside by everyone and everything, he knew he still could be who he was born to be. Someone powerful, beautiful, and compelling.

He held that memory to his heart when the king pretended he did not exist, even though they sat across from each other at dinner.

The memory of his one magical night didn’t sit in his heart joyfully. It didn’t do what he’d intended it to, it didn’t warm him when times were troubled. It was icy cold and bitter. It left Draco gripping his wine glass, rubbing his thumb up and down the stem. He wondered how much pressure it would take for it to shatter, and what he’d then do with the shards.

Draco stayed at the table long after he normally would have left. His mother had long since excused herself, but King Harry and Andromeda were trading old stories filled with references and inside jokes Draco didn’t understand. Draco hated himself for staying, but when he thought of leaving he remembered the feeling of the king’s eyes on him from across the ballroom and he wanted that feeling back.

Andromeda ended the evening when she declared it past time for her to go to bed. Both the king and Draco rose when she got to her feet. She kissed the king’s cheek good night, but Draco must have been invisible just then. She didn’t even glance at him.

Draco held his hands firm behind him and stared hard at the table, listening to his aunt walk away.

“What are you even doing here?” The king asked in the remaining silence.

Draco’s eyes flicked up. It was worse, looking at the king now, because even if his face was hardened, with more wrinkles than a man of his age should have, Draco could also now see how the line of his chin was beautiful. Draco also knew that under the king’s attempt at humble clothing was the most glorious body. He could remember what it felt like to caress each part of it, and how the sweat on the king’s neck tasted.

“I live here,” Draco replied, his voice collected despite his mind supplying him with the knowledge that he knew exactly where the beds were in this manor. Not that the king would extend his invitation to find one a second time. Not if he knew.

“Yet usually you have the good sense to bug off anyway,” King Harry stated.

Draco didn’t frequently find himself a man of good sense, but in that moment he managed to withhold the things he truly wanted to say. Such as remarking upon how much the king enjoyed being buggered by Draco. Instead Draco pursed his lips and glared again at the table. He squeezed his nails into his hands until it hurt and focused on that pain instead of how much it hurt his pride to stand there in front of the king and do nothing.

The king scoffed at Draco’s silence then strode out of the room. Draco waited until his loud footsteps and a round of coughing faded before he sunk back into his chair, hanging his head in his hands.

The next morning Draco was still in a mood. He skipped breakfast, choosing instead to ask Kreacher for a challenging task. He was put to work making loaves of bread until his arms were aching from the time spent kneading. By the time he left to bring Teddy his milk he was sweaty and caked with flour.

That’s how he looked when he walked into the nursery to see the king playing with his godson.

Draco had thought the king attractive laid out naked in front of him, but that was until now, when he saw King Harry and Teddy’s matching smiles as the king tossed Teddy into the air. Teddy’s laugh was high pitched, and the king’s a deep rumble. Draco hadn’t realized he wanted a man who would love his family as Draco did.

Teddy was holding a new doll. Something black and four legged. Maybe a bear. Or, maybe… Draco squinted to tell… but it looked like a wolf.

Of course, this was all ruined when the king actually saw Draco. “What are you doing here?” the king asked again, his voice more accusing than it had been the night before.

Draco rolled his eyes to the ceiling and prayed to whatever god might exist to maintain his temper. He forced a polite smile as he held out the cup of milk he’d brought from the kitchen.

“It’s nap time. I was in the kitchen and thought I’d save Angie a trip,” Draco said. Then, too snidely, “I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Of course I’m here, I came to see Teddy,” King Harry snapped.

Draco might have snapped back, but Teddy was looking upset at the King’s tone. So Draco just held out the milk. “Take it, then, put your godson to bed.”

“Read me two books, Daco,” Teddy said, unaware that his godfather wouldn’t welcome the comments.

Draco always did, and didn’t want to disappoint Teddy. He tried to soften his rejection. “Edward, dear, King Harry wants to read to you. Be good and let him, won’t you?”

Teddy pouted but nodded, clutching at what was definitely a stuffed wolf.

The king glowered as he stomped over to Draco and grabbed the milk cup from him. “You’re really such a ponce you won’t use his actual name?” he accused.

Draco blinked in surprise, not having expected this latest judgment. “He’s my cousin I’ll call him what I want to,” Draco huffed back.

The king’s face grew red and he looked like he might start shouting, but instead he turned to the side and began to cough. Bigger, yuckier coughs than the night before. For just a moment the collar of the king’s shirt shifted and Draco thought he saw a rash.

“You’re actually sick,” Draco said accusingly. “What’s wrong with you, showing up sick to play with a baby?”

The king stopped coughing and whipped his mouth on the back of his shirt sleeve. “Sod off you entitled prick.”

Draco’s jaw clenched so hard you could hear it click. He pinched his mouth shut and breathed hard through his nose, seething but trying not to snap. When he’d gotten control of himself he spoke in clipped words. “I don’t care what you think of me. I care that you are so colossally selfish that you would bring illness to a household that consists primarily of small children and the elderly.”

The king’s eyes narrowed. He took a step forward to loom over Draco’s space, until they were almost nose to nose. His eyes blazed with a fury that had literally toppled kingdoms. “How dare you speak to me so, I am the king.”

Draco squared his shoulders. At his full height he was taller than King Harry and he meant to let it show.

But then Teddy was crying and Draco’s head snapped to the noise. Teddy was staring at the two men with big eyes wide and afraid.

Draco slumped, letting the king loom in all his power.

“Cut it out, you’re scaring him,” Draco said. The king blinked himself and looked around, as if he’d forgotten where he was and who he was with. Draco frowned and shook his head, then he left the room so the king could focus on his godson, which was all that truly mattered.

Chapter Text

Draco sang softly to Teddy while he watched the little boy drink his milk. “Five green dragons making such a roar, one danced away and then there were four…” Teddy snuggled up to him, half asleep already. Being asked to cover for Angie this morning was one of those delightful surprises Draco didn’t expect to get anymore. “Four green dragons dancing 'round a tree, one danced away and then there were three.” Draco brushed his hands through Teddy’s hair. It was a bit odd how sweaty he was, they hadn’t been playing that hard. “Three green dragons dancin' round you, one danced away and then there were two.” Draco scooped Teddy up and carried him over to his bed, laying him down gently. He began to tuck a blanket around the toddler. “Two green dragons dancing in the sun, one danced away and then there was one,” Teddy rolled over onto his stomach, snuggling into a pillow and out from under his blanket, the shifting pulling up the back of his shirt a little. Draco saw something peculiar and reached for it. “One green dragon having lots of fun,” under the shirt was a strange rash, snaking over Teddy’s lower back. Draco lost the words to the song. It was just as well, the boy was already asleep. The silence hung over Draco for a long moment while he stared at the child. Then Draco kissed him on the head and whispered, “sleep well, Edward,” and left the room.

Draco was frowning something fierce as he walked down the stairs. He wasn’t sure where he was walking, but he stopped by the drawing room, then the library, then the family dining room, which he reached just as Kreacher opened the doorway to the stairs that led to the kitchens.

Draco couldn’t recall a time he’d seen Kreacher leave the kitchens voluntarily. He swore the man had a secret sleeping chamber down there, instead of on the fourth floor with the other servants.

“Master Draco,” Kreacher said, his brows were furrowed more than normal and he wore a particular frown. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but hesitated.

“I was looking for Aunt Andromeda,” Draco said, realizing it was true as he spoke it.

Kreacher nodded. “Yes, I think that’s for the best.”

This time, when they climbed the stairs together Kreacher didn’t put on any airs about the trouble. He climbed as quickly as Draco.

Draco’s mother was already in Andromeda’s study when the pair arrived. Narcissa was wringing her hands and staring at her feet while Andromeda sat behind her imposing desk and scowled. The scowl deepened when Draco didn’t hesitate to enter the room without invitation. Then her eyes flickered to Kreacher and her expression switched to surprise.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Andromeda demanded.

Kreacher glanced at Narcissa and Draco, but both instinctively kept their mouths shut. Narcissa likely out of wisdom, and Draco because he figured his mother was more likely to tell him what she was fighting with her sister about if he was on good behavior.

“The lads are sick,” Kreacher said finally.

“Which lads?” Andromeda asked.

Kreacher hesitated again as he had downstairs. This time he looked only at Narcissa. Narcissa felt him staring and looked up from the floor to meet his gaze. A dozen microexpressions made up of eyebrow and lip twitches revealed a conversation Draco could not interpret. Finally, Kreacher said, “all of them.”

“All of them?” Andromeda and Narcissa said together, only in completely different tones.

“How could this be?” Andromeda asked even as Narcissa said, “It’s moving so quickly!”

“What’s going on?” Draco asked sharply.

“I told you, Andy, the dragon pox is here,” Narcissa insisted.

“Dragon pox?” Draco gasped, even as his aunt shook her head.

“There hasn’t been dragon pox in the kingdom for close to twenty years!” Andromeda countered.

“And not for twenty before that, but perhaps that just means it’s time,” Kreacher said gruffly.

Draco was looking from one person to another, feeling too young as he saw all the people he thought of as adults so worried. “How could all the footmen have it? They didn’t even see the king,” Draco asked.

“What does the king have to do with it?” Andromeda snapped, turning her anger to Draco.

Draco flinched at her glare. “Oh,” he stuttered, “he was just sick, when he was here. I saw a rash.”

“On the king?” Narcissa said in horror. She covered her mouth with both hands.

“Calm down, Cissi, the king does not have dragon pox,” Andromeda said, all exasperation.

Narcissa, Draco and Kreacher all just stared at her. They let the silence stretch long and hard until it hung so oppressively even Andromeda buckled.

“Like Draco said,” Andromeda kept trying to argue. “If the king brought dragon pox, how could the footmen all be sick when the three of us aren’t?” she gestured to her sister and nephew.

“They must have got it first, from somewhere else,” Narcissa said, growing paler as she considered that reality. If there were two different entry points into the house, both noble and servant, that meant the pox had spread far.

Andromeda was still shaking her head, not so much in disbelief as with a determination that had been necessary to overcome countless obstacles in the past and couldn’t be given up on now. “It can’t be. You’re worried and jumping to conclusions. Even if it was the pox, there’s no reason to get worked up and cause a panic. You must stop overreacting.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. He stared at Andromeda and her alone even as he said. “Mother, why don’t you be so kind as to check in on everyone and see how they’re feeling. Maybe bring around a pot of ginger tea.” He saw when Andromeda’s eye twitched in frustration that he was dismissing Narcissa from the conversation. Narcissa didn’t speak, she just took the opportunity Draco presented and fled the room.

Andromeda opened her mouth to snap something at Draco but he spoke before she could, and then spoke louder over her when she tried to interrupt. “Kreacher, go to the grocer and see if there is anything non-perishable we can keep on hand. Something easy to prepare on your own.”

“See here, young man, you cannot order my servants-” Andromeda was ranting.

Draco was in the habit of lounging and slouching in ways that made him look sloppy and small, a tactic that had kept attention elsewhere long before the new regime was the one to threaten him. Now, though, he pulled himself up to his full height. He lifted his chin only the fraction it took to sneer down at his aunt the way his father had sneered down at everyone.

Kreacher saw and made the wise choice to leave. “It’ll give you peace of mind,” Kreacher explained before walking out.

Andromeda hadn’t stopped speaking, “- do you think you are?”

“I,” Draco said, “am a man you should be very thankful already survived the dragon pox. Like my mother survived, and Kreacher survived.”

“Why would I be thankful-”

“You should be thankful because you’re about to be very, very sick.” Draco answered, catching Andromeda off guard. “It’s true I don’t know what happened between you and the Black family, and at no point in my life do I intend to inquire on it, but I do know it happened before I was born twenty years ago. Which means you were already up in the north when the dragon pox last came and to you it’s just a story of something that happened to other people. Which is likely why you would say something so monumentally stupid as to accuse my mother of overreacting.”

Andromeda finally got to her feet, well versed in gathering the appearance of height and size even if she was nowhere near Draco’s height. She took on being formiddle with the same ease Draco took on being haughty. “Put thought into your words before you insult me again.”

The strain in staying still could be seen in every tense limb of Draco’s body. “I will give it as much thought as you bothered to when you told Kreacher he was overreacting to the disease that killed his wife.” Andromeda flinched back as if she’d been slapped. “Or as much as when you told my mother she could not recognize the disease that killed my cousin, Aunt Bellatrix’s daughter.” The surprise hit Andromeda harder this time. Likely, she didn’t know Bellatrix ever had a child. Few did. “Which is to say very little thought at all. With luck, this will be exceptionally short sighted of me when in the end you survive to show me your wrath. But in the meantime, I recommend you be useful. And thank god my mother’s here to care for you when you fall ill, because I won’t do it.”

Then Draco stormed from the room.

He marched through the house, banging up and down different flights of stairs without anywhere to go. He should take his own advice and be useful, only he wasn’t sure how to be useful. His mother was smart and efficient, and if he found her he could let her create a whole to-do list he could follow, pretending it would make a difference. And knowing his mother, it probably would be beneficial, only it wouldn’t guarantee anything and Teddy was sick and could die. Draco ran out of steam the fourth time he walked halfway up the third staircase. He dropped right there and sat down. He buried both hands in his hair and pulled hard enough it hurt.

Most people survived. It was better if you had someone to take care of you, to make sure you stayed hydrated and to help cool you if the fever spiked. However, many didn’t, and it was worse for the young and the old. Like for the cousin he never met, and for Teddy.

Draco wished he could sob like his mother sobbed, to let out all the feelings inside him then. He growled instead, jumping back to his feet and swinging around with all his force to slam his fist into the stairway wall.

“Holy fucking hell!” Draco shouted, because it hurt. His eyes did water then, from the pain. He pulled his hand back from broken wood and saw his fist was bleeding. “Fuck!” he yelled again. He held his fist to his chest as he stomped down the stairs, all the way to the kitchen.

Kreacher was back. He took one look at Draco and asked, “What did you do?”

Draco muttered, “Something stupid.”

“You always were a stupid boy,” Kreacher answered, but he got the medical kit and a small bag of ice. Draco sullenly let him wrap up his hand.

Draco was sent back upstairs with jugs of water and and a bowl of broth. He let himself into Teddy’s room, and almost spilled everything. Andromeda was there, sitting on the floor next to Teddy’s bed.

Her movements were slow when she turned to examine Draco. “You knew he was sick,” she said. Draco shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hand aching as it held the tray, but he wasn’t sure if he should go in. Andromeda turned back to her grandson and brushed her hand through his sweaty hair. The boy didn’t wake, as he normally might have.

“Um,” Draco tried, “shouldn’t you, I don’t know, quarantine?” he asked.

Andromeda ignored the question. “He likes you,” she said instead, the tone of accusation softened because she was aware Teddy might hear her. “Can you stay and watch him awhile?”

“Pardon?” Draco asked, not sure he heard her.

Andromeda was already getting to her feet. “Narcissa is helping me gather some bedding. I’ve decided we’ll use Teddy’s rooms for the women and children who get sick. Narcissa tells me it is better if someone can be there to watch them.” She took a moment to stare at Draco, as if for the first time. “You’ll tend to them?” she asked.

Draco gulped, then nodded.

Andromeda nodded, too. “Very good,” she said, and then left to make herself useful.

Chapter Text

There was a difference between reading about historic events and experiencing them. For example, Draco studied many famous battles as a child. All the best tutors ensured he memorized the key generals, battle strategy, and logistical support. Knights taught Draco swordplay and hand to hand combat. Then, between one day and the next, invaders reached the castle. It wasn’t that it was bloodier than Draco expected, just that Draco was surprised by the exact shade blood took on when it was splashed upon his home’s walls. He had been surprised by how warm it was, when it flowed out of his own body. He had been surprised by how he had spent so many days during the war imagining the pain of being wounded in combat, but the imagination fell far short of the agony of being cut open.

Watching the entire household fall victim to a plague he’d been tutored on as a child was very much like that.

The household was lucky, in the sense that the Tonks’ were not an ancient and noble house and therefore most of the staff were young. They came from the north with Andromeda after the war, taking a chance on a new life of comparative prosperity, especially if you were a young family looking to set up somewhere that your children and grandchildren could stay on at if they were so inclined to do the good, honest work that the Tonks’ would offer.

Which is how Draco found himself the caretaker of four young, very sick children. Teddy wasn’t the youngest of them. That was a babe, not even a year old, who stayed close to her mother, who was sick as well. Draco tended each of them, and the four other women in the next room, with the same gravity he brought to his studies on warcraft. Angie, bless her, was sick but not severely, and no matter Draco’s chiding she would not stay in bed. She watched over the women so Draco could focus on the children, distracting them with Teddy’s colorful books or large collection of stuffed animals. Together they made sure the families could spend what energy they did have together.

When the fevers started to spike, they worked together to apply damp wash clothes and coaxed individual patients to keep sipping water.

When a fever wouldn’t go down, or the patient became incoherent, they’d stop each other from panicking. Or, in the case of a child, panic together but keep it inside where only an adult could find it, if they looked another adult in the eye.

Draco found himself drawing bath after bath. He filled tubs with lukewarm water and Angie would help him move patients into the water to rest and hopefully lower their temperature. They tried to preserve modesty, but honestly at that point the women didn’t care.

Draco sang nursery rhymes until his throat hurt, anything to calm the children. He was singing when he heard Angie’s sobs.

To the end of his days, Draco would regret that Angie was the one to discover when her mother was dead. It wasn’t the sort of thing that you could talk yourself out of blaming yourself for, even if all the reason in the world said it wasn’t your fault. In some universe there must be some Draco that could have talked Angie into doing less and letting Draco carry the weight for her. In that universe, Draco would have found Fannie unresponsive in her bed, and he probably would have known just the right thing to say to console her daughter.

This Draco was rubber tongued and sleep deprived. He had no words. He just pulled Angie away from her mother’s body, all the way out of the room and in the hall. Then he held her there as she cried, squeezing tight at the slightest hint that she might pull away, until she finally gave in and collapsed on him. He held her until she ran out of sobs, then he took her to a different, dust covered room, long abandoned from disuse. But there were covers on the bed and Draco tucked her into it. Then he went to find his mother.

Of course Narcissa had a plan for bodies. She explained it so matter-of-factly that Draco worried she was unwell.

It wasn’t like him to inquire, but he thought he should. “How are you, mother?” he asked.

Narcissa smiled at him and patted his hand, exactly the same as always. “I’m fine, thank you dear,” she said, in exactly the same tone as always. Yet her fidgeting gave her away.

“How is Aunt Andromeda?” Draco tried a different tact.

Narcissa’s lips creased then. “Not well, I’m afraid.” She stared at the long-dead flowers on the side table between them.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, mustering up some actual sympathy when all he felt was tired. He closed his eyes and leaned back to rest his head. Without looking at her overly-controlled face he found he could be more sincere. “I’m so sorry.”

Silence sounds ominous when you know bad things are coming.

“Draco…” his mother began before trailing off.

“Hmm?” Draco prompted her to continue.

“What if there was a way to help them?”

Draco opened his eyes slowly but otherwise stayed perfectly still when he looked at his mother. There was no emotion on her face. “If there is, now would be the time.”

His mother looked at him now, with one of those adult stares that said more than it should. Draco worried they were starting to make more sense. “King Voldermort knew a cure,” she whispered.

Draco was sitting straight up as soon as she said the dead king’s name. His eyes flickered to each entrance to the room, confirming it was impossible anyone else heard. Then he looked back at his mother. “How can that be?”

His mother’s fidgeting was picking at the skin around her nails, so hard it would leave marks. She looked from the flowers to Draco’s face, then back to the flowers. Draco watched his mother gulp. “He practiced alchemy,” she said. “Dark alchemy.”

Draco gasped. Where alchemists believed you could transform one form to another, dark alchemists sought to make living what was dead. “You can’t mean, you wouldn’t…”

His mother looked helpless. Her words were hardly coherent, “I didn’t, not until… when the baby died…” she stared at Draco with saucer round eyes. “You were sick and he said he could cure you,” she said fervently, “and it worked!”

“How?” Draco demanded, but then almost immediately he amended, “What does it matter, he’s dead and can’t help us.”

Whatever dam had been inside Narcissa had broke and now she spilled out everything she had held in. “When I was little, Great Uncle Acturus was an alchemist. He is the one who taught Xeno, and at the same time he taught me.”

“You? An alchemist?” Draco couldn’t imagine it.

Narcissa blushed but carried on. “When I was little. I stopped, of course, when I was out in society, and when I married your father. However, Lord Voldermort, as he was then, knew at once I recognized the craft.”

“He taught you the cure!” Draco realized. Then another realization, “is that why you helped him?”

“He taught us the cure, and that was one of many ways he proved himself an ally to our family.” Narcissa squeezed Draco’s hands again. “He saved your life, Draco, and I will always be thankful to him for that.”

Draco couldn’t spend time on those sorts of thoughts and not lose himself to it. He focused on what mattered, “If you can make it, why don’t you?”

Narcissa pulled away, steeling herself with a deep breath. “It’s made from a poisonous flower, and with the wrong dosage it is deadly.” This is what she had been afraid to share. The hope of a cure, with the risk of killing the patients in the process.

“Mother, if you’re looking for me to advise you to be cautious then we’re truly out of our depth here,” was all Draco could say. “You must make it at once.”

Henbane, foxglove, nightshade, at some point Narcissa had apparently planted an entire garden of poisons hidden amongst the flowers she spent so much time on. Draco had taken one look at his mother’s empty eyes when she told him and decided now was not the time to ask why. He was terribly afraid she might tell him, and he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

In any case, she did start on the cure at once.

The next twenty-four hours were among the longest of Draco’s life, and he had counted down the seconds of the sunrise that killed his father. Between checking on patients and cheering up babies, Draco hung his head between his knees and struggled to breath.

Teddy was coughing. Then, worse, Teddy was silent. Draco hovered in fear watching his chest rise and fall to make sure he was still breathing.

Angie was back and tried to send Draco to rest but Draco shrugged her off and sat between the children to guard them through the night until medicine would come.

It came in a vial, perilously small.

“Give Teddy only one drop every twelve hours,” Narcissa commanded.

“What about the others?” Draco asked.

Narcissa’s stern expression allowed no argument. “There is not enough for the others.”

Draco could have argued, but his mother’s lips were thin and the skin was tight around the corners of her eyes. She’d worked herself to exhaustion, just as Draco had.

So Draco took the vial and left. Then he lingered in the kitchen, staring at the vial, shaking it a little and watching the milky white liquid shift in its casing. It would have to be enough. He hesitated before choosing three bottles to fill halfway with warm water, then added a drop of the medicine to each one. Then he made a large pot of tea and warmed up some broth, and took it all upstairs together. He sat with each of the smallest children, gently encouraging them to drink their water as he had every day they’d been sick, carefully monitoring that they drank every drop.

For the next three days Draco couldn’t remember sleeping. It was light, then it was dark, and maybe sometimes he opened his eyes and found he was laying on the floor. Then he’d push himself back up and keep working.

Until this morning, when Draco trudged down the stairs on his own. He kept walking forward once he’d reached the bottom, until he was up against a wall to bang his head against. In one hand he held an empty vial, in the other was one of Teddy’s older teddy bears that Draco had given to the oldest of the children. Martha, who he thought was big enough that he needn't risk spreading the medicine too thin. Draco thunked his head against the wall again, regretting every choice he had ever made that had brought him to this point in his life.

There was a louder thunking noise nearby. Draco tilted his head towards the manor door. The thunking came again.

Draco stumbled to the entryway. He fumbled with the locks, his hands uncoordinated due to lack of sleep and his stubborn refusal to drop what he carried. Finally, he pulled the deadbolts aside and heaved the door open.

There, in the morning sun, was an equally frantic and frazzled man.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Draco said, turning his back on the king so he could return to the wall and collapse against it. The king let himself into the manor as Draco slowly slid along the wall to the floor.

Of course, the king was glowering at Draco. All the king ever did was glower. “What are you doing, sitting on the floor?” he asked, all accusation.

Draco looked at the ceiling instead of at the man he loathed. “I think I’ll take a rest now,” Draco said.

“There’s no time for resting! You must tell me at once where Andromeda is, I’ve brought a cure!” Sure enough, the king was pulling forward a satchel, and from it a much larger vial than Draco had been given with a liquid just as milky white.

Something in Draco broke and like a madman he began to laugh. Hysterical laughter that shocked the king into stepping back. Once he started, though, Draco couldn’t stop. He laughed until he was choking on the air. He hid his despondent face behind the stuffed bear that for a week belonged to the girl the king came too late to save.

Chapter Text

They made it to Andromeda’s room, eventually. King Harry sat on Andromeda’s bed so he could hold her hands while he gave her the good news. Angie and Narcissa stood a respectful distance away, but only just. In truth they were hovering. Draco had flopped down on a reading chair across the room.

King Harry was so happy Andromeda was well. He insisted she still take the medicine, since dragon pox was known to rebound forcefully just when you thought you were out of the woods. King Harry was bringing the cure to all his friends he knew were sick. Of course there was enough for Teddy.

“And the other children?” Draco asked, too aware his own vial had run out and the little ones weren’t out of the woods.

The king glanced up, realizing for the first time Draco was still there. “Um, yes, of course,” the king said, clearly not having considered it.

Draco leveled him the most unimpressed of looks. “And their parents?” he asked, more to be cruel than anything.

The king narrowed his eyes at Draco's prodding. “We must conserve our limited supply of the medicine,” he non-answered.

Draco hmmed a little and squeezed the teddy bear he knew he should put down. “What a shame, that some of the children will just have to live on as orphans.”

The king almost stood up in anger, but Andromeda pulled on his hand to keep him seated. Andromeda had not lost her determination due to sickness. Her face was firm, even marred by a sickly pallor. “Anyone less well than me will have medicine before I do. If supply is low, they’ll get my share.”

Of course the king wouldn’t have that. He rushed to assure her there was plenty of medicine to go around. Maybe there always had been, but the request from Andromeda just sounded more reasonable than Draco’s approach. With his commitment locked in, Andromeda kissed King Harry on the cheek and politely sent the younger folk away so she could get some sleep.

In the hallway, King Harry looked at Angie and Draco before handing the vial of medicine to Angie. “This nozzle here is portioned to measure out just enough medicine per person. You should give each person that exact amount.”

Draco waited a beat for Harry to expand before he realized it wouldn’t happen. Draco added for him, “Except for the children. You’ll want to give them less.”

The king glowered at Draco, but he stopped to think about Draco’s words before agreeing. “Yeah, you should give them less. I didn’t ask Xeno the amount for children.”

Draco blinked, storing away the knowledge that Xeno was responsible for this medicine. “I wouldn’t give them more than a drop myself, if there’s any doubt about it. Of course, your majesty could inquire with Baron Lovegrove and send us a letter if you hear differently.”

“Certainly,” King Harry said through clenched teeth. “What a fine idea.” He seemed angry that Draco had a fine idea. Then again to Angie, “I mixed it in with tea and honey, to mask the awful flavor.”

“Of course, you don’t give babies honey,” Draco murmured, needling the king further for no reason since Angie knew how to care for children. Draco was just tired, and angry, perhaps miserable, and he wanted to take it out on someone else.

The king finally snapped and twirled to glare at Draco. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Draco smiled gleefully and stared back, letting the king’s frustration simmer.

A much wiser and kinder Angie cleared her throat. “It can cause botulism, which, um, can be toxic in infants. No worry, though, we can mix it in with milk.”

The king shook his head to clear it, then forced himself to turn away from Draco and smile at the servant. “Wonderful, thank you… I’m sorry I don’t know your name.”

Angie blushed, then introduced herself as one of the maids with an unpracticed courtesy.

“I imagine we should call you the housekeeper now,” Draco suggested.

King Harry glanced back at him again, now confused. “I thought Fannie…” his voice trailed off as he realized what must have happened. Draco took some satisfaction in seeing the king look stricken by the news, as if maybe the king finally had some understanding of what they had experienced as a household. What Draco had been living with.

Only, when Draco looked at Angie, she looked stricken, too, and Draco realized his needling of the king had missed its mark completely. “I’m sorry, Angie, that was out of line,” Draco said, ducking his head in shame.

Angie recovered impressively fast, but did not look at Draco when she spoke again. “If it pleases your majesty, can we meet with Mr. Kreacher before you leave for your next stop? He will want to hear the instructions from you, if you can spare us the time.”

Draco knew he was unwelcome and didn’t follow.

The next weeks were hard, because the tonic didn’t make everyone better overnight. Draco still worked hard to tend to his patients, and despite new hope he slept poorly. Angie worked alongside him, always cordial, but there were no more silent conversations exchanged with eye contact alone. They barely talked beyond coordinating logistics. Angie’s friends began to get better, and she spent her time talking with them. Listening to their shared references and inside jokes that Draco couldn’t understand was not unlike sitting in on conversations with Andromeda and all her friends that didn’t like Draco.

Draco compensated for the loneliness crawling inside him with boisterous games with the children who now had more energy than their guardians, so that all that needed it could play or rest.

October ended, and the disease finally left them. Draco watched reunions all around him, as friends and families came together to celebrate and cry. The young men dug holes to bury the bodies and Andromeda herself led the burial ceremony. Narcissa and Draco attended. Two ghosts unseen by and unconnected to the crowd.

The household was left to pick up the pieces. Martha’s parents left after, returning to the north and their family now that their dreams for a future here were tarnished by tragedy. With them and Fannie gone, the work left for everyone else felt oppressive. Thankfully, the household had stores of food to last through the winter, but the fall and winter crops had barely been planted, the other farm land had not been prepped for the cold season and following spring. Kreacher had done his best to maintain the outer buildings, but only had time to make sure eggs didn’t spoil in the chicken coops and no vermin got in to murder their animals. Each animal coup and barn smelled like literal shit, so poorly had it been tended to. Two more servants were hired away by wealthier households in need of new hands, their own staff having fallen to the pox.

So Draco went outside to the barn and began to shovel the horse shit himself. Poor, over-extended Doyle came into the barn late in the day, trying to finish up whatever essential tasks he couldn’t skip, and caught Draco sweating through his clothes as he struggled with the manual labor. Draco was such a ponce, he knew he would have quit if Doyle so much as joked about finding Draco there. Doyle didn’t. He just looked so relieved. Draco took pity and had Doyle teach him the rest of the barn-based chores and then volunteered to do those as well in the future.

Draco left the manor in the morning to see Andromeda and Narcissa working together to harvest whatever they could from the leafy greens that could grow through the fall, and whatever produce they eked out of the modest greenhouse. Every person chose to contribute. The Tonks manor did its best to rebuild, even as news came from the outer world that the sickness was still spreading. The Tonks had gotten it early, and it had not run its course.

So it continued, through the end of fall, into Christmastime, then into the New Year.

January ended with Andromeda pulling Draco aside for a favor. Draco almost said no, but then Andromeda explained, “Angie said you were so good with the children.”

Draco hung his head and could not refuse.

They walked together to the drawing room. There was the king himself, rocking from foot to foot with nervous energy. “Harry, dear, I’ve found a solution. Draco has agreed to go and care for Percy’s family.”

The king visibly winced at the suggestion. “Andromeda, are you sure? There must be someone else.”

Draco had never seen Andromeda look at the king with disapproval. He had only seen the look she gave King Henry as one Andromeda had directed so many times at Draco himself. “I am thankful for Draco’s generous offer,” she said with words of steel. “We are hard pressed to spare him, and only do so because the need is great.”

King Harry winced again, this time due to the chastisement. He huffed a sigh. “Thank you, Andromeda, for your generosity.” It was noted that he only expressed appreciation to Andromeda, but she settled simply for him agreeing to the plan.

With the decision made, the king insisted they leave at once. Once out of Andromeda’s sight he gave up any pretense of civility. He scowled at Draco and rejected outright the request that Draco first retrieve a few belongings or have time to change out of his workman’s clothes. The equinox ball felt like a lifetime ago now, but even the distant memory still stung harshly. It rankled deep inside Draco how the king treated him now, compared to the freedom of being unknown that one regretful night.

“Percy will have anything you might need,” the king snapped. Draco was taller, but had to expand his strides to keep up with the king’s rapid pace.

“Who is this Percy, anyway?”

The king didn’t look back as he said, “Percy Weasley, you’ve met him.” Draco didn’t remember doing so but he never had bothered to track the red-headed offspring.

“A Weasley? If he needs help why hasn’t he just returned to the family home. Aren’t they the sort to prefer that, all thick as thieves?” Draco shouted after the king, who was now outdoors and striding to an open carriage.

“Everyone’s strung thin,” was the brief response.

Draco blenched. “How can the Weasley’s be too thin to care for one of their own? Do they hate this son? Is he the black sheep of the family?”

The King dropped the reins he’d been gathering and whirled to glare at Draco, finally facing him head on. “Shut your damn mouth if you know what’s good for you.”

Draco stopped in his tracks as well, firsting his hands on his hips to glare back. “It’s not an unreasonable question, your majesty.” he said, nearly mocking. He couldn’t tell the king that he knew this wasn’t how he treated everyone. Draco just held a special place in the king’s heart as one of the most despised. He couldn't stop his rancor from coming out. “I just want to know, the Weasleys are like family to you, what sort of family member do you loathe enough to send me of all people to play nurse to.”

The king’s anger made his entire face red. “If you’re not willing to assist, tell me now and be on your way. I won’t stand for this rubbish.”

“Of course I’m going to help him,” Draco spat out. “I always help out. I’m the most helpful fucking bloke in your kingdom! You despise and distrust me anyway, but I suppose this fellow matters so little you don’t mind me being the one to rely upon.”

For a moment Draco thought the king would raise one of his tightly clenched fists and finally pummel Draco for his insolence. He held his entire body tight with rage, his eyes bright as emerald fire. “Get in or begone,” he growled through clenched teeth. Then he climbed up to the front perch of the carriage. Draco hardly had time to scramble in before the king shouted, “Haw!” and the horses began driving away.

Chapter Text

The king himself rang the bell of the town house and stood with Draco for at least three full minutes before anyone came to the door. Draco fidgeted while they waited, shifting his weight from foot to foot and even going so far as to tilt as far as he dared to the right, in order to peer through a window. King Harry pinched the bridge of his nose but otherwise did not react to Draco’s antics.

There were thuds inside the house before the door swung open, revealing a Weasley that Draco had in fact met. The thin and spindly one, who was intentionally oblivious whenever his family started mischief. Also, he looked like shit. All sweaty and pallid, randomly wearing a full pressed suit, complete with waistcoat, although he must have dressed in haste and the buttons weren’t properly aligned. His hair was still rumpled as if from sleep. “Your majesty,” Percy bowed formally in greeting to the king.

King Harry pinched the bridge of his nose again before dropping his hands to reveal a forced smile. “Percy, always a pleasure,” there was a twitch in his cheek and Draco knew instantly he was lying. Draco had been right, Percy was the odd man out in the Weasley clan. “Your mother sends her regards. She received your letter just as I was leaving the Burrow, and I offered right away to find you help.” King Harry gestured to Draco, his smile more of a grimace as he did so. “Draco here was a wonderful help to Andromeda and he’s offered to come stay with you and Audrey for a time.” Then the king pulled out another vial of the dragon pox tonic. “And medicine, of course.”

Percy’s face had stayed pinched in rapt attention, his body held stiff and formal, he did not sway even with Draco’s introduction. That was, until the king revealed the medicine. Percy sagged when the vial was pulled out, tension released that Draco hadn’t noticed Percy had been holding. Percy half reached for the tonic, but only for an instant. Then Percy pulled himself together into his tightly wound self with his own pained smile. Both hands were back down at his side. “This is wonderful news, your majesty. You came not a moment too soon.”

“Err,” said King Harry, holding himself stiff in response to Percy’s excessive formality. “Right then. Draco will…” the king eyed Draco warily. His eyes flickered up and down Draco’s body, once again judging whether or not Draco was fit to the task. “Take care of them,” the king said to Draco, hard and commanding. With the command hanging between them he held out the vial of medicine for Draco to claim. Draco huffed and tried to grab it, only to find the king was holding firm, waiting until Draco looked back at him to meet the king’s cold stare. Draco supposed he meant it to be threatening.

“Of course,” Draco gritted out, yanking on the potion hard to pry it from the king’s grip. He turned back to Percy with a jagged smile of his own. “Let’s hop to, not a moment to waste.” Percy was nodding, nearly bowing to Draco as if he, too, was a person of authority. Percy tried to pause to say a formal farewell to the king, but Draco was over the threshold and corralling his host away from the door. “The king is far too busy saving other lives to spare more time with us” Draco snarked as he passed by the king. He shut the door in the king’s face once inside.

Percy remained formal, following the routine of trying to take Draco’s coat and offer him tea. Draco could see Percy’s nervous twitches even as Percy refused to rush the process.

“Never mind that, you look a fright. Why don’t you show me to your kitchen?” Draco interceded.

Percy acquiesced, walking Draco through a lovely, if modest, town house. Ever curious, Draco peaked in each doorway, to see a closet, then a study, then a large drawing room where two small heads peaked out over a large settee.

Draco stopped in his tracks. “Hello there,” he said gently. Both heads ducked down, as if caught out. “No need to hide, why don’t you come out and say hello.”

“Oh!” Percy huffed, instantly back at Draco’s side. A blush had crept into his cheeks, adding color to his sickly complexion. “Please don’t mind the girls. They weren’t expecting guests, and, only, well,” he blushed further.

Draco obviously was missing something but he had no clue what it could be. Still, while the king didn't like Percy, he had been willing to threaten Draco over his family’s well being. Draco reached deep and harnessed the same charm he relied upon in the darkest days of illness at Andromeda’s, to keep spirits high and endear him to the children. “I can’t imagine they’re any bother at all, why don’t you introduce us before we whip up some tea for the family?”

Percy cleared his throat and nodded. “Girls, come join us!” Both girls muffled giggles, then ran out from behind the furniture and out to the doorway. They weren’t so little, somewhere between seven and ten. Both wearing warm bed clothes with hair poorly, if enthusiastically, braided, made colorful with ribbons and bows. Both had the sheen of sweat and the youngest one coughed when they reached the doorway. Their bed clothes didn’t cover their legs, revealing a rash on the older girl’s calf.

“Molly, Lucy, this is,” Percy paused, considering the correct words before settling on, “Mr. Draco Malfoy. The king himself brought Mr. Malfoy this very morning with medicine for us.”

It was odd to take the time for formal greetings, but clearly this was important to Percy so Draco played along. He bowed as politely as he would for any lady to each of the young girls. “Ms. Weasley, and Ms. Weasley, lovely to meet you.”

Both girls giggled as they curtseyed. “Did you bring medicine for mother?” the older one asked.

Draco’s eyes flickered up to the room they’d been in, where there was no sign of their mother. “Exactly so. Why don’t you return to your games and I’ll start on the medicine right away?”

The girls smiled so large Draco found it unsettling. “We’re not playing games, silly. We’re doing our reading.”

“Of course, how studious. Please, continue, we’ll be back in a jiff,” Draco said. He watched the girls run back into the room before nudging their father to continue on.

Once in the kitchen Percy started rambling. “My apologies, we would never show you the discourtesy of such an informal greeting had we expected, well, what I meant to say is please don’t take our informality as a sign of disrespect, I mean, they are both the most lovely girls and you should not consider their poor presentation this morning as anything...” he went on like that for a minute while Draco made short work of navigating the kitchen.

Draco filled a large and small kettle and put both on a hob to heat, then pulled out four of the dullest floral mugs he’d ever seen in his life. The small kettle warmed fast, and Draco pulled it off to make up a cup of warm water and honey, with exactly one nozzle’s worth of tonic added in. He put the cup into Percy’s hands, cutting him off mid sentence.

“Your daughters are lovely. Drink this before you pass out.”

Percy gulped. “The others should be served first.”

With effort, Draco did not roll his eyes. He dug deep and forced himself to offer sincere comfort. “A commendable sentiment, but you must see they’re relying heavily on you now. Your family needs you healthy so you can continue to do all you can for them. Now drink up.”

Percy was blushing again as he followed Draco’s orders.

Draco took the time to find a tray and riffle through the cupboards until he located a tin of biscuits. Once done, the larger kettle was ready and he made up two more mugs of hot water and honey. He paused then. The girls weren’t as little as the toddlers at home, nor as big as an adult. He had no instructions for this. One glance at Percy’s wide-eyed admiration made clear that Draco couldn’t well talk it through with him. Draco decided on caution, and added only two drops to each mug and quickly stirred the medicine in. Draco carried the tray out himself back to the drawing room.

Stepping into the room properly for the first time, Draco could see that there were several sofas, all with extra blankets and pillows folded neatly on them. He also saw casual clothes folded neatly and stored on a nearby table, as if borrowed from the room where they were meant to be kept.

Both girls were propped up on the settee with thick books that Draco would categorize as of a dubious nature. They had the look of historic texts or scientific study, serious subjects that he would just as soon throw out the window as present to an ill child. The girls were so much better behaved than Draco had ever been at their age. They had their noses buried happily as if it was no bother at all. When Draco walked in they carefully marked their reading progress and set the books aside on tables just for that purpose. They both sat properly at the edge of their seats trying to maintain demure expressions while their curious smiles peeked through. Draco could imagine how Percy kept them dressed up properly for guests and carefully taught them etiquette.

“Ladies,” Draco greeted, once again offering a short, respectful bow. He laid their tea tray down with a flourish. “Your father is so proud of your studies, he insisted you both get a treat with your tea.” Percy sputtered, almost going so far as to correct Draco’s statement that the biscuits were his idea. Draco stepped away from the girls and clamped a hand over Percy’s mouth where they couldn’t see. “We’ll be back in a tick. Be sure you both drink your tea fully before we return.” Then he shoved Percy back out of the room.

“Why did you do that?” Percy questioned.

Draco half shrugged. “They clearly love you. It will make the medicine less scary this way.” Percy’s frown only deepened.

Back in the kitchen, Draco breathed deep and steeled himself for what truly had Percy so afraid. “Where’s your wife, Percy?” he asked, trying to sound gentle.

Percy made a sad choked noise, before immediately covering his mouth with his hands to prevent himself from making it again.

Unexpectedly, Draco ached with pity. This sad man was so far out of his depth, but trying so hard despite it. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but is she very ill or has she passed?”

He made the noise again, only louder. “She’s not dead!” he choked out after.

Draco released air he didn’t know he was holding. “Good,” he sighed, and tried to shake out his tension. “Very good.” Draco turned to the final mug to prepare one last dose of medicine. Then he hesitated and returned to the cupboards, shifting through different cups and glassware until far in the back he found a cup once used for their children. It had a spout, making it easier to drink without spilling. Draco filled that with a small portion of water, then added the serving of medication without honey. He suspected Ms. Weasley would not care about the bitter flavor. “Alright, let’s go.”

Upstairs was a smaller space with three tight rooms all together. The doors to the little girls’ rooms were open, revealing the tidiest childrens rooms he’d ever seen, still brimming with cheer. All the books and toys were precisely lined up in their places, arranged by size or color. It would be oppressive, but somehow it wasn’t. The organization created rainbows everywhere. Draco didn’t understand it, but still he smiled.

One door was closed. Percy stood in front of it, visibly shaking. “You mustn’t,” he whispered, then gulped. The face he turned to Draco was strained. “She wouldn’t want you to see her like this,” he tried to explain.

Draco said, “We’ll just go in for a moment. I can show you how to make sure she drinks it all, then I won’t have to stay.”

Percy nodded, accepting that. Only then did he open the door.

The room wasn’t trying to be dark, only there were no lights on and the clouds outside stopped the sunlight. Draco twitched to turn on a lamp, but took Percy’s words seriously. His wife, - Audrey, Ms. Weasley, Draco really should ask what Percy would find proper for him to refer to her as - would not like to be seen like this. Draco didn’t want to make anything harder than it already was. Together the two men walked to the bed. There was a chair already beside it where Draco chose to sit. Percy stood next to him instead of sitting anywhere.

There was already a bowl of water next to the bed, so Darco picked up a nearby cloth and wet it. He reached over to the woman sleeping in front of him and removed the previous cloth. He held his hand where the cloth had been. It was hot with fever. Draco kept his movements smooth and calm as he placed the cool cloth on her forehead. He picked up the spouted cup and carefully slid the edge of the spout into Audrey’s mouth, even more carefully tilting it so the barest amount of water poured out.

“You want to go slowly,” Draco explained in a whisper. “She’ll swallow it naturally, as long as you go slow.”

Percy nodded. His eyes were sharp as he watched every motion Draco made, memorizing it so he could repeat the process. When the drink was consumed, both men quietly walked back out to the hallway.

Past the threshold, Draco finally felt like he could breathe. He sucked in air and lifted both hands behind his head as he let it all back out. He didn’t know how to say it. He couldn’t say it.

“She’s terribly ill,” Percy said it for him.

Draco heaved a sigh again as he turned back to the other man. “Yes,” he agreed.

Percy nodded, almost imperceptible. “It came on suddenly, I didn’t know what to do.”

“You’ve done everything you could,” Draco tried to reassure.

Pain etched across Percy’s face. His fingers raked through and further disheveled his hair. “No, I know there’s more. I’ve read the fliers. I should have sat with her and kept the clothes cool, or taken her downstairs to give her cool baths. I hardly make sure she gets any water. She could have dehydrated and died before I was any the wiser.”

He was spiraling, clearly. He kept doing that, going in circles of self recrimination and doubt, bundled up someone in a twisted reason that did not take into account human limitation.

“Percy, those are suggestions, you have to adapt them to your situation,” Draco tried to sooth.

Percy was nodding. “I should have adapted better. I could have kept the girls in their rooms, and brought Audrey downstairs so I could properly tend to her.”

Draco shook his head, more because he wasn’t getting through to Percy than to contradict what he’d been saying. “Wouldn’t the girls have been scared, being stuck upstairs on their own? Clearly, you’ve been taking good care of them. You’ve been doing the best you can.”

Percy’s shaking was getting worse. “How good of care can it be if their mother dies?” he asked bleakly.

Draco ran his own hands through his hair in frustration. “You didn’t cause this disease,” he tried to reason.

Then Percy looked up with such terror. He stumbled over the words. “I was the only one who left the house. It must have come from me.”

“Oh, bugger,” Draco cursed. There would be no getting through to him. “Well, we’ll work on figuring your issues out later. For now, I think it’s best you stay with your wife. Clearly you’ve read the literature, do your best and shout for me if you have another panic.” Draco all but shoved Percy back into his bedroom before burying his face in his hands and holding back a rage scream. He could do with a good shout to release the pent up anxiety coursing through him.

Instead he went downstairs, harnessing everything in him to once again smile for the children. He checked each of their tea mugs and praised their thoroughness in consuming both the tea and the treats.

He tried to talk both girls into letting him read them a fairy tale he uncovered on a shelf. Instead Lucy, the younger of the children, sat him down beside her and showed him what was absolutely a scientific text. The zoology book dedicated each page to a different mammal. The girls laughed at Draco’s skepticism. Seeing that it made them so happy, Draco gave in and helped Lucy memorize all the animal facts.

Chapter Text

Draco did his best to fit into the Weasley’s lives while he wondered why the hell their father had dropped off the face of the planet.

That wasn’t true, their father stopped in every twelve hours to oversee the medicine. He’d sit with his girls for what they were calling morning and evening tea, and not once did Percy show his nerves in front of his daughters. They slipped out for Draco alone.

There was always a reason for Percy to fret.

Where would Draco sleep? They had no guest room, he wouldn’t fit in either girl’s bed, the girls couldn’t possibly return upstairs and stumble across their mother, and Draco couldn’t possibly join the sleepover in the drawing room. Draco told Percy to shut up and plopped himself down on Percy’s office floor.

How would they manage the girls? The girls had five lessons a day, normally orchestrated by their mother, with more recent instruction from Percy. Draco tried to convince them to skive off due to illness, but that effort went over poorly as both girls rejected Draco’s suggestions for play over and over until they stopped responding to him at all. So, Draco tackled the lesson plan. He talked them into swapping math for French, explaining that both were just learning and following a set of rules. He swapped embroidery for dressmaking, promising each a beautiful new outfit at the end. He did his best to remember grammar and to not make up any silly rules of etiquette. He collapsed on the couch at the end of the day for art lessons - a different topic assigned to each week day. On painting day he asked them to make pictures for their mother and father to cheer them up while they recovered from the illness. Percy fucking cried, the wanker, but only out in the hall after kissing both girls good night.

What would they eat? Draco didn’t blame Percy for having left the house and getting sick. Unlike the Tonks’, Percy’s townhouse didn’t have a cellar stocked with dried goods or farm land to grow fresh produce. There were no chickens laying eggs or cows to milk. This Weasley kitchen was picked thin. When Draco inquired, Percy gave him the most helpless of looks before retreating upstairs. Percy came down minutes later with a bundle of cash large enough to make Draco gawk. “Get whatever you need,” Percy said, with enough faith in Draco’s judgment to make Draco feel lightheaded. Draco didn’t know how much food normally cost, but the next day at the market was bleak and Draco didn’t know how to balance living up to the faith Percy put in him with securing food needed for Percy’s family. Draco shopped lean, and the same day sent an urgent telegram to the Tonks’ asking if they could please god send supplies.

How would they manage Percy? Mostly, Draco didn’t. Draco let Percy alone upstairs and trusted Percy would share if anything drastic happened. Only, it didn’t take long for Draco to realize that even with all Percy’s fretting, he didn’t actually share. He only fretted to Draco about things too apparent to hide. Percy told Draco the same update about his wife that he told the girls. She’s resting and working hard to get better. Meanwhile, the circles under Percy’s eyes got only darker and despite taking the medicine himself, he’d only gotten thinner and more pale.

The evening after the requested supplies came, with the girls tucked in on their respective sofas in the drawing room, Draco stood at the bottom of the stairs and second guessed what he was about to do. Percy had made his boundaries clear, in his own way, only Draco thought there was something exceptionally pig-headed about where the boundaries fell. Sure, the king's threatening statement still hung over Draco’s head driving him to action, but also his heart was werry watching Percy try to hold so much on his shoulders.

Draco trudged up the stairs.

He knocked gently before entering Percy and Audrey’s room.

The room was still dark, and late at night there was no sun at all to compensate. The only light came from the door Draco left open behind him, and the gas lamps on the street with the smallest amount of light shining through the window.

When Draco’s eyes finally adjusted to the dimness it was to see Percy sitting in the chair next to the bed. He hung his head low over his hands, which gripped the edge of the bedding but went no further.

“Please go away,” Percy said, barely more than a whisper.

Yeah, Draco hadn’t misread the boundaries. “Thought I’d check in while the girls were in bed, see how everything was going up here.” He glanced at Audrey - Ms. Weasley - fuck, he still hadn’t asked what to call her. Percy would want him to be formal, so Ms. Weasley it was. In any case, he could see the slightest shifting in her chest so she wasn’t dead.

“She’s resting, please don’t disturb her,” Percy said in a voice that was almost monotone, if it didn’t also sound defeated.

Draco licked his lips and shuffled. Leaving was the smart move, only… “You don’t seem to be getting any rest,” he said instead.

Percy’s sigh was louder than any of the words he’d spoken since Draco entered the room. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for my family, but I have this under control.”

Clearly that was more pigheaded nonsense. Draco glanced around the room until he spotted a second chair. He tiptoed over to it before carrying it over to Percy. So very gently, Draco sat the chair next to Percy’s and took his own seat.

Percy finally looked up if only to glare. Draco, setting his mind to out stubborning the other man, snuggled further into his chair.

“Why are you here?” Percy said with resignation.

Draco tilted his head to side eye Percy. He looked so exceptionally hopeless. Draco said, “You’re not alone, Percy. You don’t have to do it all yourself.”

What little light there was shinned off of Percy’s eyes. “I appreciate everything you’re doing for my daughters-”

“You know I love your daughters, Percy, but right now I’m talking about you,” Draco interrupted.

Percy was blinking, holding back water. “You love my daughters?”

Draco paused, not for the first time confused by the older man. “Yeah, they’re great.”

“You don’t find them difficult?” he nearly choked on the question.

Slowly, Draco shook his head. “No. I was difficult as a child. They’re great.”

A shudder ran through Percy and he dropped his head into his hands. Fuck, he was going to cry. Awkwardly, Draco patted him on the shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. Percy’s voice was strained when he said, “I wanted to take them to my parents’ house right away, they would have everything we need, but it’s always hard on them to adapt to our family’s schedule, and their cousins are so loud. I was worried…” he trailed off.

Draco still had his hand on Percy’s shoulder, but it didn’t feel as awkward now. “You know what’s best for your family, Percy. You did the right thing.”

Percy did start crying then. Stubborn, manly tears that he did his best to hide from Draco. “Audrey is dying,” he sputtered.

Draco rubbed his back in circles the way his mother did for him when he was little. He didn’t know if it helped, but Percy didn’t push him away. He gave Percy a minute to collect himself before he spoke. “She’ll make it through the night. I’ll stay here with her. Go downstairs and get a full night’s sleep so you can be here for her in the morning.”

Percy looked up with bloodshot eyes. “What if she dies while I’m gone?”

Draco smiled wryly. “I won’t let her die. The king would probably try me for treason or something if I let that happen.”

“What?” Percy asked, suddenly far too serious.

Draco huffed out a laugh. “I’m joking.” Mostly.

Definitely mostly joking. But, after Draco did talk Percy into going downstairs to sleep, Draco himself didn’t sleep a blink that night.

The next morning, Percy looked better than he had since Draco first arrived. He came with real tea for Draco, and the next serving of medicine for his wife. He sat next to Draco and promised the girls would be fine alone for the day. Draco was nearly finished with his tea when Percy offered a stilted, “Thank you.”

Draco shrugged, not making a big thing of it. “It’ll be nice for her that you’re back,” he said. “You clearly love her, that’s a strong medicine.”

Percy huffed. “That’s scientifically unsound,” he muttered. Despite Percy’s snobby tone, Draco simply laughed.

“Oh alright, but when she wakes up it will be reassuring to have someone she loves with her,” Draco amended.

Percy’s paleness suddenly returned and silence stretched between them. Draco was dead on his feet, but knew he needed to stay and give Percy however much time he needed to speak. It was a lot of time, but Percy did say, “It wasn’t a love match, between us. I was just a good prospect, and she was very kind to me.” He stared as his wife with such longing as he said it.

Draco wanted to promise him that love blossoms over time and his feelings were returned, but truly he knew nothing about Ms. Weasley. Instead he said, “Anyone would be lucky to have someone who cared as much as you.” Then he wished Percy a good morning and fumbled his way to sleep.

Days later, while Draco resented his past decision that required him to remember both French and English grammar, he had the most blessed interruption that made all his issues mute.

Percy and Audrey Weasley both walked into the drawing room.

The girls were on their feet and squealing in an instant. Blessedly, lessons were canceled for the day as the girls bombarded their mother with questions and updates, until all parties were overwhelmed and transitioned to sitting together quietly on the settee, Percy holding his wife closely the entire time. Draco left during the excitement, with a warm, relieved heart.

More days were spent rebuilding strength. This time the girls’ delivered their painting to their mother’s room, which was once again filled with light.

The weight of the world had been lifted off Percy’s shoulders, until the next week when letters arrived. Percy only opened one, clearly recognized on sight. Draco was in the kitchen with him as Percy read it, and saw the moment all the stress and agony came back. Everything changed after that.

“We can’t thank you enough, for everything,” Audrey - they had now been formally introduced - said to Draco the day the Weasley’s left together.

The girls gave Draco the tightest hugs goodbye, wishing him farewell in French with perfect French accents.

Percy rambled on apologies for suddenly leaving Draco all alone in their house without properly seeing him back home and whatever other rot Percy felt obligated over.

“I’ll miss you, too,” Draco cut him off.

Percy’s face twitched in annoyance, but then he smiled. “You’re a good friend, Draco Malfoy. I could not have done this without you.” He then reached out his hand for Draco’s and they shook hands as, well, Draco supposed Percy was right and maybe they were friends. “I can never repay you for this. Stay as long as you like and take whatever you want for your return home.”

Draco waived after them as their carriage pulled away.

Inside, the townhouse felt hollow without the family. Draco strolled down the long hallway, looking at the now tidy, empty rooms as he went. He found himself in the kitchen, habitually pulling out a kettle to heat up tea. He folded his arms and leaned against the counter as he waited. For once, his time was his own.

It was happenstance that Draco glanced over to the small table where Percy had sat to open the mail. Halfway through the pile was an envelope Draco had seen before. He pushed himself away from the counter and stepped to the table, nudging the other letters aside.

The envelope was addressed to Percy and Audrey Weasley. The top left corner had no name or address. Only a symbol that looked vaguely like a ram. The sign for aries. The sign for the spring equinox. Draco’s fingers twitched over the envelope.

Take whatever you want, Percy had said. So Draco took the letter.

Chapter Text

Covet the spring when life is plentiful.
Eager decay makes way to greenery.
Blossoms indiscriminately extoll
our bereaved Equinox plenary.

Covet the plant that grows in well fed soil.
Garden fruit resurrect each year through seed.
Vegetation remembers not the toil
of decomposed plants on which they feed.

Covet the bloom of spring’s first flower.
No gloom appears in its ebullient smile.
Could you discard recollections most dour
and don verdant perspective for a while?

Let memories of love lost fertilize
flora, root or leaf worn to eulogize.

Draco kept the invitation in his breast pocket on the carriage ride to Grimmauld Place. It did not feel like going home. Draco had thought it had evolved to his home, but an extended stay with the Weasley’s reminded him of what home was supposed to be. Not just a place, but a place made by the people who were in it. A place where routines were like rituals that brought people closer to one another. Grimmauld Place was a home for other people, and Draco just lived there.

Still, Draco could hardly sit still with the anticipation. He nibbled on his lips as he surveyed his mental catalog of each mask in the attic, debating between floral and tree variations. He dreamed of creating his own mask one day, but there simply wasn’t enough time. He would have to look again and see what spoke to him, then scrounge up source materials to construct a broader costume.

The carriage dropped Draco off outside the servants entrance instead of the main hall. While he couldn’t tell if it was a slight, Draco set aside his pride and chose to be thankful for it. The king was always willing to shove open the large front door himself but Draco couldn’t bother. The servants’ door was down half a staircase and led him right to the kitchen.

Kreacher caught Draco stealing a warm bun and cuffed the back of Draco’s head for it. “You were taught better manners than that, Master Draco,” Kreacher said in lieu of greeting.

Draco grinned at him, with bread in his teeth. “Not ‘Master’ anything, Kreacher.”

Kreacher’s grunt was not agreement. He did hand Draco another roll. “Get upstairs before you cause more trouble. Your mother will be happy to have you back.”

His mother was happy to see him. She put propriety aside and embraced him fully, nearly clutching him in a firm embrace. Draco would never say it, but she was worn around the edges. A little more wrinkled, a little more gray. This household didn’t nurture her, either.

They stayed side by side as Narcissa insisted Draco tell her everything. Draco found himself parroting Percy’s words. He’d stayed with Percy as the family rested and worked hard to get better. It felt like a breach of trust to share anymore about their particular struggles. Draco distracted his mother with his tales of trying to re-learn remedial French. He listened fondly as she scolded him, in perfect French, for letting the talent slip. It was almost like they were at their real home, waiting for Draco’s father to come home from running the country to inquire about their day. It made him think of Molly and Lucy’s joy when they saw their mother return to them. He yearned for the experience.

Was it so different, to have his aunt and cousin walk in then instead? Teddy hooted and lept for Draco, who caught him in air and lifted him up towards the ceiling. Draco spun Teddy around while Andromeda said, “I heard you’d come back. Welcome home.”

It still didn’t feel like home. Not even with Teddy is his arms.

He had never played with Teddy where Andromeda could see, but neither his aunt nor his mother took mind of their shenanigans, except when they paused a somewhat stilted conversation to watch and smile hesitantly. Draco could see they had both decided to try at being family.

It was almost enough for Draco. Certainly, it was the best he could hope for and that would have to be enough.

“You’re back, then?” Andromeda asked after both Teddy and Narcissa left for a rest.

Draco watched after his mother as she walked away. She looked so tired. “Um, for now,” Draco answered. “They left unexpectedly, so I offered to help maintain the townhouse for a short while, get everything in order. I’ll stay here a few days before I return.” It was a liberal interpretation of Percy’s call for Draco to stay as long as he liked, but he doubted the word would get back to the Weasleys before Draco came back for good.

Late that night, long after everyone else had gone to bed, Draco sat on the attic floor. The black trunk was open before him and he had tenderly pulled out every mask inside it to find five perfect options for the ball.

Each was spectacular, but none was right.

Draco rubbed his fingers over the verses of the sonnet he’d long since memorized. The masks in front of him fit the theme of growing vegetation. Only, the lines in the poem that settled in Draco’s mind didn’t conjure pictures of leaves and flowers. They conjured heartache. Draco read a longing not just for things lost, but for loss to stop consuming everything. For the loss to transform to nutrients that would feed spring’s growth and revival, instead of just leaving one’s insides hollow.

It was near on three years since Draco’s side lost the war and his world went topsy turvy. He still felt hollow inside.

The masks of dead ancestors he didn’t know could not fill the hollow ache in his chest. Draco squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of what possibly could.

Reading to Teddy. Baking pies with Luna. Percy’s fragile trust.

Small moments when his heart felt full.

His mother draining herself to stay strong for him. His aunt bending her iron will to give him a chance.

It was almost enough for Draco. Certainly, it was the best he could hope for and that would have to be enough.

Chapter Text

It was not magic. Draco marveled at the room, but he was prepared to be awed and amazed. That could happen without magical thinking. This ballroom being real made it more spectacular than magic, anyway.

What a room. Intricate tapestries; sculpted wood mirrors, moldings, paneling, elaborately painted ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and gilded everything. The walls stretched high, with barrel vaulted ceilings elongating the room further. The southern wall held window casing after window casing, each filled with intricately crafted small, symmetrical panes of glass and domed on top. And that was just the architecture.

It had been transformed into an eden. Lush green carpet looked like grass. Trees were arranged to seemingly sprout from the floor. On them grew oranges and lemons. Citrus scents wafted by with every current of air. The scent mixed with roses and wild flowers, both arranged across the room. They bloomed despite the season and evening hour. The serving tables appeared as mushrooms and toadstools, and next to the vegetable rich hors devours were tomato plants ripe with fruit. He acquired a flute of bubbly flavored with lavender petals.

Yet there was more.

Draco followed his feet through the room, immersing himself in the splendor of so much thriving life after so dark a winter season. Then he reached one paned glass window that had been opened wide, with steps on either side so guests could easily walk through.

Outside, a patio stretched wide, creating a second space larger than the room behind Draco. Lights were strung above the crowd, supplementing decorative torches and fires that kept the outdoors nearly as bright as the indoors and staved off the cold. Everywhere were potted ferns. Seats were large stumps and mossy tree trunks. The mushroom tables followed the crowd outdoors and offered decadent, sticky sweets.

The outfits were more vibrant against this muted backdrop. Masks of every color mirrored every flower Draco ever encountered. More daring guests used authentic materials. Draco saw no shortage of vines, leaves, and petals constructed into clothing with glue or twine. The most elaborate displays ran from foot to headpiece. There he saw an apple tree, there an orchid, and there a carrot where the body was orange and the green hair appeared to shoot a meter upwards. The lively quartet were potatoes. Draco laughed with joy at the discovery. Flora, root, or leaf indeed. Verdant perspective was everywhere and it was glorious.

No space was provided, but small circles still formed for dancing. Draco joined at once. His feet remembered all the steps and he was not alone in enthusiastic leaping. He partnered with squash. He partnered with shrubbery. He partnered with two tulips who took him by both arms before grabbing on to others and forming a chain that danced amongst the crowd, absorbing any willing to frolic. Draco laughed and laughed until he had to cut away, leaving the tulips to grasp each other’s hands as he caught his breath.

It wasn’t magic. It was anonymity and it was wonderful.

Another stepped up behind Draco, offering warmth in the cool evening air. “Wolf,” a husky voice said. Draco gasped. He didn’t allow himself to turn, but his tension must give him away. The man stepped up next to Draco, reaching a hand out to Draco’s elbow and rubbing a thumb over the juncture. “I hoped to see you tonight.”

Draco took his time in turning to look.

His green eyes sparkled, the flickering firelight that reflected off of them matched his mischievous grin. He stood so easily, hands tucked into pockets of tight brown leather pants. Draco longed to touch his dark green sweater, wondering if it was as soft as it looked, and how the knitter mastered the pattern of flower stems and toothy leaves. His face was crowned with a yellow mask, spouting concentric layers of thin yellow strips of stiff fabric, nearly as messy in their assembly as his black wavy hair.

“You’re a weed,” Draco realized.

The king tilted his head backwards to laugh. When he straightened, he leaned in towards Draco conspiratorially. “I’m a dandelion,” he revealed.

Draco nodded. “A weed,” he repeated.

The king pulled back with another chuckle, his eyes flickering up and down to take in Draco’s attire. The king licked his lips. “It’s good to see you, Wolf.”

This wouldn’t do for Draco, “You’re mistaken, I’m not a wolf.”

The king tutted. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” Draco insisted.

Now frowning, the king explained, “At the fall equinox you were a wolf.”

Draco shook his head. He lied, “I was a badger.”

The king’s frown deepened. He looked at Draco again, his eyes moving more slowly. His gaze set fire to Draco’s skin wherever it lingered and Draco shivered from the attention. The king took a step closer as his eyes returned to Draco’s. “You were a wolf, but you wore a moon… here.” He lifted a hand and this time grazed his finger over Draco’s mask. His lips twitched into a smirk. “Perhaps it didn’t content you to be a wolf. Did you need to be the moon in the sky all us nocturnal creatures worshiped?” He leaned in to whisper the last question into Draco’s ear, his breath playing across Draco’s skin.

Draco jumped backwards, holding off his shiver only by moving swiftly. “I was a badger! Badgers are nocturnal. They’re strong and quick with sharp claws. They dig burrows and keep them exceptionally tidy.” Fuck, he was nervously listing facts from a zoology text book.

The king laughed again, this time at Draco’s poor attempt to distract him. “Why are you lying, Wolf?” He gestured at Draco, then gestured again. “There is no mistaking you.”

Draco laughed at that, since the king had spent months unable to recognize Draco as his equinox lover. If only Draco had thought to hide his appearance now. No, Draco couldn’t make that choice. He squared his shoulders and stood in all his glory.

Tonight’s exuberance was a eulogy to all lost in the recent tragedy. For Draco, it went back further still, all the way to the war and his childhood before it. Tonight was his chance to choose not just life, but a life committed to living joyously. Draco wasn’t a plant sowed in fertile soil that could honor the dead by dancing as they would wish him to. His family’s corpses were scorched earth instead of fertilizer. Embracing life would require greater sacrifice than letting go of what he lost. It would require changing who he was. If Andromeda could bend and set aside her pride, why couldn’t Draco? Wouldn’t stepping into her shoes meet what was asked of him?

Draco could do nothing less. He loved his father, his Aunt Bellatrix, so many of those who perished. But he didn’t love how hollow he felt when his love for them was all he had.

So, for the spring equinox, Draco embraced a different path. He wore Andromeda’s sun mask upon his brow. Metallic threads weaved alongside orange, glittering light in each strand’s reflection. The effect was brilliant in the fire light, as reflected flame constantly danced across Draco’s face. The same threads accented Draco’s gold vest, which he’d built out of the bodice that his aunt must have worn in his youth. He adapted it for his flat chest, but still it framed his figure and revealed skin where a woman's breast would be. He found a golden bangle to wear around his neck to lift the eye. Puffy scarlet sleeves connected to either side, adding to the drama of the silhouette. He had constructed them from the dress his mother wore to his father’s execution, used also for slim fit slacks. Boldest of all was the golden starched ruff that formed as a half circle around Draco’s neck—open in front and rising in back. It fell out of style over a century ago, but when Draco wore it he embodied the fullness of the sun. He was asked to feed life and he would do so with sunshine.

He hadn’t worn any of this for the king, only for himself. Draco wanted nothing of King Harry, who glowered and leered at him, insulting him to his face and making veiled threats about his future. Giving into the king only to be so quickly reviled spoiled the last ball. In the name of self preservation, Draco had decided to reject the magic of it all, the promise of otherworldly pleasure.

The king was looking though, and his face glowed with admiration. Clear as day, if Draco wanted him he could have him. If he stepped forward now they could lock lips and Draco could lose himself in kissing. His hands would be allowed to grip the sweater and learn if it was really that soft. They’d be allowed to travel under it, and reexperience how firm the muscles were beneath the clothes. They could stumble back inside, finally find the bed the king had wanted, and Draco could sink into the tightness of the other man’s body until he forgot all the reasons it was a terrible idea.

There was a whistle, followed by a bang. Then light exploded beyond where the men were standing. Draco grasped the distraction and turned away from temptation.

The explosions caused sparkles in the sky. All around Draco people gasped and awed. The brief flashes of light hinted at something else, something big on the ground just beyond what the fires on the patio could illuminate. Then, when the sparkles faded, two new fires flared to life on the patio. They sparked something bigger than themselves, and suddenly the fire was traveling, framing a path from the patio towards whatever it was waiting for everyone. The fires reached a hedge, where they must have hit larger kindling since they exploded in size. There, suddenly illuminated, were hedges that stretched far in any direction, with one entrance into what Draco assumed must be a maze.

The king was laughing again. “What on earth did he do this time?” he asked rhetorically.

Draco was already moving. In the distraction of revealing the maze, someone had set out lanterns near the illuminated pathway. Draco didn’t hesitate. He stepped away from the king and claimed a freshly lit lantern. Then, leaving the king behind, he joined the first crowd of people to rush into the maze.

Chapter Text

The maze was large with passages constantly veering off to mysterious places. Subsets of the first crowd broke off into different corridors. Draco watched for one that turned again quickly, then darted into the passage, to then rush to the next turn and out of sight for anyone following behind him. He charged forward, and after yet another turn dared to lift his lantern high to cast light far out around him. He could hear voices and laughter from other parts of the hedge, but as he wandered he didn’t see people. Soon, Draco anticipated, most everyone will have abandoned the ballroom to explore this curiosity presented to them. Then the maze would be so full Draco would stumble over others, unless he found his way through quickly.

But the maze was large. Draco tried to track where he was going but the map he mentally followed sometimes seemed off kilter. When he turned around to retrace his steps the turns weren’t always where they should be. There was music in the distance, but it rose and ebbed as you wandered and you could never ensure the turns brought you closer to it.

Draco spotted unlit lanterns hanging from the tops of the hedges. He paused to examine one. He was tall enough he could open the hatch and light it with his own candle. After that he tried to track his progress from the light he left behind, but others must have caught on and were lighting lanterns, too.

Occasionally, there were stumps carved out to hold strange reed like items. They were labeled with signs that said the lamest things, like “Hedge enough?” or “ready to leaf?” Draco didn’t hesitate to bypass them. He was committed to solving the maze.

Even if he wasn’t dressed for it. Near the outdoor fires he had still felt chill in his layers. Now, he was sweating into his ruff. His puffy sleeves were losing their definition. The risk he’d taken in wearing his golden shoes - only worn once, for his father’s execution - was not paying off as he hustled over grass that was being beaten into dirt. At the start of the night, the shoes pinched but could be managed. Now he knew he had blisters. But he was committed to solving the maze.

He passed other explores, usually bundled in groups and hollering at each other their various opinions on what may be in any direction.

Draco didn’t join them. The more he wandered and the more he watched, the more he suspected there must be a trick being played here. Not one group knew where they were going, or, more noticeably, where they had been.

So he stopped moving in a corner where two corridors met. He was back tracking again, and something felt strange. Draco examined every piece of the corridors. The hedges were all the same height, higher than Draco’s head but he could reach the top easily with his hand. Each passage had a lamp, shining enough light to help you see how far it stretched. Next to Draco was a stump holding those strange cylindrical objects. Its sign read, “Out of stem?” Draco rolled his eyes at it. He had seen this one before. Only… it hadn’t been at a corner. Was it duplicated?

The tendrils of suspicion nagged at Draco and he crouched down to examine the hedges behind the plant. At ground level, something was definitely off. There was somehow a gap between the bottom of the hedge and the ground. Draco tilted over further until he was lying in the dirt, smooshing his ruff against his face. The light of his lantern shined through the gap, revealing another passage partially blocked by its own stump. He stuck a finger under the hedge, more curious than ever.

Then the stump he had seen across the hedge opened an eye. It shined white and bright in the light of Draco’s lantern. Draco yelped (not a scream) and dropped his lantern as he rolled back and away from the hedge.

Someone must have heard him, because from not too far away he heard a shot, “You alright over there?”

Closer, there was a hiss, “You! On the other side. Come back and lend me a hand.”

Draco gaped at the hedge, uncertain. But he was committed to solving the maze and he could taste the answer to the puzzle in the air. Draco crawled back over to the strange hedge and peaked again underneath. The brown wood creature was pointing at something Draco hadn’t noticed before. A lever. “Right there, on the count of three, pull hard!” The creature counted, “one, two, three!” And Draco pulled.

Before his eyes, Draco witnessed the hedge move.

It swung towards him, breaking away from the corner it had created, just barely missing the stump on Draco’s side. What Draco had thought was a stump on the other side took the moment to slip between the newly formed gap. Then he was pulling on Draco’s arm, practically dragging him to his feet, and shoving him down one part of the passageway. The stump creature followed Draco into it, pulling the hedge behind until it clicked into a new place. They now stood at a dead end, leaving a straight line on the other side. Footsteps soon rushed by, on that other side, with people calling out for whoever they’d heard shouting earlier.

“How on earth did that just happen?” Draco gasped.

The creature grinned and wiggled its - his? - eyebrows. Only the brows had twigs glued to them and they jiggled merrily from the motion. Draco stepped back to take it all in. He saw no clothes - only bark and moss somehow wielded together over limbs. Perhaps there were brown boots and gloves, but both were covered with mud. In the light, Draco could see the face was only mildly blemished with dirt, but twigs were still woven into his hair and beard. The hair had been dusted, but Draco could see underneath that it was red.

Draco’s mouth hung open as he admired the outfit from head to toe. “What is a troll doing mixing up this maze?” he said in awe.

The troll belly laughed, shaking the bark over his body. “It’s the only way to live. Come roll in some more dirt with me and find out for yourself.” Then he was stealthily jogging past Draco. In profile, Draco recognized his damaged ear.

What else was there to be done but follow?

The troll was the maze’s master. He navigated with ease, and paused at the slightest hint of other people. Draco had correctly assumed the crowds would thicken, but the troll knew each deadend where he could duck and hide. Especially the ones they could shift.

At the next stump, where the sign read, “Can’t stick with it?” the troll stopped to consider next steps.

He turned and stared directly at Draco for the first time, his expression solemn as he weighed his options. He must have seen something in Draco’s face, perhaps how Draco didn’t flinch from the hard gaze or ever once duck his head at the pressure. The troll nodded to himself and said, “This is really meant for two. Do you solemnly swear you’re up to no good?” Draco gaped at him, but the troll’s expression didn’t budge.

Standing there, lost in the maze, covered in dirt, with aching feet, and having charged in to escape all the burdens hanging over him, Draco knew he was in over his head. But he was here now, in this confounding place, with his heart beating so fast he could feel it in his throat, and fascinated by the puzzle he’d been presented. The troll man in front of him might despise Draco if he knew who Draco was, but he didn’t. The troll could only size up the man in front of him, who had been willing to crawl in the dirt to help the troll with his schemes. To the troll, Draco wasn’t evil or dangerous. He was just a man who proved his mettle and could be asked not to worry about doing good. It made Draco feel alive, and he wanted to try living a little longer not worrying the way he had to every moment of every day in the real world.

“I swear,” Draco promised, just as solemn.

The troll reverted to his cheeky grin, and then he pulled Draco back down to the ground and showed him how to find the lever.

It was nearly easy, maneuvering the mechanics as a pair. Draco watched the troll work, trying to to find the trick to the machinery and how the hedges could grow off the ground.

When Draco asked, the troll winked at him. “Magic,” he said.

“There’s no such thing as magic,” Draco retorted. The troll laughed in his face and then dragged Draco out of sight before another group of lost explorers could see them.

So they wandered, seemingly without direction. Occasionally the troll would pull out a board from under the bark on his chest and fiddle with it. Draco looked over his shoulder and saw it was a map of a maze, which was large but didn’t look as giant as it felt wandering. Draco could see the troll turning knobs tracking how he meddled with the passages to make it feel longer. All the same, they were steadily getting closer to whatever was in the middle.

With enough people wandering, eventually their luck ran out. The two men heard voices from opposite directions. Both the troll and Draco turned to the same side, both recognizing something in the words being shared in the distance.

Draco heard deep laughter and a rumbling voice, instantly recognized as the dandelion.

The duo didn’t even pause to discuss their choices before they spontaneously ran in the other direction. Not a moment too soon, since the path was long before the turnoff. The troll was running too fast, he hit the hedge at the end to slow down to turn. Draco followed suit, glancing behind him as he was forced to pause.

The dandelion and his crew were in the passage and had caught sight of them running. He was with a rose, a couple vegetables, and what looked suspiciously like Luna dressed as a moss fairy.

It was a different man, tall and dressed from head to toe in a pale green that shot out above his red haired head to resemble a celery, who shouted, “Oy!” He was running after the duo before Draco and the troll had a chance to move. Draco took a second to catch his breath, gasping in air. He watched the runner, admiring the muscle on display under the tight green leggings, as the man charged with impressive speed.

The troll pulled on a smirking Draco, tugging him along. The second crowd of people also reached them, but the two men dodged between flowers while hardly slowing down. The next stump was right there, saying, “Too thorny for you?” but Draco was on the ground reaching for the lever without reading it. He heard voices shouting behind him but couldn’t make time to track who it was. Then the hedge was moving, and Draco was leaping to his feet. Both men threw themselves through the hedge opening. Draco glanced back before the hedge closed.

“I’m going to throttle you, George!” the celery shouted, still dashing after them.

The dandelion and his band weren't fair behind. The dandelion caught Draco watching and grinned. Draco shoved hard to close the hedge between them.

“You nasty, slimy goblin! I’m going to murder you!” The celery man shouted from the far side of the hedge.

The troll’s guffawed loud enough to be heard in all directions, but didn’t stay to find out how his brother would devise a way to carry out his threat. The duo ran indiscriminately, not caring whether they were seen by others, until Draco was out of breath and grabbed the troll to slow down. They collapsed together against the nearest hedge.

Draco smiled as he panted. “Why are you doing this, anyway? The maze would be hard enough without the extra trouble.”

The troll huffed. “Hard enough for what?” he asked.

Draco shrugged. He waved at people wandering not far off. “Hard enough to amuse them, I suppose.”

The troll turned to lean on his side so he could face Draco. “You’d amuse them for half an hour, and they’d remember nothing but some pretty fireworks?” the troll asked.

Draco lolled his head to the side to meet the troll’s eyes and shrugged again. “Are you trying to be remembered?” he asked.

The troll’s grin was all teeth. “Who cares if they remember me.” He watched another group approach and pass them by, looking tired and more than a little disheveled. He pointed to after them. “They wanted to show up at a party and act like every one of us didn’t just watch someone we loved die. We’re all dressed up as metaphors, but the prompt was that plants can only grow strong when the soil is fertilized. To grow strong, someone first needs to be broken down. The folks that make it to the center are going to earn it, and they’ll remember all the pain and suffering it took to make that victory sweet.”

Draco watched the bitter wrinkles in the troll’s face as he talked. The firm tilt to his lips. He listened to a man saying words that didn’t sound related to the maze. “Who did you lose?” Draco asked.

The troll blinked, his face blanking for a moment before he sighed and flopped back to the hedge. This was the first time Draco saw him stand still. He was staring at nothing instead of Draco. “My dad passed two weeks ago,” the troll said.

“I’m sorry,” Draco replied automatically. He meant it, but it sounded insufficient. He found he wanted to say something more but what he blurted out was, “My father died, too.”

“Yeah?” the troll said, still not looking.

“Mmhmm,” Draco answered. “But, not like from the pox. Sorry, no, I mean a while ago.”

The troll nodded, unperturbed. “Is it still awful?” he asked.

“The fucking worst,” Draco admitted, for the first time since it happened. The troll laughed at that, too. Draco liked how he laughed at everything. It was nice that living with grief could be as humorous as constantly pulling tricks on young party goers. Something about it all just made sense, like throwing a party to torment people so they better appreciated the prize at the end. Draco smiled at the troll. “So, you’re the host then?” he asked.

The troll pushed off from the hedge and struck a pose to accentuate his long limbs draped with bark. “The one and only!”

Draco held out his hands and clapped. “Well done,” he congratulated. He gestured to the maze around him. “Is it for your father, then?”

The troll paused, again embodying a stillness he found only in grief. “No,” was all he said. Then the stillness was gone, and he picked a direction seemling at random to travel towards. “You coming?”

Of course, Draco did.

Draco lost track of how long they carried on, but he’d soaked through his garb with sweat, which hardly mattered after the time he spent rolling in dirt. He was limping from the pain in his feet, but never once complained. Instead he told the troll his puns were stupid and took his time whenever they had to get back to their feet.

Each time the troll laughed at him, but always offered his hand and slowed his pace without Draco having to ask.

Draco had just told off the troll for, “Too hard for yew?” and the two men were down on the ground fiddling with another lever. The troll ignored the jab and replied, “You surprised me tonight, pretty boy. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Draco scowled at him even as the hedge swung open. “Shut up, troll,” he muttered.

The troll chuckled again, helping Draco to his feet. “I’m serious. I thought you’d give it up ages ago.” He looked Draco over again. “It’s nice to be proven wrong from time to time.” He hung an arm over Draco’s shoulder and angled him in a new direction.

There, in front of them both, was an archway built of hedges with the words “Mischief managed” strung across the top. Draco stumbled towards it, eager to know what was on the other side. The troll walked with him through the arch way and into a large clearing beyond. It was lit up by lanterns strung in all directions, and small fire circles with logs and stumps that people lounged against as they soaked in the heat. Elaborate sculptures were everywhere, mimicking any type of flower you could think of. Some were made of wood or clay and painted in vibrant color. Some were blown from glass and shone in the flickering light. Some were forged from metal and offered shimmering reflections. Food and wine was plentiful, served on plates and glasses shaped like flower blossoms. The musicians were here, dressed as different colored tulips. In the center was a large fountain with flowing water. Sculptures of blooming water hyacinth and water lilies were scattered within it.

It was beautiful, and more importantly peaceful, after so much effort to find it. Quite a few people had managed their way through, despite the duo’s trickery. One and all embraced decadent relaxation.

Draco turned to the troll, wanting to share in the moment. The troll was grinning again, pleased with his work and its reception. In the bright light of the party, the man didn’t look as goblinesc. He had fair features, with a spattering of freckles under the grime. The twig eyebrows and muddy clothes were charming instead of grisled. Draco liked how quickly the troll laughed. And after a night of tomfoolery he was feeling daring.

“Random question, by any chance are you into blokes?” Draco threw it out there because what did he have to lose.

The troll furrowed his twiggy brows. “Come again?” he asked, but he didn’t pull away so he wasn’t offended.

“You know, if another man chatted you up, would you be into it?”

There was that full belly laugh. The troll did pull away a bit then, but left his arm on Draco’s shoulder to brace himself while he chuckled. “You ARE full of surprises, aren’t you?” he asked when he caught his breath. “Nah, mate, I don’t swing that way.” Then with a sly smile, “but I have a brother…”

“The one in the green tights?” Draco asked hopefully.

This launched a new round of laughter and the troll pulled away to slap his knee. “Oh my god I can’t even tell him you said that, he’d be insufferable.” The troll wiped tears from his eyes, smearing his dirt around. “Nah, one of my older brothers. He manages the king’s stables and would take you for a ride, if you catch my drift.” Draco rolled his eyes at yet another bad pun from the troll, but couldn’t help but smile. This comradery wouldn’t continue in the real world, but Draco would bask in the moment now and be content.

The contentment was interrupted the next moment by the screech of a loud whistle followed by a crackle and a bang. Draco turned just in time to see a flare of color shoot upwards above the maze.

The troll cheered. “The first of the quitters!” he shouted gleefully. Then he gently shoved Draco towards the party. “Drink up and rest, my friend.” His departure saved Draco from making excuses to never meet up with anyone after the party.

Still, Draco smirked and waved after the troll. The contentment was back in force as he watched his friend bound back into the maze.

Chapter Text

The fire was warm against Draco’s wet feet. He’d long since peeled off his ruined shoes and dipped his swollen feet in the fountain to sooth them. The shoes lay next to him, on top of the soiled couture vest and now grubby ruff. Draco was left in his scarlet blouse and trousers. The blouse opened indecently wide at the neck, having been designed to be held down by the vest instead of buttons. The gold bangle necklace still shined brilliantly, but instead of distracting, it seemed to call attention to all of Draco’s exposed skin. It was chilly in the wee hours of early spring, but Draco was too tired to get up and secure one of the cozy blankets he’d begun seeing provided to keep guests warm.

“How is it you’re revealing more now than when we actually had sex?” said the dandelion’s voice before he came into view. The king climbed over the log Draco lounged against to sit next to the younger man. He had just such a cozy blanket with him.

Draco drank more from the rose shaped glass filled with wine, staring at the king over its rim. Draco had found a seat on the outskirts and the king must have been looking to find him. He ignored the king’s question and how it made something warm in his belly flip. He said instead, “I see you couldn’t hack it in the maze,” with a nod to the sign the king wore around his neck. The price for the troll’s assistance. It said, “Lettuce out!”

The king tsked and tried to deny it. “You two were blockading us,” he accused.

Draco pursed his lips and strived for his most haughty expression. “Don’t blame others when you’re not up to the task.”

The king leaned in close to Draco, so close his nose brushed through Draco’s hair. “I’m up for anything,” he countered.

Hands shoved the two men apart, and then the troll himself was climbing over the log to sit in the too narrow space between them. He sat anyway, forcing both of the other men to scoot over to make room. The troll ruffled the hair the king was just touching, mussing further the dyed red curls Draco had used for that evening’s disguise. He slung an arm around Draco as he slurred, “My Helius! My Sol! Castor to my Pollux! You’re far too good for this bumpkin.” he gestured at the dandelion.

“Hey!” the king said, affronted.

Both the troll and Draco ignored the outburst. Draco chose instead to cuddle up against the troll, who was warm and generous with friendly affection. “Too good for weeds, most definitely,” he agreed. The troll laughed and gulped at his own flower goblet, spilling wine over his mossy chest as he did so.

The king scowled at them both.

“Ooooh, he’s putting on his scary face,” the troll taunted, sending Draco into giggles. The troll tried to get serious and faux whispered to Draco. “Don’t let him fool you, he’s a horrible flirt. He’s broken the hearts of too many men to count.”

The king elbowed the troll hard enough it jostled Draco next to him. “Cut it out,” he grumbled.

The troll shook his head in an exaggerated motion. “I will not. You’re a rake, and I will not have you corrupting my new friend here.” Then to Draco he added, “Don’t be one of his pretty boys. There’s more to you than that.”

Draco’s face blushed red. The troll was overly sincere in his inebriation.

“Oh, look over there!” Draco said as a distraction. He waved at the moss fairy who was now dancing in the fountain. She’d turned up rescued by the troll, but must have his special favor because he didn’t make her wear a sign in shame. “Ask to dance with her,” Draco encouraged. The troll sputtered a bit, looking uncertain for the first time since Draco discovered him stirring up mischief. “No one likes a coward. Get going, troll!” And the troll got, recovering his bravado at some point between Draco’s log and the fountain. Draco watched with a soft smile as the troll jumped into the fountain.

“I’m not really like that,” the dandelion said, drawing Draco’s attention back. Draco met hooded green eyes that were gazing at him intently, once again conjuring warm feelings in Draco’s body. Draco noticed small details, such as the king’s sleeves being rolled up to display muscle forearms, and the messy black hair that couldn’t get much worse even if Draco fisted his hand through it during sex.

Draco swallowed a suddenly dry throat before trying for his own bravado. “So what if you are?”

The older man rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m really not. He’s just saying that because he’s upset with me.”

“Oh? So you’re not the sort of man who seduces someone he just met until they’re shagging on top of a desk in a stranger’s office?” Draco asked jauntily.

All bashfulness was gone, replaced by the king’s smug smile. “So you are the wolf,” he declared, catching Draco out.

Draco tried not to flinch as he realized his mistake. “So what if I am?” he challenged.

The king shifted closer to Draco until Draco could feel the king’s heat along his body. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. He held the wolf pendant up in front of Draco. “You lost this,” he said. Once again Draco could feel his breath on his ear. Draco reached for the pendant, but the king pulled it out of reach. “Uh uh, not so fast.”

“I admitted to it, now give the pendant back,” Draco huffed.

The king shook his head. “I want to deliver it to its rightful owner. Tell me at whose house I should drop it off at tomorrow?”

Draco groaned in frustration, sinking further back in his seat. “See there,” he gestured at the pendant as it swung round, revealing the back of the wolf’s head. There was a small insignia that could just be made out. “That’s the lestrange family emblem.”

The king pulled the pendant closer to stare at the back of it. He peered at the small etching that was admittedly worn from age and hard to read. “I suppose that could be it. But the Lestrange family is dead.”

Draco snorted. “So is the Couch family, but their manor lives on without them.” He stared knowingly at the king, who must know who the former owners were of the property currently hosting the ball they were at. Then Draco shrugged and lightened his tone. “I imagine some enterprising youth found their way into an old attic and discovered the babble. Probably sold it for quick coin. Truly it belongs nowhere, anymore. Keep it if you like it so much.”

The king tutted again, this time at Draco’s rejection of his game, but he also pocketed the pendant. The king turned his attention back to Draco and pouted a little. “Why’d you lie before? I thought we had fun, last equinox. I was hoping we’d run into each other afterwards.”

The memory of King Harry scowling at Draco on his first visit to Grimmauld Place after the last ball popped to the front of Draco’s mind. All evening Draco had played at elitism, harnessing his well honed pride, but at the king’s words he could only frown at his hands and avoid the king’s gaze. “I rarely engage with the court.”

“Too busy skulking around in attics for ancient artifacts?” the king quipped. He was joking, but the reality of it hit Draco like a hammer. The king thought it funny anyone might do that. He didn’t think it a worthwhile endeavor for anyone. How he would sneer if he caught Draco in the act.

“How did you upset the troll?” Draco asked, eager to talk about anything else. Better yet, he should get up and leave, barefoot and cold.

The king sucked a breath in through his teeth. The question had the desired effect of the king pulling slightly away to collect his thoughts, giving Draco room to breath. “It’s a family thing. There was a disagreement with one of his brothers.”

One glance at the king’s sheepish expression was all Draco needed to put the pieces together. “The one with the horses?” he asked.

The king grimaced. “He told you about that?”

Draco shrugged. Then, because he was feeling petty, “He told me he could set me up with his brother, who’d take me on quite the ride.” The king’s grimace soured further. “Ah, a bad break up,” Draco posited.

The king was shaking his head. “No, it’s not like that. We weren’t together, it wasn't serious. We were just, you know, friendly.” He said it with the defensiveness of someone who’d been justifying himself a lot on the topic.

“Friendly,” Draco affirmed, struggling to smother his grin. He could handle being in this space, with the king flustered and on the defensive. It gave Draco the courage to reach over the king and grab the blanket he’d left still folded beside him. The king tried to grab it back, but Draco out maneuvered him and flicked the blanket open and laid it over his lap. “No, you brought this for me and I’m going to use it. Now come on, you’re going to need to share hotter gossip than that if I’m to stay out here in the cold.”

The king took a shot and used his steamy sex-god eyes on Draco as he flirted, “We could go find a private place inside, keep each other warm?”

Draco swatted at him. “No distractions. Tell me how you went from being ‘friendly’ to breaking some poor bloke’s heart. How did it get so serious in just six months? A fast and furious romance?”

“Weellll,” the king really dragged the syllable out, shuffling a bit and looking off towards other crowds.

Draco narrowed his eyes at the king’s sheepishness. “You don’t seriously mean this went on since before the fall equinox. You shagged me at the fall equinox.” Draco’s eyes widened and he swatted the king again. “Was I your little side piece?”

“No!” The king insisted, too fast and once again with the familiarity of a defense often made.

Draco mouthed the word “wow” before grinning. He glanced over at the troll, who’d escorted Luna to a table lined with thimbles of strong spirits. “He doesn’t even know we fucked, and he’s angry. How many people did you cheat with?”

“It wasn’t cheating! We were never together. We casually hooked up sometimes, but I made it clear it wasn’t going anywhere,” the king insisted.

“Apparently not,” Draco huffed. He snuggled in further under his blanket. “Face it, dandelion, you’re a scoundrel and a rake. The troll was wise to warn me off you.”

The king snuggled down further against the log, returning close to Draco, petulant grumbling, “I am not.” He put on an exaggerated pout and looked to Draco for sympathy. “Haven't you ever been pre judged for something you didn’t deserve?”

Draco hoped it was too dark and the king couldn’t see the color drain from his face. His mind eagerly supplied a plethora of examples. The king grabbing Teddy from him when they’d been playing on the floor. The king sneering at him when Draco worried about what infection he was spreading. The king asking Andromeda if there was anyone else that could possibly be assigned to play nurse for his friends. Suddenly the fire, the blanket, and the king’s warm body beside him couldn’t do close to enough to keep Draco warm.

Still, he tilted his chin up just enough to look down at the other man. “Of course not. I am the picture of virtue and beloved by all.” The mockery didn’t land on the king as he intended. It was far too self deprecating.

Something in the king’s eyes softened at the words. He had the gall to reach out for one of Draco’s hands and stroke it. “I didn’t mean to hit on a sore subject,” he said, almost in apology.

“It’s not,” Draco said, nearly as petulant and defensive as the king had been.

The king pulled his hand closer, holding it gently. “Alright,” he said. His lack of argument made Draco feel worse. How dare he be gentle here and now to the man he hated. Then Draco’s face did feel hot and his eyes stung. He hadn’t shed tears since he was a child, when his father insisted he needed to learn to be a man. Draco didn’t dare be weak now. Somehow Draco pulled himself together, reining in the anguish of every unintended slight from the man holding him.

Draco’s voice was pained with his effort to stay bland. “You wouldn’t like me out in the real world.”

“Why do you think that? Because you’re poor and forage in attics for things to sell?”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut against the king’s efforts to be kind. “What baffles me is you truly have no idea what a condescending prick you are,” he said disdainfully.

“That’s not what-”

Draco’s anger was familiar to him and gave him something to say. “Stop making excuses. I’m not some charity case. Your friends aren’t being unreasonable for wanting you to treat their family with respect. We didn’t even cheat you out of getting through the maze fairly, you just weren’t good enough at it.” Draco paused to heave in a deep breath.

The king was staring at Draco with a bewildered fascination. “No one talks to me like that,” he murmured.

It wasn’t true. Draco talked to him like that constantly, he just didn’t hear it, then. Draco squeezed his eyes closed and collapsed once more, falling off the log completely and lying only on the grass. He stared up into the night, watching the stars twinkle. It was easier to be honest while wearing a mask and talking to the sky. “It doesn’t matter what I say because you don’t know who I am. And it doesn’t matter what you say because you wouldn’t say it to my face.”

The king scooted down further into the grass so he could lie again near Draco. He openly stared at the younger man, trying to categorize every visible feature and place it in his mind. The king eyed the younger man’s sharp jaw, his elegant neck, his strong if narrow chest. He licked his lips as he remembered the feeling of the wolf taking charge of everything. Draco stared upwards, pensive and sad, but the king hadn’t lost hope.

“At the ball, the only world that’s real is what we make for ourselves,” the king murmured. It drew Draco’s attention, and the younger man blinked and turned apprehensively to the king. “I don’t care about what happens tomorrow. I don’t judge tonight by what choices we’d make somewhere else. We’re here now, and I want to make the most of every moment. The most of any moment you’ll give me.” The king watched Draco nibble his lip nervously, and wished he could lean forward and taste the lips, too.

Draco’s heart was pounding. He had come clean and told the king the truth, that Draco wasn’t who he thought he was. The king didn’t care. Of course, it was easy not to care about a hypothetical, that wasn’t the same as not caring if he ever found out the full truth. Only, what did that matter to Draco? Draco wasn’t the liar. Draco didn’t come here to hoodwink anyone. He came to lean into the magic of festivity and imagination.

It was hard to remember magic wasn’t real, when he was surrounded by so many people who made him feel like it just might be.

He looked back at the king, who was eyeing him with a yearning hunger that did things to Draco’s belly and shot goosebumps down his arms for reasons other than cold.

It would be so foolish. It would only lead to heartache. He’d hate himself every time the king glowered at him afterwards and proved that the equinox was only a dream that Draco could never hope to attain.

Draco might hate himself more if he came all this way and didn’t make the most of every moment of it.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered, hardly daring to accede aloud.

A roguish smile slowly spread over the king’s face. “Yeah?” he asked.

Draco nodded, dropping the blanket next to his ruined clothes as he rose to his feet. “Yeah,” he said, hardly believing his own agreement.

The king wrapped an arm around Draco’s waist as they walked together towards the hedge leading back into the maze. Butterflies exploded inside Draco with each step. He was all nerves, but couldn’t bear to stop.

“Oy, Helius!” came a shout. Draco glanced over at it and saw the troll jumping to get his attention. “Come back, pretty boy! The party’s here with us.”

The king laughed and made a rude gesture at the troll, but his arm tightened around Draco as if he was afraid Draco would actually change his mind.

Draco didn’t. He didn’t so much as look back at the troll again before speeding up so suddenly that the king lost his grip. Draco grabbed the king’s hand and tugged on it, like the troll had tugged on him. Draco shared his own cheeky grin with the king, then tugged him past the archway and into a maze, charging down pathways that didn’t scare Draco at all.

Chapter Text

Draco never would have given away the troll’s secret to manipulating the maze, and he’d been certain that he wouldn’t need to. He’d peered over the troll’s shoulder at the map enough and wandered the paths enough he thought he’d memorized it all. Still he found himself laughing when he saw the pattern he’d missed from the beginning. After leaving Draco at the center, the troll had gone back and cleared a straight path all the way back to the beginning. They were free to leave. Draco tugged King Harry after him again down the passageway. The king laughed, too, after muttering several curses.

Draco did not plan to leave so swiftly, however. There were still offshoots to explore, and he pulled the king along down one, taking them further away from the maze’s center until they couldn’t hear the music playing.

“Hang on, I thought we were going to find a bed,” the dandelion said as he tugged on Draco’s hand as a request to turn around.

They were in as good a place as any, so Draco did turn round to face the older man. Draco’s gray eyes met the king’s green, both hot with desire. Draco took one step forward and grabbed the king by the sweater. He yanked him forward and then they were kissing.

The king moaned into the kiss, quickly catching up with Draco and wrapping one hand round Draco’s waist and the other cupping his chin. The kiss was open mouthed, with tongues tangling with each other, dancing for dominance. The king shifted his legs so one could slip between Draco’s, then he rubbed their groins hard together. It was Draco’s turn to moan, giving the king an opening to bite hard on Draco’s lips. It stung, but with the pain was more grinding, a constant wave of sensation that overwhelmed Draco’s senses.

King Harry was on a mission. When Draco tilted his head backwards, gasping in pleasure, he launched himself at the neck Draco put on display. Draco tilted his neck back further to give the king access to the sensitive skin. The king showed his pleasure by tightening his hold of Draco’s waist, and changing soft kisses to teeth and suction. He started near Draco’s collar bone but eagerly traveled upwards, marking every place available to him. Draco was going to stop him before it went too far and he wouldn’t be able to hide the marks, but then the king shifted and his hand was on Draco’s member, squeezing the erection while rubbing down against it. Draco’s eyes rolled backwards and he couldn’t choke back the loud “aaaghh” noise. He didn’t even track the king’s teeth clawing over the skin where his chin meets his neck, just below the ear.

The king pulled back then, panting as he admired his work. His hand brushed over the blemishes that would be hard to hide from anyone, especially the king who would be looking. He was kissing Draco’s lips again before Draco came back to his senses.

The world was made up of overwhelming sensations for Draco, each lighting up a different piece of Draco’s body, and all pooling in his groin. He could still feel the tingling in his neck from the king’s menstrations, but couldn’t think to question it with the king’s hands now both squeezing his ass as his tongue flickered against Draco’s, relentless teasing. Draco was making so much noise he only hoped no one tried to travel through the maze because they would surely hear him.

It was too much. It was not enough. Draco was losing himself in it. He needed to do something before he snapped.

Draco grabbed at the king’s hair like he’d thought of doing all evening. He directed him to just the right angle for Draco to take control, thrusting his tongue in and tasting everywhere. He still tasted of wine and sweets. Draco leveraged his larger height and threw his weight at the older man, pushing him backwards until his back butted up against one of the hedges. Draco followed up by nipping his lips and chin, then licking a line down the king's neck before he sucked right above the sweater line. Draco rolled his hips forwards steadily, building the pressure between them.

The king had his own hand in Draco’s hair, trying to pull him back and away. “Mmmmmm, Wolf, I want a bed,” he moaned.

Draco chuckled deeply, bringing one hand down to reach under the king’s sweater and thumb at the band of his trousers. “I like it here.” Here was perfect. Here was fantasy and magic and anything they did in the maze wouldn’t matter when the sun rose in a few short hours.

The king grabbed Draco by the hips and used his own leverage to spin them over, so the king’s weight was on Draco, who now had his back up to the hedge. The king’s eyes bored into Draco, all heat. “I want more,” he said. Then with a smirk, “but I’m not opposed to working for it.”

That was all the warning Draco got before the king dropped down, suddenly on his knees. The king’s hands found the buttons of Draco’s trousers, and were opening them before the thoughts connected in Draco’s head and he realized what was happening. He barely had a chance to say, “What do you think-” before he cut his own words off with an obscene noise. The only possible thing to be said when the king wrapped his warm, sweet mouth around Draco’s prick.

It felt so good. So fucking good. Nothing had ever been so warm and so wet and so perfect, except the next thing that happened when the king hallowed out his cheeks and began to move. Draco had to bite down on his own hand to stop the noises coming out of his throat as his entire universe boiled down to King Harry bobbing up and down over Draco’s penis. The king gripped Draco’s thighs tight, holding him down so Draco didn’t thrust up to meet the sensation. The king’s strong hands held Draco in place when his legs felt like buckling. The king’s tongue twirled over the head of Draco’s cock and Draco bit himself hard enough to bleed.

This was worth hours in the maze. This was worth swollen, blistered feet. This was worth whatever shame came later when the king treated Draco like he was rotten. No pain in front of Draco mattered because right now felt so good.

It was over embarrassingly fast. A tingling started in Draco’s groin, his entire body went tense. He tried to choke out a warning but then his body seized and he came like an explosion of ecstasy ripping through him. Draco’s bare toes curled deep into the cold dirt beneath him. The king’s hands squeezed bruises into his hips and he sucked so hard on Draco that Draco’s entire world narrowed down to King Harry’s throat and the feeling of the king swallowing around him as he finished.

Draco was heaving in air when the world came back to him. His lungs were on fire and his hand ached with teeth marks. The king was still on his knees, sporting the smuggest smile as he buttoned Draco back up.

“Fuck,” Draco rasped.

The king’s chuckle was deep and sent a swoopy feeling through Draco’s core. He pushed back up to standing and leaned over Draco, grining. Draco groaned again when the king gently brushed their lips together. The king cradled one of Draco’s hands and pulled it down to touch the king’s own, swollen cock. Draco squeezed it, watching King Harry’s eyes flutter at the feeling. The king kissed him again. “Bed first,” he growled against Draco’s skin.

There was nothing to say but yes.

The king led Draco, walking with confident swagger. It didn’t matter he had grass stains on his knees or that he sported the most obvious sex hair in the world. It didn’t even matter that his erection must show, if anyone looked for it. He strutted like the world was his and he was ready to take it.

Draco floundered behind him. His body felt loose but his mind was unfocused. He blushed as they approached other people, wondering if he’d been so loud they had heard. No one could tell last time, but now Draco was debauched and practically walking about in undergarments. He dared not look up to see if anyone watched or snickered.

Thankfully, King Harry knew where they were going and they didn’t linger in the public eye. The king navigated the house like he, instead of Draco, had been the one who’d played in it as a child. He knew exactly where a room was waiting, with soft lighting and a large, freshly made bed.

Draco stared at the piece of furniture, uncertain of whether the otherworldly feeling of the ball would translate to something so concrete.

Then the king was nuzzling him again, his mouth at Draco’s throat, gently kissing over love bites. He slipped his hands under Draco’s shirt, caressing his back and easing the shirt upwards.

That was pushing too far. Draco wasn’t ready to be naked and on display.

So instead he nudged the king closer to the bed, guiding him backwards until the back of the king’s legs hit the edge of the bed and then Draco pushed him down on top of it. The king did that low, sexy chuckle again and crawled backwards, pausing only to kick off his shoes before spreading out across the sheets. It was sinful how good he looked sprawled out and for the taking.

Draco wanted to be bold or suave, perhaps commanding like he’d managed previously. He couldn’t. He could only nervously lick his parched lips and stare heatedly down at the other man.

The king smirked, spreading his legs to encourage Draco to move between them.

Draco closed his eyes briefly. He tried to center himself and remember what he wanted. Only, he knew what he wanted. He wanted to throw himself into spectacle and lose touch with reality. This was grounding him too much in the present, and he needed to find a way to step back.

Opening his eyes, Draco looked again at the man before him. Against the bed, his outfit just looked like clothes and his dandelion mask looked silly. Draco would start there.

Draco took deep, steadying breaths as he climbed up onto the bed. He crawled up to the king, stroking up his legs as he did so. He could feel the firm muscle under the clothes and knew that seeing all of that toned skin would be glorious. Magical. But first, Draco ran his hands up over the king’s hips and under his sweater. Draco pushed at the garment, shoving it up over the king’s chest until the king got the memo and started pulling it off himself. Draco watched hungrily as the man’s full chest was revealed. He’d dreamed of the king teasing him last equinox, rubbing hands over his chest to entice Draco to stay. Draco finally ran his hands over those taunt muscles and watched how his touch made King Harry shiver. The king’s responsiveness was a kink Draco hadn’t realized he could have. He dragged his nails down the king’s chest to watch King Harry’s eyes darken as his body arched up into Draco’s hands.

Yes, this was good. This was very good.

Draco sat back on his heels to reach for the king’s breeches and made quick work of tugging them downwards. The king helped by lifting his hips out of the way and kicking off the legs. His legs were as strong and firm as Draco had imagined, and they flexed under Draco’s hands as he pushed the thighs further apart.

There was the king’s cock. Long and thick and beautiful. Draco’s mouth watered looking at it.

And when Draco pushed up on the leg’s a little further, there was his hole. Draco squeezed Harry’s thighs, eager. It hadn’t been that long since he’d cum down King Harry’s throat, but this was definitely enough to prepare Draco for round two.

“Do you have supplies?” Draco asked, his voice horse. The king pulled away just far enough to open a drawer on a side table and reach in for lube and a condom. Draco’s stomach flopped uncomfortably knowing the king had planned to end up here tonight. Had it mattered if it was with Draco?

Then the supplies were in his hands and Draco was stumbling to the next step. The king tried to roll over, but Draco held him steady. Instead, Draco lifted one of the king’s legs and propped it up on his shoulder. It allowed him the right angle to access what he wanted, but also kept the king spread out in front of him. Draco wasn’t done looking at him. He wanted to see King Harry’s face when he orgasmed.

Fingering the king was as intoxicating as before. He loved watching his fingers squeeze into the tight hole, and he loved glancing up at the king’s face, watching how his features tightened with every sensation. Draco was so hard he ached by the time the king was ready for him. He tried to think through next steps and how to get everything he wanted. Everything he needed.

Fuck, Draco wished he was more experienced, like the king who was watching him with hooded eyes and a knowing smirk.

Pillows, he needed pillows. Draco released the king’s leg and scrambled over him to grab the pillows at the head of the bed. The king was laughing, running his hands over Draco’s body and complaining that Draco still hadn’t taken off any clothes.

Draco tried to ignore the words. He’d rather be back in the maze where they could just tumble together and make stupid choices, rather than in this room on a soft bed with too much light that showed you everything. He didn’t want to get naked and trade sweet kisses or pretend they were making love. He wanted to fuck like they were strangers and this is the last night they had together. Because it was. And it only meant anything if Draco could stop any of it from being real.

The king lifted his hips to let Draco tuck the pillows under him, easing the angle for both of them. Then Draco tussled with his trousers until they opened for the second time that night, springing his newly eager penis free. He put on the condom, valiantly trying to ignore that he wasn’t wearing one earlier when the king went down on him. Struggling to ignore the thought that his come was inside the king already. Uncertain where that fell on the lines of safe sex, and more uncertain why he had so much time to think about all of this.

Then he pulled the king’s hips to where he wanted them, and lifted both the king’s legs up and onto his arms, folding him over so that when Draco lined himself up he was able to thrust right in.

Yes. Yes. Yes. This was it. This was perfect. Fuck if the rest was awkward, it got him here to thrusting once more into the tightest bliss. This was as good as King Henry’s mouth on him when the king’s clever tongue swirled perfectly. Draco grunts synchronized with the king’s own, “Ah! Ah! Ah!” as Draco fucked long hard strokes into his prostate.

Thank god for every piece of manual labor Draco had volunteered for. It gave him the strength to hold the king in place and pound over and over at the exact angle that made the king’s eyes roll back in his head, leaving the king’s mouth hanging open. Draco couldn’t stop watching. Each twitch of the king’s muscles as he held himself steady for Draco’s pounding drove Draco harder.

The king flailed out for Draco, grasping for some piece of him to hold onto and landing on his forearm. His other hand reached upwards, finding steady purchase against the bed frame. Draco could watch his fingers dig into the furniture while he felt the nails scratch at his arm. He loved that. How fucking amazing. Making the king lose control was like doing magic himself.

Then the king blinked his eyes open, pulling his head up high enough he could look back at Draco watching him. Emerald fire, as bright as from anger only now it was nothing like that. The king’s stare lit fire under Draco’s skin. He took in every detail of Draco’s powerful thrusts and Draco could see him hunger for more. His green eyes captivated Draco, who was caught up in them as sure as if he’d been hypnotized.

Was this it? The reason the horse trainer thought sex with King Harry must mean something more? How could anyone look at someone with such desire and have you believe it wasn’t serious?

Draco tucked his head and closed his eyes, unable to look anymore. His body was straining from effort but he didn’t want to stop. He could do this. He could seize this moment. He could take what he wanted from the king’s body and it could stay a perfect fantasy and Draco could leave knowing none of this was real.

Then the body beneath him was moving and he felt hands cradling his neck. Draco’s rhythm slipped up, but it didn’t matter to the king, who was pulling Draco down on top of him while smothering him in kisses. Draco gasped in surprise, only to feel the king’s lips on him and the gentle massage of the king’s eager tongue.

Draco whimpered into the kisses. He shuddered at the soft caresses over his shoulders. He tried to keep fucking, but the angle was bad for it and he could hardly do more than grind himself into the king’s hole with shallow thrusts. Not enough to build towards anything, but overwhelmingly intimate. The king ran his fingers through Draco’s hair, gripping it tightly as he adjusted his legs higher up so Draco could get a better angle. Barely enough to brush the king’s prostate but when he managed it the king groaned so loud. He gripped Draco’s hair harder and insisted on deepening the kisses.

Oh god. This wasn’t… this wasn’t what Draco meant to do.

When Draco pulled back the king let him go. The king let himself be manhandled to the position Draco wanted. But now, both of the king’s hands rested on Draco’s arms, and if Draco so much as tried to look away the king would squeeze his nails in to get Draco’s attention.

King Harry was so fucking beautiful, Draco didn’t want to look away. But he felt torn apart as the king watched him come undone with every thrust.

This time he felt it building. The tingling sensation came on gradually, stimulating every nerve. He was so close. So was the king, who was panting and clinging to Draco, his simmering gaze never looking away. Draco let the rhythm slip again so he could touch him, grip his cock and stroke it. Draco couldn’t say if the strangled noise came from him or the king, only that both of them were losing it. Draco wanted to watch the king’s face, but also his penis as it slid through Draco’s gasp.

Draco was watching the king’s face when he came. He tensed up and squeezed his eyes shut, then jerked at the same time semen shot out over Draco’s hand. Like last time, the king’s release caused him to tense up around Draco, providing pressure that took him over the edge. He shouted out with his release, burying himself deeply inside the older man and all but collapsing on top of him.

It was like he blacked out. The entire world shut down and Draco couldn’t have told you how long for. Intense didn’t begin to describe what that had felt like. He felt fuzzy afterwards, light headed.

King Harry groaned when Draco pulled himself away. He wasn’t leaving. He just… he needed space. He rolled off the side of the bed and his pants sagged downwards. The awkwardness was back in force.

Draco pulled off his used condom and tossed it into a bin conveniently nearby. He looked for something to wipe himself off with, and there was a table with a bowl of water and washcloths. Had King Harry planned that, too? Maybe it had been the troll, anticipating what his guests would get up to and making sure the house was prepared. Draco tried not to think about it as he wet a cloth and cleaned himself up. Then he took it over to the king and wiped him clean as well.

The king murmured unintelligible sounds before pulling Draco back down beside him. “Next time I’m getting you naked,” he said it like a promise. He cuddled up against Draco, wrapping an arm around him.

“What?” Draco mumbled.

The king nuzzled him. “Stay the night with me, we’ll go again in the morning.”

“What?” Draco said again, still fuzzy brained and overstimulated.

He could feel the rumble of the king’s chuckle in his bones. “You’re precious,” the king said before cupping Draco’s cheek and sharing one last sweet kiss.

Draco’s face burned red. This wasn’t what he had wanted. He was still nearly dressed, but he felt naked and raw. “Um, I, I should…” Draco couldn’t find the words.

The king tucked him more snugly next to his body. “Just sleep. It’ll be okay.”

Draco didn’t sleep. His body stayed tense even as the king nodded off next to him. He waited until he was sure he wouldn’t disrupt the king’s sleep before he crawled out from under his arm and left into the night.

Chapter Text

Draco hired one of the waiting carriages to return him back to town and was able to sneak into the Weasley’s townhouse just before sunrise. Exhaustion couldn’t compete with frayed nerves and frantic thoughts. Instead of sleeping Draco lurched into the day.

He tore off the remainder of his clothes and threw the tattered fabric away. He almost tossed the bangle necklace with them, but that was likely real gold and he couldn’t be so petulant as to waste it. He tossed the bangle and elaborate sun mask on the kitchen table and walked naked into the bathroom to scrub his skin raw. Draco scrubbed until the bath he’d drawn was cold and brown from the dirt he’d scoured off his skin.

He bundled himself up in a towel and marched back to the kitchen, seeking productivity. He tidied all the little messes he’d made during his stay the last few days, ridding the townhouse of any evidence of the work Draco put into his equinox costume. In the hallway he passed a mirror and was caught short by what he saw.

His hair was still red. Draco grabbed at it with both hands and felt stiff strands that clearly still had on the paint Draco had used to coat them. Draco ran to the bathroom and scrubbed his hair again, lathering it in fancy soap. It made no difference. Draco had grabbed the paint from Molly’s room on impulse in an attempt to conceal the platinum blonde of his hair. It had worked too well! Draco pulled at his hair, trying to see just how much damage was done and being thankful he hadn’t spread the paint all the way to his roots. Then he noticed the other problem. Up the far side of his neck, on the left side, were a smattering of love bites that stretched high enough that none of the shirts he had on hand would cover them all.

Draco roared out a growl at his misfortune.

He stomped through the house until he reached the drawing room where he could throw himself down on the settee. Frustration pooled in his belly and he grabbed a pillow so he could muffle an angry scream. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Draco repeated into the pillow. He wallowed in misery long enough that sleep finally overtook him. He slept fitfully.

The next day was another chance to recover. Draco tried his hair again, more frantic than ever over his failure. He couldn’t wait until the Weasleys returned to ask for help. No one could know this had happened, lest the word ever get out and back to the king.

Draco sat on a stool in front of the bathroom mirror and painstakingly held hair out one thin clump at a time. He used the long, sharp sewing scissors from Audrey’s own sewing kit for the job. Draco’s eyes were wide as saucers as he watched the long hair that reminded him so much of his father be slowly stripped away. He hadn’t cried since he was a boy, but the bedraggled man in the mirror staring back at him looked perilously close to tears.

Two days more was all he dared to wait before returning to Grimmauld Place. Draco stepped out of yet another hired carriage - his savings had taken quite the hit these last few days - and did his best to keep his chin up. Nerves made his stomach flip flop, enough so that Draco deliberately chose the front door instead of the servant’s. He would face his fears head on and he would conquer them, or so help him god he was not worthy of being a Malfoy.

He was taking off his outer coat and gloves in the vestibule when a servant notified his family he’d returned. Andromeda and Narcissa must have been together, since they arrived together to greet him. His mother had been ready with outstretched arms to welcome him home, but when she saw him she stopped to gasp.

Draco had been prepared for this reaction and smiled through it. He was the one to nod and step forward, offering a warm embrace to his mother to dispel the shock.

“You’re looking different, Draco,” Andromeda said as she too insisted on greeting him with a hug.

Draco did blush then, the red hue having no where to hide now that Draco’s locks had been cut away. Thankfully, after forty minutes of searching he’d been able to locate a respectable barber, and since Draco had good coin he’d been able to secure adequate enough correction to the mess he’d made of his hair. It was short, but it was clean. The barber had insisted there was enough left to stylize and Draco need not be ashamed. Looking in the mirror, Draco supposed the shorter crop did accentuate his sharp jaw and delicate features.

He was ashamed, though, when his mother ran her hand over it and said, “You look like a different man.” Draco knew she meant he no longer had such a strong resemblance to his father.

“I thought it time for a change,” Draco said, not certain how much of a lie that was.

Other things had changed, in Draco’s absence.

Angie had become housekeeper, and no longer put up with Draco’s nonsense. She assigned him two hours a day to tend to Teddy and otherwise forbade him from playing at servant. Perhaps they had staffed up, or at some point his status in the household had reformed and it was no longer acceptable to let him act otherwise.

Teddy had gotten big. He had so many words, and Draco was amazed at his love for mechanical toys and finger painting. Draco hadn’t been gone so long, but the last six months had drained him thoroughly and he realized only now how in his distraction he had missed his beloved toddler becoming a little boy.

His mother looked old. Heavy wrinkles sat against her eyes and gray hairs were overwhelming the blonde. What strained her the most was her daily tea times with her sister. Draco could see it in her subdued features and how her smiles to her sister never met her eyes. Narcissa could not bring the same easy warmth to those conversations that she brought to each interaction with her son.

Who was Draco to stay the same, when nothing else had?

He just hated that he didn’t have time to hide away a year or so to figure out what he was meant to be now. No, he’d come back home just in the knick of time to have an evening to himself before his family welcomed the entire world for Teddy’s birthday party. Draco had never connected Teddy’s spring birthday with the equinox, but this year the proximity was a noose around Draco’s blemished neck.

The morning of the party, it was George Weasley of all people who noticed Draco first. Draco was hiding in the kitchen, helping Kreacher finish decorating the cake despite Angie’s scolding to stay out of Kreacher’s hair. George meandered in as if it never would have occurred to him that it was a place nobles weren’t meant to be.

“Who around here knows where Andy keeps the good stuff?” Draco heard the troll ask, while George peered into shelves.

Draco was so caught up in his piping to think before he called out a good-natured pun, “Bit early for getting into the birthday spirits.”

George paused examining the shelves to examine Draco instead. Draco was finishing the final swirl with a satisfied smile when he realized just who was watching. Nervously, Draco jumped back from the cake and nearly dropped the piping bag on the floor, convinced this was the moment he was to be caught out.

Instead, George only asked, “Why are you dressed up like Percy?”

Draco glanced down at his outfit. He was back to wearing the sturdy, practical trousers he’d made for himself months ago, however, he’d paired them with a pressed white shirt and a rather high collared waistcoat, modeled after one taken the day before directly from Percy’s closet. The cut was stodgy and old fashioned, but the neck accomplished Draco’s real goal, seeing how it went up nearly to Draco’s ears. Percy’s garment was dark gray and depressing, probably on purpose because Percy wanted to be taken seriously. Draco didn’t think dour clothes would help him in that regard, so he repurposed the first bright fabric he found in an effort to complete his version in record time. It was the same royal blue that he’d sewn into servant’s uniforms years ago. Draco could tell from George’s leering that he didn’t appreciate the style.

A surge of loyalty to the elder Weasley brother reared up in Draco. He returned George’s disdain with his own cold stare. “Percy has a keen eye for fashion,” he stated unrepentantly, and knew he’d go to his grave insisting to any Weasley who asked that it was true.

“You’re daft,” George retorted with an unamused snort. A necessary reminder that the affectionate troll was make believe and left behind in the maze. Draco threw the bag of icing on the counter with decisiveness before leaving the room.

He stomped upstairs to a dining room that had been converted to a reception area for presents. There were only a few parcels now but it would be full by day’s end. Before Draco could escape upstairs until his presence was required someone else stepped into the room. The man was precariously carrying a stack of boxes that looked about to topple over. Draco stepped out of the way just as another familiar voice called out, “Hey, lend me a hand, would you?”

Draco rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. The king wouldn’t have been asked if he had seen who he was talking to, but as is it would be too rude for Draco to refuse. Draco grabbed the boxes at the halfway point, turning on his heel before the king got a solid look at him. He marched the boxes over to the table and sat them down, wondering if the king had brought them all out of some misplaced dedication to spoiling his godson.

The king sat his own pile down on the table and flashed a quick smile to the man next to him. “Thanks a ton, I was sure I was about to…” he trailed off and did a double take to look again. “Draco?” he asked, sounding uncertain.

“No trouble at all,” Draco muttered before he started to turn away, once more aiming for escape.

“You cut your hair,” the king stated the obvious. His brows were furrowed as he stared at Draco, somewhat perplexed.

Draco tried to muster an agreeable smile but probably only grimaced. “Ages ago,” he lied, just in case the king was recognizing features Draco rather he not in order to throw the king of his track.

The king cleared his throat and looked away. “It’s different. I guess it looks okay.”

Draco rolled his eyes for the second time and huffed out, “high praise.” before wandering off again before the king could take some other confusing action.

Draco cursed that his room was most easily reached from the stairway at the front door, because once again a new arrival caught him in the vestibule.

“Draco!” two voices called at once, and at least this time neither set Draco’s nerves on edge. He withheld his sigh and mustered a real smile to greet Molly and Lucy with hugs.

“You cut your hair!” Lucy squealed. She reached out to touch it, giggling at the soft feeling.

“Lucy, we don’t touch people’s hair. You’re old enough to know better,” Percy scolded behind her.

Draco tsked at Percy, “Lucy can do whatever she wants,” then with a wink at the girls, “and my haircut is very silly.”

Audrey walked forward and kissed Draco on the cheek. “Don’t tell her that, she’ll believe you,” she chided, but with a quick hug that took all the sting out of it.

“Daddy, look! He’s dressed like you,” Molly said, pointing at Draco’s waistcoat.

“Lots of people dress like this,” Percy said, because apparently he spent too much time with 8o year olds, but Draco could tell he was pleased.

Draco smiled sheepishly at Percy, “I’m sorry I took your clothes. Mine needed cleaning and I wanted to try out the pattern.”

Percy was shaking his head. “No trouble at all. I got your letter explaining everything and of course you could borrow them.”

Lucy tugged at Draco’s hand, vying for his attention. “Draco, I’m wearing my new dress that we made! Do you like it?” she said, twirling in her yellow dress.

Molly grabbed at Draco’s arm, not wanting her sister to have all the fun, “I wanted to wear mine but Mama wouldn’t let me because I wore it yesterday. But she braided ribbons in my hair, do you think it’s pretty?”

“Girls, let’s give Draco some space to breathe, shall we?” Audrey suggested, having spotted how Draco was getting a bit overwhelmed from the onslaught.

“I’m sure Draco missed us, too!” Molly said in response.

Draco smiled at both of them, a little strained but overall appreciative that he had a real world friendship with people who’d like him without a mask. It settled the fear that had him running for the attic.

“I missed you terribly. But it’s a party, and I’m sure you have presents for Edward that you should put out before the whole table is filled up and there’s no room left,” Draco said, and that was enough to pry the girls away. Their mother strolled after them with the patience of a matriarch who’d seen it all and had nerves of steel.

Percy took a moment to greet Draco with a firm handshake. “It’s good to see you well,” he said.

Draco smiled at Percy’s stiff affection. Then his smile slipped, as he connected what the troll had said in the maze to the man in front of him. Everything had been moving so fast Draco now felt bad he hadn’t realized before. “I was sorry to hear about your father. My condolences.”

Percy cleared his throat and stood up straighter. “It’s kind of you to say.”

“Are you holding up alright?” Draco asked.

Percy glanced at Draco, a bit confused. Perhaps no one else had asked him how he was doing. “It’s been hard on the girls, but I have Audrey and she’s so good with them.”

Draco’s lips twitched up at Percy’s predictable behavior. “You know I love the girls, but I was asking about you.”

Percy huffed out a laugh, his stiff posture swaying for just a moment. “You’re too kind to me, Draco.” he said. Then he shook his head and clapped Draco on the shoulder and bade Draco farewell before he walked off after his family.

Draco spared Percy a smile, then escaped up the stairs instead of risking running into whichever guest might corner him next.

Chapter Text

Draco came downstairs late enough to be rude, especially since Andromeda had always insisted he and his mother be present for guests. But today was the one day each year every one of Andromeda’s and the king’s closest friends gathered at Grimmauld Place. All of the younger adults would have been on the guest list for the equinox ball and it felt like tempting fate for Draco to show his face to them.

So he dawdled.

Grimmauld Place did not have a formal ballroom. The large drawing room next to the small dining room were combined in purpose and Draco could hear everyone chattering and being merry inside them. He took the long route round, looping through a hallway that would take him to the library, then he could go through the back door to the short hall to the kitchen stairs, before looping through to the dining room and the presents. Probably he could hide there for a good hour, making sure he was seen just enough to make folks think he’d been there the whole time. Maybe he’d pop down to the kitchen and scrounge up a plate of food so he’d have something to do with his hands, and to eliminate any reason to brave the larger space.

It should have been a good plan, an excellent plan, but as he approached the library door he heard talking.

“It’d do you no good, Harry, he’d know I was asking for you,” said Ronald Weasley, presumably to the king.

“C’mon, you could get him to give it to you,” King Harry cajoled.

An only vaguely familiar voice chimed in. “Really, Harry. You need to let this go. If the man wanted to be found he would have left some clue, or just given you his name.”

The king growled out his frustrations. Apparently he was just as cantankerous with his friends as with anyone else. “Only George has the full guest list and he won’t let me see it. I bet he knows who the man is and is just lying about it. They spent half the night together for christ’s sake.”

Oh fuck. The king was talking about Draco.

Now Ronald was laughing about it. “Who knew it was possible for you to pine over someone. You’ve always been the love it and leave it sort. Emphasis leaving it with scandal in your wake.”

“I’m not pining,” the king growled again, noticeably not refuting the broader attack on his character.

“You are, a little bit,” the woman with them said matter of factly. “I imagine it’s you compensating for feeling bad over Charlie.”

“I don’t feel bad over Charlie!” there was that overly defensive tone again. Draco was overhearing an argument that had been had many times over. One he wasn’t meant to be privy to.

“Oy, that’s my brother. You should feel a bit bad about what a prick you were to him.”

Right. Draco should go. He did not want to hear this. Well, maybe he did. Quite a lot. And while he dithered over his decision to leave, the king spoke on.

“I was always completely honest in my intentions. I never so much as suggested it was going anywhere. I certainly made sure he knew we weren’t exclusive. Why is it my fault that he expected I would change my mind?”

The air hung heavy with the weight of King Harry’s frustration. Then the woman, clearly the braver of the two friends, said, “You know what changed, Harry. When we came here your sexuality was an open secret, but now you’ve committed to a same sex marriage. I suppose he thought you might have done so for him.”

King Harry groaned, and Draco heard the thump of a person who may have dropped down to his chair. “Why can’t I have done it for me?” he asked bitterly.

Draco did leave then, rapidly. He was embarrassed he had stayed to hear so much. He was embarrassed about the fluttering in his stomach.

With the back entrance off the table, Draco faced the music and strode into the main room. What Draco expected, what he wanted, was to find his mother in the corner where they traditionally stood together to be ignored. It had worked for the last two years, and he saw no reason to spoil the pattern. Except, his mother wasn’t in the corner. She was seated next to cousin Xeno and they were talking fervently. Draco really couldn’t blame her, since it was he who selfishly abandoned her. Only he wanted to blame her because what was he to do now.

He was spared that decision when Luna popped up next to him just as stealthily as she had nearly a year ago. “You got a haircut,” she remarked. She rubbed her hand over his head with the same childlike curiosity that Lucy had. “It’s very soft now. And dashing.”

Draco scowled. “It’s silly,” he insisted.

Luna hummed. “Then why did you do it?”

Draco’s scowl deepened. “I’m starving, have they set out the cake?”

Luna looped her arm through Draco’s and began walking so that it would have been rude for Draco not to go with her. “You still owe me pies. You think I’ve forgotten but I have the memory of an elephant.”

“What do you know about elephants,” Draco said with a snort.

“They’re wise creatures,” Luna said airly, “and they’re fond of picnics. You will throw me one, won’t you?”

“A picnic?” Draco asked.

Luna nodded. “Certainly. Make enough pies for thirteen. It’s such a lucky number.”

Draco didn’t have time to be gobsmacked because they’d reached the food table and Luna was loading him up a plate. She took nothing for herself, but stole liberally from Draco, who wasn’t really that hungry and didn’t mind at all.

They didn’t quite end up in a corner, just against the wall. They stood silently and ignored, only Luna’s presence at his side was comforting. This somehow ended up exactly as he wanted.

Draco was able to watch the room. He saw Percy’s children playing with their cousins, and Teddy leading a pack of smaller children running around the room. The adults all stood on the sidelines, socializing, with the occasional fond glance towards the little ones. The only adult in the thick of it was George Weasley, who was in the middle of the room fiddling with a contraption.

“What’s he up to?” Draco asked Luna, pointing at the occupied Weasley.

Luna shrugged. “He’s more committed to pranks than sense,” she remarked.

Draco glanced at her in surprise. “I can’t imagine what that means coming from you.”

Luna waved him off. “You would understand if you got to know him. He’s fun for a time, but I don’t think he’s got it in him to pursue a serious occupation.”

“Luna, your father is an alchemist,” Draco tried to make a point.

Luna missed it entirely. “Yes, his dedication to the craft is admirable. I aspire to find my own calling.”

Draco watched as George finished fiddling and let out a loud and victorious, “Whoop!” The children all crowded round him shouting excitedly so that George could show them how to use the crank he’d attached to wind up the toy until it popped open. A jolly green troll shot out, and all the kids screeched and scattered, but only until the crank started slowly unwinding and the troll box began to play a catchy tune made from the sound of metal clanking.

“What’s not serious about that?” Draco asked Luna, who did seem to ponder the question.

There were more presents, and finally cake, paired with singing and many shouts of congratulations to Teddy. Finally, King Harry lifted Teddy up on his hip and he and Andromeda stood at the front of the room to make a toast to Teddy’s beloved parents, Remus and Nymphadora. It was tradition now for Draco not to participate as the others honored their dead.

This was normally the end of the speeches, but this year the king hoisted Edward up a bit further and smiled at him with all the joy and pride an actual father would bestow upon their son.

“This is a very special birthday for Teddy,” he told the crowd of his closest friends. “Andromeda and I have discussed it, and I’ve made up my mind. Now that I’ve made it clear that I will not be directly producing heirs,” he winked at the crowd and most everyone laughed, “I am formally announcing that my one true heir is Edward Remus Lupin.” There was a collective gasp, followed by the most enthusiastic cheering. Draco flinched back from the noise. Teddy clapped along in King Harry’s arms, not understanding but enjoying the celebration.

Andromeda waved for silence once more. It came quick enough to show that Draco wasn’t alone in seeing her as formidable. “Harry forgot to mention,” she said, “that this decision has already been ratified by the small council, who will soon announce their decision to the court.” there were more murmurs of excitement. Draco didn’t follow politics, but his father had once been chair of the small council Draco knew he’d leveraged its power to control the kingdom. Andromeda gave Harry a sly smile. “The only condition is that he proves his commitment to ensuring a lasting peace without any, ahem, ‘directly produced heirs’ to compete against his decision. He will do so by marrying a man before the end of this year.”

The gasps were louder. Then George roared out in laughter, and those who dared to joined in.

Chapter Text

It rained on the first of June. Draco tried to reschedule the picnic, but Luna said, “but it’s so romantic,” and breezily walked away, already pulling out an umbrella as if she’d planned for the weather all along. Which is how Draco ended up here, stuffed into a gazebo with twelve other people willing to picnic in the rain.

It was Luna’s picnic, but it was at Grimmauld Place so George insisted Draco should co-host. Why did George have a say in that? Draco didn’t quite catch when that happened. One day he was exchanging testy letters with Luna demanding he have a say in the guest list, and the next Luna was visiting to taste test the menu and George was just there. Likely he’d been at the manor visiting his brother, Ronald, who King Harry had assigned to be Teddy’s personal guard.

“Draco is helping me with very serious business,” Luna said to shoo him off.

George peered over the shoulder at the menu. “There’s nothing I take more seriously than pie.” They couldn’t shake him. Luna never did show Draco the guest list, but George had gotten his hands on it. George read it carefully, grinning from ear to ear. “Who knew you were such a schemer,” he said, “I am coming to this picnic.”

“You can’t come, we must only have thirteen, it’s a lucky number,” Luna had insisted.

George shrugged, “Kick out Percy, he’s such a bore.”

“You will not!” Draco refused.

George had looked at Draco for the first time since joining the rendezvous. He tilted his head quizzically, and narrow eyes flickered across Draco’s face. The stare lingered too long but Draco’s resolve didn’t falter. George raised both eyebrows in surprise, then shrugged it off. “Fine, invite the stiff. But the rest of this list needs reworking. You know as well as I he’ll never find a husband on his own. This will have to be perfect!”

That was when Draco had learned that all the work he was putting into making Luna happy for this picnic was actually about the king. Draco sulked as Luna and George hashed out the details.

Day of, Luna and George took command of three of Andromeda’s servants to implement the plan they’d so meticulously crafted. Draco was commanded as well. His role was to stand outside and greet guests. Luna had supplied a crate of pastel umbrellas so guests could stay dry when they took the garden path to their meal.

Draco continued his sulking in the rain. He spent his time waiting for guests getting soggy and wondering about his quality of friends.

It wasn’t long before the guests came. The Weasleys were first, Percy and Audrey, and their younger sister Ginny. Ginny gave Draco the stink eye. He responded with a thin smile and one of Luna’s umbrellas. Separately, three young men came next. Each was sharply dressed and looking to make quite the impression, but none managed to leave a positive one on Draco, seeing how they clearly thought Draco a servant. The Longbottoms followed. They greeted Draco awkwardly, but Hannah cooed at the pattern on her umbrella and remarked kindly on the garden Narcissa kept. The next was a shock. Colton Slughorn was a face Draco recognized from his childhood, and arguably from a family with ties as dubious as Draco’s own. Colton’s eyes narrowed at Draco, but he said all the gracious words one should. It forced Draco into being equally gracious back. Even if Colton arrived in a carriage with his family’s seal and wearing a summer suit clearly commissioned in the latest fashion. Draco was left to make unkind comparisons about his own lot in life.

It left Draco feeling uncharitable. His dour mood sank further with each minute he had to wait for the final guest.

One final, unmarked carriage did eventually arrive. There was nothing to mark it as more special than any other. Except, of course, for the king climbing out of it. He dressed casually in the same style of high-quality working clothes as he would if he was visiting to play with Teddy, rather than being present for a courtly party. It wasn’t cut to show off his figure, but anyone could see strength and grace in the king’s movements. As Draco watched the king step deftly climb down into the rain, he was struck with the memory that he had seen this man naked. He had touched the man’s skin, and felt his muscles ripple under his hands.

Draco mostly at least tried not to think about it any more. Yet for one moment he thought it would be alright to remember.

Then, the king ruined it. He noticed it was Draco waiting and he didn’t walk forward to collect his umbrella. Instead, his forehead creased and his brows furrowed, and his eyes squinted more than was polite when staring at another. He looked at Draco from head to toe, then back up again before clearing his throat and looking away, his face once again impassive.

“You’re to tell me where to go, then?” the king said in lieu of greeting.

Draco said a bit sharply, “Welcome, you royal highness. It’s so kind of you to join us for this picnic.”

The king sighed and waved Draco on. “Yes, so nice to be invited. Now, where’s the food?”

Draco let the king see him roll his eyes, but also provided the final umbrella. “Through the garden and to the back. We’ve been waiting for all the guests to arrive to start. Fortunately, for you, you won’t have any delays.”

“I hate it when they do that,” King Harry muttered. The king snapped open his umbrella and plodded forward. Draco was right on his heels. The king glanced back over his shoulder. “I won’t get lost.”

Draco made sure his suffering sigh was loud so the king could hear it. “Neither will I. It seems we’ll both make it to lunch in one piece.”

Another backwards glance from the king. “You can’t mean you’re joining us?” he asked.

Draco clenched his jaw down to avoid speaking his first thought, and his second. They were almost round the house before he settled on words almost appropriate enough to growl out and decided that was good enough. “You’re attending a picnic at my house. Of course I’ll be at it.”

The king had the audacity to disagree with him. “It’s not your house, it’s Andromeda’s, and she’s letting Luna have use of it.”

Draco didn’t stop his first thought this time round. “What an important distinction. I suppose they may not welcome my attendance at the picnic I’m hosting. I’ll be sure to let Luna know the event is off, but don’t worry, she has use of all the space.” The king paused to sputter at Draco, but Draco strode past him instead of listening.

Everyone else was already seated round a table underneath what should have been a large gazebo, except it wasn’t designed to seat a table of thirteen. Two places had been left open right in the middle. Draco suppressed a groan and plopped down next to Luna, leaving the king to take the seat between Draco and Colton. Draco didn’t look at King Harry, or at any of the guests who had mistaken him for a servant. His glare was only for Luna, who arranged the seating. “I hate you,” he whispered in her ear.

Luna smiled at Draco as if he’d expressed his most earnest love. “You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten. And your timing is exceptional, lunch is served!” The servants were just then setting small baskets in front of each guest. Draco knew what would be inside them. He and Kreacher had prepared it all that morning in the kitchen. It soothed him a bit to hear everyone exclaim so positively at the meat pies, rhubarb scones, and fresh strawberries.

Draco practically held a hand between himself and the king to block the king from sight. He devoted his entire attention on Luna, and Neville Longbottom beside her. Draco would be endlessly fascinated with agriculture if that kept Neville talking so he didn’t need to overhear King Harry.

Not that King Harry was saying much. The four solo men, and Draco, were sat to surround him in every direction. It gave the king no out when he realized that all four of them had attended for the sole purpose of making the King’s acquaintance. It must have been truly horrendous, because the king went so far as tapping on Draco’s hand to get his attention, and claiming Draco must have a thought on the subject.

“What subject?” Draco asked sweetly.

The king gestured at one of the three strangers Draco still hadn’t been introduced to. “Gerald was just talking about royal expenditures.”

Draco raised one eyebrow. The king looked flustered and was grasping at straws to steer clear of conversation with this Gerald. Draco grinned wickedly. “You know how uneducated I am, your majesty. But thankfully one of your most dependable staff is here with us today. Percy! Oh, Percy! His majesty has a question about expenditures.” Draco adored Percy, but he knew instantly from the king’s panicked expression that King Harry was wise enough to fear Percy lessons on accounting. Draco turned away immediately and made an inquiry to the Longbottoms on the process for harvesting wheat.

The rain let up shortly after everyone ate their fill, and all parties were eager to stretch their legs. Luna insisted everyone participate in lawn games. Draco hung back to begin stacking dishes. Angie would scold him, but it was to his own benefit to embrace a moment of quiet. It took only a moment to realize George was still there, too. George kicked out another chair from the table and waved Draco over to sit in it. Draco did, and they watched the other picnickers together. Draco smirked a bit at the king’s continued struggled to evade his suitors.

“I’m afraid you and Luna weren’t able to find him a match,” Draco drawled.

George winked at him. “It’s a long game. Today we’re seeing if we can get him to lower his expectations.”

“Seems a bit cruel,” Draco admitted.

George shrugged. “Just watch, he’ll still be taking one of them home to shag.”

Draco’s eyes shot up in surprise. He looked at the king again, examining his behavior around the men. He looked like he’d like nothing more than to run away and hide. It was nothing like the king’s seduction of Draco.

Only, when the picnic came to a close and Draco and Luna collected umbrellas and wished all the guests farewell, there was a change in the king’s demeanor. He had stepped in close to Colton and was speaking softly enough that the two men had to lean close together to be heard. Draco saw the moment King Harry flashed his charming smile. Draco watched the king’s hand caress Colton’s forearm. They left in their separate carriages, but Draco believed George’s assessment of where the evening was headed.

Luna was frowning after the men as well. “I don’t see that ending up a love match,” she remarked.

George was suddenly there at her side. “Nah, it’s just another of the king’s pretty boys. He shouldn’t last a week.”

Draco frowned after the carriages, his stomach twisted in knots that he wasn’t prepared to untangle. He shared, “Colton’s clever. He won’t let his chance go easily.” Why was Draco getting tied up in who the king would end up marrying?

George grunted assent. “Not to worry. It’s all part of the plan. Just leave it to me, friends. I’ll make sure Harry gets exactly what he deserves.”

Chapter Text

“What we need to do is get to know our targets better,” George said. He’d found an easel for painting and had set it up in the library so he could take notes during the impromptu strategy session.

It was four days after the picnic and Draco was slumped in a chair and full of skepticism. “What are you even doing here?” Draco asked.

George answered easily, “Luna said she was coming over this morning and there’s no better time than the present to plan our next steps.”

Draco glanced over at Luna, who lounged comfortably on another seat. She had her feet propped up underneath her and was knitting some hideous orange and purple curio. “What are you even doing here?” he asked.

“I saw the most wonderful mushroom circle at the picnic. You really ought to leave out some honey for the fae who live there,” she replied. Draco turned the full weight of his skepticism towards her, but she brushed it off as easily as the Weasley had.

Said Weasley was writing a heading on the large canvas he’d procured. “Harry facts” was written in big block letters. George turned back to his audience. “Let’s compile a list of everything we know about Harry.”

Draco slumped further. “Why are we doing this?” he whined.

George threw his extra quill at Draco. “Stop complaining.”

Draco batted the quill away and glowered.

Luna actually took Draco’s question seriously. “Harry means well, but he doesn’t know the first thing about love. He needs people looking out for him if he’s ever going to find an authentic match.” George had already turned back to his canvass to write out ‘incompetent at love’ under his list of facts.

“Great, this is perfect.” George glanced at Draco. “You’re either in or out on this one, mate. What’s it going to be?”

Draco rolled his eyes and flopped his head back to glare at the ceiling. This was stupid. The king would have plenty of suitors and had half the year ahead of him to find the right fit. Why would Draco want to put himself in the pathway of watching which one of the suitors the king would choose? Little less try to influence it. He still felt queasy when he remembered King Harry charming Colton. It was too similar to the heated gazes and soft touches the king twice shared with Draco. Draco had aimed for a single night of carnal pleasure, not happily ever after. But that didn’t mean he wanted a front row view of how far fantasy was from the real world. He didn’t want to see the king charm some man for real, when Draco was only worthy of that when he could hide behind a disguise.

The smart thing would be to walk away, but Draco supposed he wasn’t all that smart.

“He has terrible taste in fashion,” he grumbled, begrudgingly joining in George’s game.

“Yes, yes, good!” George said, writing out ‘prioritizes inner beauty’ on his board. Draco raised his eyebrows at the interpretation but clearly he wouldn’t be winning any fights with George over the notes.

Luna tilted her head in thought. “He likes treacle tart.” George wrote ‘sweet tooth.’

“He’s a judgemental ass,” Draco muttered. George hmmed in thought and translated it to ‘slow to warm up to new people.’

“He adores his godson,” Luna chimed in, which went up as ‘family oriented.’

That made Draco feel sour. “He amassed an army to invade the south, usurp the king, and claim the throne,” Draco said in a tone so monotonous it was only possible if you were withholding great emotion. George didn’t lose a beat before writing ‘natural leader’ and moving on.

Luna segued smoothly into something light, “He’s exceptional at polo, and quite deft at boxing.” George put up ‘Athletic.’

Draco thumped his chin on a hand and frowned at the canvas. “He’s a bit showy, isn’t he? Like, you can’t just execute a man, you have to make it a whole thing then have a party. Can’t just issue a proclamation announcing your new heir, it has to be a whole to-do.”

George nodded, “That’s good. Insightful.” He jotted ‘politically savvy.’ Draco frowned more, not sure exactly how George made that jump.

Luna was leaning into the game again. “He’s got quite the sad history. His parents were killed by Lord Voldermort, then his god father and mentor both passed during the war. It must be difficult to have been through so much on his own.”

George was still writing ‘lonely’ and ‘self reliant’ when Draco groused, “It’s not like he’s some tragic figure. He was ruthless. When he stormed Malfoy Manor his army slaughtered nearly everyone. When my guard fell, I hid in my parent’s bathroom with an old, decorative sword. Scrawny as I was, I couldn’t have been a threat. The king still sliced me open across the middle and left me for dead.”

Luna put down her knitting needles and George stopped adding notes to the board. Both stared at Draco with expressions far too close to concern. Draco looked away from them, his face flaming in embarrassment for having said so much. George clucked his tongue, then turned back to the canvass to add ‘ruthless’ and ‘anger issues’. Luna leaned out of her chair so she could reach over and squeeze Draco’s arm in comfort. She glanced back at the canvas. “He’s not coming across as the best catch, is he?”

Draco choked out a laugh. “We forgot to add that he’s ridiculously rich and powerful.”

George snapped his fingers and pointed at Draco. “Right you are.” He added both the words to the board then stood back to admire his work. “What do you think, Draco? Would you marry all this?”

Draco laughed again at the absurdity of the question. “Heavens no.”

George laughed as well. “Alright, then we have our next project. We’ll need to rehabilitate this fellow so he can attract the sort of man we want to see him marry.” Luna was intrigued with the prospect. The pair began chattering together while Draco watched on, bemused. Draco couldn’t say where they settled, but it wasn’t long before the meeting came to a natural conclusion.

“Not that I didn’t enjoy whatever this was, but it's time I bid you both farewell,” Draco said as he got to his feet.

Luna rolled up her knitting project and stood up as well. “Accompany me to the drawing room, would you?” Draco shrugged, supposing she was looking for his aunt. The two walked through the house with George tagging behind.

Luna said something to draw Draco’s attention just as they entered the room. When he glanced up again it was to be caught completely by surprise. Nearly a dozen familiar faces were gathered, and together everyone shouted, “Surprise!”

Draco gaped at the room full of his friends. His mother was the first to hug him, then Teddy forced his way in, shouting, “Happy birthday Draco!” repeatedly as he pulled on Draco’s arm in an effort to be picked up. Draco lifted him, and Teddy tagged along as Draco was hugged by his aunt, then greeted by Percy and Audrey before being smothered in more hugs by Molly and Lucy. Kreacher was there with a gruff congratulation and promise of cake. Ronald Weasley was there, Draco supposed just to tag along with Teddy, but he grinned cheekily at Draco’s bewilderment and offered a merry birthday greeting with the rest of the crowd.

Luna looked pleased as punch to see Draco flabbergasted. “You did this on purpose!” Draco accused.

“I am so very fond of birthdays,” Luna said in a vague and dreamy voice.

“Blimey, if I’d known I would have scrounged you up a gift,” George said, still standing next to them.

“Gift! Gift! Gift!” chanted Teddy. “Draco, open mine first!”

Luna patted George’s arm. “You did such a good job distracting Draco while they set the room. The gift of surprise is a lovely one.”

George peered at her with suspicion. “Did you just go along with all that to keep Draco distracted?”

Luna smiled her knowing little smile.

For the past two birthdays, it had been Draco and his mother sharing a small celebration. Draco’s mother splurged on the smallest box of Honeydukes chocolate, the sort of which she spoiled Draco with as a child. They would eat one tiny bite at a time and let the flavor linger on their tongues. It was the flavor of possibility. Of a future where he could be happy and loved. Eating his birthday chocolates was the sort of pleasure that left Draco wrung out afterwards. It was hard to hold up his chin and be strong when he could see clearly what he had lost.

This celebration was nothing like childhood memories. The room was cozy instead of grand, with friends sitting snug up against one another. The gifts were thoughtful instead of expensive. Teddy had found him a novel with a beautifully etched cover, recounting the legend of the green dragon. Luna gifted knitted socks, thankfully without orange or purple stripes. His aunt had gifted an elegant shaving kit, since Draco had repurposed one left behind from a previous servant. Draco opened a box from the Weasleys, to find the most beautiful black handkerchief embroidered with stars. Audrey explained the girls helped her make it. It displayed a portion of the night sky, centering the constellation Draco. Of course, his mother gave him the precious box of Honeydukes. Draco smiled lovingly at her, so thankful that he could save the box for another day. There was happiness here aplenty without sweets. There would be sweets, though. Kreacher himself carried in the chocolate and raspberry cake.

Before the cake could be cut, Teddy squealed and wiggled out of Draco’s lap. “Harry!” he cried. Molly and Lucy, reserved around most people, were soon on their feet, too, running over to greet the unexpected guest. The king opened his arms up to all the children, hugging each in turn with kind words. The words ‘family oriented’ popped unbidden into Draco’s head.

The king looked up at the broader company, a half cocked smile on his lips. “What’s all the fuss for, then?” he asked his friends.

“Mate, would you believe it, it’s Draco’s birthday,” said Ronald. He was grinning good naturedly, as if passing along a witty joke.

The king’s smile dropped and his eyes flickered around the room until they landed on Draco, now sitting alone on a sofa since Teddy had run off to his godfather. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. I can come by another time.”

“Nonsense, you’ve come all this way,” said aunt Andromeda.

“We’re about to have cake!” said Teddy

“You must stay, Harry, thirteen is a very lucky number,” said Luna, settling the matter.

Harry awkwardly shuffled his way to standing. “If Draco doesn’t mind,” he said while sending Draco a puppy dog look that might have fooled half the people in the room into thinking Harry wanted permission, but the other half clearly understood he was asking for a way out.

Draco looked at George, the person he trusted to best understand exactly what he meant when he cocked an eyebrow and rolled his eyes.

George stifled a grin behind his hand and coughed to hide a chuckle. He mouthed something peculiar at Draco that may have been, “rehabilitation.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but it ended with him squeezing out a smile for the king. “It’s an honor for you to join us, your majesty.”

“Yay!” said Teddy before he tugged on the king’s hand. King Harry allowed himself to be pulled, even when he realized where Teddy was going. The king had no choice but to be directed to the seat next to Draco so the three year old could climb up between the two of them. He took a hand from each man in his own and grinned widely at everyone.

Draco didn’t dare look to his right. Instead he waved to Kreacher. “I think the time has come, if you’re ready.” Kreacher was, and soon cake was passed all around. Draco had to eat left handed because his was the hand Teddy refused to let go of when it came time to eat. Draco saw the king pouting over it and enjoyed being favorite for the day. The cake was fantastic, everyone shared compliments with Kreacher. The king even had a second piece. ‘Sweet tooth,’ popped into Draco’s mind.

Molly wanted to play Draco a song, which he enthusiastically supported. So Lucy asked to show off a new dance. The entire room admired their performance, until Teddy grew impatient and jumped off to dance as well. Draco was on his feet with the three year old, smoothly intercepting him before he interrupted Lucy and caused a scene. Draco picked Teddy up and spun him through the steps of a waltz. When Lucy paused her own dancing to watch, George stepped forward. He dropped down on one knee and begged Lucy to be his dance partner. She giggled and accepted his hands. When Molly finished her song Audrey took over playing and Ronald offered to be Molly’s dance partner. “Aunt Hermoine says you stomp on her feet,” Molly answered, to Ronald’s chagrin and everyone else’s laughter. Percy stepped forward instead. His steps were competent, if stiff, which was more than enough to make Molly smile. Draco laughed with Teddy each time he dipped the boy upside down or spun too fast on purpose. What did an equinox ball have on this?

Eventually Draco had to pause for air. He flipped Teddy upside down then rolled him over so his legs followed him to the ground. Draco stood up grinning, only then taking in the broader room.

King Henry was watching him. His brows were furrowed and his forehead was creased, extenuating his lightning shaped battle scar. Draco could almost see the gears in the king’s mind turning, and Draco’s stomach flipped to wonder what he had done that was about to give him away.

Then the king blinked and realized Draco was looking back. His face relaxed into the standard frown Draco was familiar with. This man wasn’t slow to warm up to people, he was a fucking iceberg. The king turned to Andromeda to start up a conversation about something else.

The time came to say his farewells and it was more hugs and kisses. The king was late to leave, since he’d stayed to put Teddy to bed. Draco was just closing the door after Luna when King Harry walked in holding his gloves and coat.

“Draco,” the king acknowledged him with a nod. “Lovely event.” It was curt but polite. How strange.

“You’re welcome to crash any party I throw, your majesty,” Draco responded sweetly.

That tweaked the king’s mood and he spared Draco a stern frown before the expression faded. “I didn’t realize you were so good with Teddy,” the king said as he put on his gloves.

Now Draco was frowning. The words weren’t sharp, but they were heartless Draco lived with Teddy. He dedicated each day to the boy. He made up all the voices for his stuffies and nursed him when he was sick. How could the king be a part of Teddy’s life and not realize Draco was essential to it? Draco lashed out rudely in response. “Don’t worry, I was kind to him before you announced him as your heir so you know my intentions are noble.”

The king didn’t even look upset. He just sighed heavily at the snark. “My own birthday party is coming,” he grimaced as he said so, “and it’s been decided Teddy should attend,” his expression was downright thunderous at the idea. “You should come with him, make the trip less difficult.”

“What the fuck are you on about?” Draco asked, shock sending him over the line with his rudeness.

The king noted the slight. He was fully dressed to leave and turned his full, thundering attention to Draco. ‘Ruthless,’ Draco thought as he stared into the green’s stormy green eyes. “I am asking you to put aside your pride for two days to accompany your cousin to the castle so he doesn’t throw a fit when I’m forced to let the low lives of court finally meet him.”

“Don’t make him go,” Draco said instead.

The storm went out of the king and he was sighing again. “I forget you never were out in court. You don’t understand how it works. Why can’t you just be excited to go visit the castle and attend a party? I’ll send my tailors, get you a chance to be done up. Teddy will go to bed early and then you can have fun.”

The change in tacts was like whiplash. Draco wasn’t certain which part of the king’s remarks offended him most. “What is wrong in your head that you think I’d support your harassing Teddy in exchange for a fancy outfit and time with people you affectionately call the low lives of your court?” Too rude, again, but Draco didn’t even care if the king lashed out at him. He wouldn’t stand for this.

The king wasn’t getting angry, though, he was giving Draco that weird look again with the eyebrow crease. Then he pinched his lips and looked away. “It’s shit, alright? I know it’s shit. But there are obligations to fulfill if Teddy’s going to be king.” Draco could see the words ‘politically savvy’ scrawled out in George’s handwriting.

It was Draco’s turn to clench his jaw and glower, because he did get it. He could hear his father’s words telling him power didn’t come for free. His tone was wistful instead of bitter when he said, “I wish you’d just marry a nice lady and go about things the old fashioned way so Teddy could be left alone.”

“That’s seriously what you’re going to say to me right now?” King Harry asked, finally getting heated.

Draco just shrugged. “It’s what would have been expected of me,” he explained.

That caught the king off guard. His eyes widened in surprise, then flickered over Draco’s body. “Pardon?” he asked.

Draco could feel his face heating. He deflected. “Oh, everyone knew my great, great, great, great, well, one of the Abraxases, married his beloved wife, who produced three heirs, and then moved to a charming summer home while Abraxas lived out his days with his best friend in the city. It was considered perfectly respectable for a head of house.”

The king was staring slack jawed with his hands on his hips. “That is what you consider respectable?” he growled.

For once, Draco was at a loss for words. He gulped, and then admitted, “I suppose not. Besides, it’s not like anyone is waiting for the Malfoys to go forth and multiply. I rather lucked out, if you consider it that way.”

The entire conversation seemed to break King Harry’s mind. He was frowning, squinty, and waving his hands about all at once. “How did we even get here? Will you accompany Teddy or not?”

“Of course I will, that was never the question,” Draco answered. Then he smirked at the king’s grumpy face. “And it’ll be such a satisfaction to know Teddy liked my party best.”

Chapter Text

After three years, Draco had changed but the castle had not.

Andromeda, Draco and Teddy traveled there together in a carriage much finer than anything the king had ever taken to visit them. A second carriage held Teddy’s nursemaid and Andromeda’s lady’s maid. They were escorted by members of the king’s guard, led by Ronald Weasley. It was a whole affair that Draco imagined he would have enjoyed in his previous life. As it was, he watched out the carriage window as the castle grew larger at their approach. Draco felt only an ominous unease at returning.

They led Draco through the castle like he didn’t know the way. Draco supposed as far as they knew he didn’t. Most of the grand paintings on the wall were just as Draco remembered, with only the occasional undesirable portrait having been replaced. Draco marveled at the furniture inside the suite of rooms where Andromeda and Teddy were to stay. He reached out to touch the tall post on the canopy bed. Draco supposed that just because there was an insurrection didn’t mean there was a reason to replace the furniture.

“Come on, Edward,” Draco said as he climbed onto a bed he had slept in as a child. “Let’s see if the mattress meets your standards.” Teddy eagerly climbed up behind him and they both plopped onto the bed to stare up at the canopy cover. Draco abandoned the effort before he could grow nostalgic. He distracted himself by turning over and attacking Teddy with tickles until Teddy crawled away and all but fell off the bed. Draco chased him around the rooms his own mother never let him run in, letting Teddy’s laughter chase all dark memories away.

Draco braved the canopy bed later that evening when it was time for Teddy to go to bed. He read Teddy extra books and gave him extra kisses so that the little boy wouldn’t be so scared to sleep somewhere new. Then Draco laid in the darkness next to Teddy until the boy’s breathing evened out in sleep.

Every step was heavy when Draco trodged out of Teddy’s chamber and into the living room at the center of the suite.

“Join me for dinner,” Andromeda said when he walked in, gesturing to an open seat at the small table she sat at. Draco was starving and accepted the offer with thanks. Andromeda watched her nephew for a long while. He ate slow and neat, staring hard at the table cloth and nothing else. Andromeda paused between bites to share, “It’ll get easier.” Draco glanced up at her quizzically. “Returning to somewhere you’ve moved on from,” she explained.

Draco thought a moment. He supposed if anyone would know it would be his aunt.

The next morning was harsh with sunlight. Draco was roused from his bed by servants he did not recognize. They drew him a hot bath and left him with fragrant soap to scrub himself clean. Once out of the bath, a servant waited for Draco to act as his valet. Draco was instructed to stand still as the man dressed him in the elaborate outfit the king had provided. The waistcoat and breeches were a dark red, with elaborate vector floral embroidery running up Draco’s chest. The coat he wore had a gray checkered print and bold red buttons. They dressed him in silk stockings and dark leather shoes with a shiny buckle. They were fine clothes, but Draco felt stiff wearing them. Draco admired his reflection and couldn’t find a single fault to the outfit, other than to compare it to Draco’s own more joyful, if less refined, experiments which he strongly preferred. His father would be horrified at his preferences. Draco shook his head to dispose of that comparison.

In any case, it would have been impossible to visit in an outfit Draco made for himself. His appearance would reflect on the king and he knew his own proficiency fell far below that of the tailor who created the clothes he wore now. Draco was experienced enough to see how much talent went into the stitches in every seam. Draco ran his hand over the embroidery on his chest. It was extraordinary. He tilted his head and wondered what he could create if he asked someone to teach him the skill.

Draco shook away his musings. Today was about Teddy.

They had dressed the boy up more elaborate than even Draco. They’d made him a full dress suit, in gold and cream colors. The textiles of the coat were intricate weaved patterns. Red and gold thread was used to embroider features in small detail. Draco peered closely to see small lions and phoenixes hiding between the lilies. An outfit fit for a prince. Draco quirked his lips as he watched the nurse maid attempt to add a cravat to the ensemble. It was a step too far for the child.

“Edward, come quick! I need your help,” Draco called out to interrupt before it turned into a full blown fit. Teddy wrangled away from his nurse and ran for Draco, who was already kneeling down to his level. Draco held out two cravats he’d pulled from his servant’s hand, both a part of Draco’s new wardrobe courtesy of the king. “One day you’ll be king, so I know you’ll make a wise decision. Which one of these shall I wear today?”

Teddy’s face lit up at the choices. One was pink and the other was silver gray. Teddy picked out the pink one. “I want to wear it!” he said.

Draco’s lips quirked up. “Certainly, Edward, but not until we get a snack.” Draco handed the silver cravat back to the servant and let the servant put it on him while the nursemaid managed to give Teddy a snack without ruining his fancy new clothes. After eating a handful of crackers Teddy agreed to finish getting dressed.

Draco had to smile at the costumed boy. It was a ridiculous and silly sight. If only the effort was for so lighthearted a purpose.

A sillier sight was the king himself walking in, dressed head to toe in garb as fine as Teddy’s. King Harry, who wore casual trousers and or a soldier’s training outfit around his family and the most basic suit or homey sweater to masquerade balls, looked out of place wearing a richly embroidered coat with puffy sleeves sticking out at the wrists.

Not that he looked bad. Not that Draco was looking. But, if Draco were to look, he’d admire the fit of the waistcoat over the king’s broad chest and how the silk leggings connected at the knee to his breeches showed off his toned calves. Draco also might admire that instead of preserving the fine clothing, the king eagerly dipped down and picked up a squirming Teddy. Draco’s father wouldn’t have approved of that, either. Draco looked into the distance to distract himself from the perceived judgements of his father and did not see the king most definitely looking back at Draco.

It was Andromeda that restored decorum. She arrived in a refined and understated ball gown and gently chided Harry for riling Teddy up, only she was smiling and no one was put out. The king put Teddy down and let Andromeda straighten out the clothing he mussed until she was satisfied. Then the king straightened to attention and led the party out of the room as if they were going into battle.

Draco tagged behind the trio. They’d offered him no instruction on his role or expectation for what was ahead of him. Draco wondered if it was because they had faith in his abilities, or if they’d simply forgotten to consider his needs. Perhaps a mixed bag between the two adults.

Draco followed them right up to what he knew was a doorway that would open to a grand staircase leading down into a reception hall. Servants stood at the ready to fling the doors wide open and announce the king. It was one of them that stepped out to address Draco.

“Sir, you must turn round and go through the east entrance,” the servant said.

Draco smiled thinly. It made more sense he would not enter with the king. Honestly, King Harry should have told him as much back at the turn towards the east hallway. It’s just that Draco knew that for a proper introduction he would enter from the north. He was being hidden away.

“It’s fine, Wallace,” King Harry said unexpectedly.

The servant, Wallace, pursed his lips. “Etiquette dictates he not enter with the royal family.”

King Harry shrugged, nonchalantly trying to stuff large hands into decorative pockets before he remembered his impractical outfit and gave up. “This is going to be enough of a circus without over complicating things. Let’s just let him in.” Wallace made a noise that wasn’t quite a squeak. The king turned his long suffering look on Draco, begging for sympathy for having to put up with court practices.

It pained him to do so, but Draco took Wallace’s side. “The east entrance isn’t far, we’ll meet up inside,” he offered.

The king’s face fell before he scowled at Draco’s betrayal. “We’ll be swarmed as soon as we enter, you’ll never get to us. What good are you to Teddy then?”

The boy in question was looking at all the upset grownups with apprehension. “Draco, you can come to our party,” he said.

Draco dropped down to his knee again to talk directly to Teddy. He started with a big smile to show Teddy he wasn’t upset. “Sometimes there are rules here in the castle. And I promise I’ll help teach you all of them, so you can teach King Harry,” that part might have been a bit snide, but Teddy didn’t catch it. “This is a special party for you and your godfather. One of the special rules is that you two get to walk down a big staircase all by yourselves. At the bottom will be all sorts of new friends, and I’ll be there, too.”

Teddy was still nibbling on his lower lip nervously.

“Draco, just come in with us. It’ll hardly be the worst faux pas I make today,” the king snapped.

Draco waited until he turned far enough that Teddy couldn’t see his expression before he glared daggers. “Your majesty, would you kindly calm down before you upset your godson. Now’s not the time for arguing.”

This time the king turned his long suffering look to everyone else, begging for sympathy for having to deal with Draco. He got blank stairs and turned his ire back to the younger man. “I’m the king. You’re the one who should stop arguing with me!”

“Children,” Andromeda scolded, in a tone that could as easily have been Draco’s mother’s. Draco shut his mouth before he had a chance to find words to respond with. The king sullenly kept his mouth closed. “There is a simple solution, if either of you reign yourselves in long enough to hear it.” Draco tried not to look petulant at the scolding, but King Harry had more sense and was sheepish over his actions. Andromeda nodded at both men’s choices. Then she turned to Wallace and said in a tone that brooked no debate, “The royal heir’s cousin will be escorting me this morning. We are the last of Teddy’s family and you will acknowledge us as such.”

Draco’s face burned as the servants snuck glances at him. His blush didn’t fade as his aunt took her place on his arm, a respectable distance from King Harry and Teddy. Draco’s stomach flip flopped as he realized what was about to happen. He hoped desperately Teddy didn’t have half his nerves.

Draco leaned over just before they were announced. “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he said to Andromeda.

Andromeda patted his arm comfortingly. “If we were trying to hide you we would have left you back at Grimmauld Place,” she said in her easy way of using facts to reassure. A dark cloud crossed her face before she added. “Don’t be concerned. Your presence won’t reflect poorly on Teddy. I dare say, a Malfoy at his side may be just what he needs to handle the snakes awaiting us.”

There was no chance to ask what she meant. The doors were thrown open wide, and King Harry hefted Teddy up back into his arms and strode forward to introduce his godson to the most powerful nobles in the court.

Chapter Text

“All rise for his Majesty The King, and his Royal Highness the Duke of Diagon.”

Draco hardly heard the cheers. He was caught off guard by the king having given Teddy the formal dukedom traditionally given to the first born child in line for the throne. Hearing Teddy heralded as such made it more real to Draco that one day Teddy would be king.

“The Honorable Marquess of Wiltshire, and Lord Malfoy.”

Draco stumbled over his first step, so caught up in processing what he’d just heard. He had never asked what had happened with his father’s lands and holdings. Clearly the king had gifted them to Andromeda, in addition to Grimmauld Place. Somewhere out there was the ruins of his family’s manor in Wiltshire and they were now owned by the woman at his side.

Draco was so caught up in these revelations that he didn’t have time to be nervous about his debut. He did still note the strange glances he received, and how they were followed by whispered comments between courtiers. Thankfully, he was outshined in every way by his young cousin.

Teddy entered the room with big eyes and curiosity. He clung to his godfather as King Harry descended into the reception hall. Yet each loud noise startled the boy and Teddy had tucked his head against King Harry’s neck before the king was halfway down the staircase. Teddy looked back up the stairs behind him at Draco and Andromeda. Draco stuck out his tongue, then smiled reassuringly. Teddy managed a small smile back.

It was no exaggeration that the king would be swarmed at the bottom of the stairs. Courtiers jockeyed for the closest position.

The winner amongst them was an older, short, squat woman in a bright pink dress that did no favors for her pale complexion. Her wide mouth stretched into a long smile across her broad face, reminding Draco vaguely of a toad. She proudly wore a gold pendant on her breast. It was shaped like a quill laid on top of a book. It marked her as a member of the Small Council: the overseer of the kingdom’s university and scholarly libraries.

Draco saw the subtle tension to King Harry’s back when she stepped forward. The king did not like this woman, but he could not refuse to greet a member of the Small Council.

“Hem hem,” the woman said. It was hardly anything but those around her silenced themselves when they heard it. “Happy birthday, your majesty!” she declared with an ungraceful courtesy. “It is wonderful that you finally brought little Teddy to visit us. Do have him look up. Hello, Teddy! I am very much looking forward to getting to know you, and I’m sure we’ll be very good friends!”

The lines of the king’s body were rigid in anger. Draco saw him take a deep breath before speaking. Unfortunately, his words were addressed to his godson. “C’mon Teddy, say hello to Lady Umbridge.”

Teddy only buried his face further into King Harry’s shoulder.

“Tut, tut. That won’t do, now, will it?” Lady Umbridge said in a sickly sweet tone so vile Draco could spit. “I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good morning, Lady Umbridge.’ One more time, please. Hello, Teddy!”

The boy was gripping King Harry’s arm as tightly as he could, with no intention of letting go, looking up, or responding.

Draco could see Lady Umbridge’s smile turn nasty and pleased. She was prepared to do something horrid.

In his short life Draco had proved many times over all the horrible things he could stand, but watching the king let his cousin be bullied was not one of them. Draco stepped forward, having to twist his arm out of his aunt’s grasp in the process. He walked down the remaining steps to be level to the king. Who cared if the courtiers gasped and gawked at his audacity. Draco only had eyes for the woman.

Draco smiled the special cruel smile he had tucked away the day they lost the war and he lost his status. Cruelty felt unnatural now, but he was willing to work for what mattered to him.

“Dolores,” Draco stated, smacking his lips around the name he deliberately chose over her formal title. “I thought you looked familiar! It has been too long. When did I last see you? It must have been four years ago when you visited my father.” The gasps were louder this time. The portraits missing from the walls made clear that in King Harry’s castle some people were meant to be forgotten. People like Lucius Malfoy, who Dolores Umbridge had definitely known. She had never been important enough for Draco’s father’s attentions, but she had tried desperately to gain favor right up until it was clear where the war was headed. Clearly she had jumped ship early enough and must have been some sort of clever to rise so high in the aftermath.

“Now, I know, Dolores, that you and my family have always been such good friends and it feels like formalities are unnecessary. And, of course, the king can call his godson Teddy. However, I, my cousin’s most loyal and dedicated servant, only go so far as to address him by his given name of Edward. Whereas you,” Draco paused there, the smile slipping. He held Dolores gaze until her smile broke into a scowl. “Well, I suppose ‘your grace’ would be acceptable, if you simply cannot manage ‘your majesty.’”

If looks could kill Draco would be dead and buried, unless Dolores managed to first skin him alive before chopping his head off and putting it on a spike to rot while crows picked out his eyes. Her bulging eyes looked ready to pop out of her face.

The king broke the painful, resounding silence by laughing. “Thank god for Draco. Finally, someone to help me keep track of proper etiquette.” He said it with a wink to the crowd. The dam broke and everyone laughed with the king.

King Harry nodded respectfully at Dolores, then walked in a different direction, letting the crowd part to let him through before closing tightly behind his entourage.

Draco hung backwards a respectful step. When he moved again it was not Andromeda at his side, but a woman only a little older than Draco with large bushy brown hair. Draco’s eyes widened in recognition.

“That was clever, but stupid,” Hermione Granger whispered to him.

Draco struggled not to lose step as they walked. Hermoine had maintained her smile for the crowd while delivering her message and Draco was determine to match her in skill.

“Anyone who knows me well would tell you how fond I am of stupid, clever choices,” Draco replied.

“You can do that in the country, but this is the castle. They play a more dangerous game.”

Draco hummed. Both he and Hermione paused with the king, who had stopped to talk to another courtier. Draco narrowed his eyes at the man speaking to the king, tracking every movement to make sure none of it upset his cousin. “If it’s so dangerous he never should have brought Teddy here.”

“Aren’t you to call him Edward?” Hermione asked with the slightest smirk.

Draco struggled not to glare at her, lest he disrupt the united front they were displaying to the crowds. He growled through a smile, “It’s an affectionate nickname between me and Teddy. You wouldn’t understand.”

Hermione’s chime of laughter wasn’t faked. “I have two children, I understand fine.” Now that she said it Draco did recall some rundown of Weasley cousins and offhand mentions of Hermione marrying into the family.

The king moved along and they followed, advancing only a meter or two at a time so the king could fulfill his social obligations.

“I advised against bringing you, but Andromeda vouched on your behalf and the king took her word,” Hermione said.

Draco couldn’t help but sigh. “Perhaps stupid choices are hereditary,” he offered.

Hermione pinched him. “Don’t speak ill of your aunt. She’s the greatest political mind Harry has.”

That was surprising to hear. Draco glanced back to find his aunt. She wasn’t far, but was making use of the pauses to talk to courtiers who were clamoring to have some connection to the king, no matter how small. “Then I’m thankful to have her on my side,” Draco said honestly.

“Be on her side, in return,” Hermione insisted. “You can’t step out of line like that. Harry’s position isn’t firm enough yet. If you must be here, be here making friends and showing the old families that it’s in their best interest to side with the king.”

That made Draco’s face slip, if only for a moment. Which old families could she mean? People like the Dolores, who were willing to side with King Voldermort as long as he won? Or people like Horace Slughorn, who the king was now greeting warmly like they were old friends, before the king turned to Colton Slughorn and greeted him with a kiss to his hand. The king looked sincerely smitten and for some reason watching made Draco feel cold. Soon, the king moved on, and when Draco walked past the Slughorns he saw another gold pendant on Horace’s chest: overseer of finance. Draco forced a smile as he exchanged nods with Colton.

“The old families do not care for me, anymore,” Draco said once the Slughorns were gone.

Hermione shrugged. “They will now. Make it count.”

Draco struggled to remain affable for the rest of the long walk to King Harry’s destination. He was so very thankful when they reached a long table at the front of the room, and the King handed Teddy off to Draco for safe keeping.

The king had his back to the room and for one brief moment no one could see his face. He used the moment to show his complete and utter relief. “Thank you,” he whispered softer than even Hermione had spoken. Then he turned back around and dived into the frey.

Draco slumped in a chair with Teddy on his lap. He looked around at too many unfamiliar faces before spotting Ronald standing guard just as if they were still at home. “Ronald!” Draco called out. The knight turned at his name. “Would you be so kind as to find us some cake, then sit down so you can test if for poison or whatever you do.”

Ronald shook his head and gestured to the folks around him. “Literally these folks are here to help you.”

“I respect servants far too much to ask them to die on my behalf, that’s why we have you,” Draco retorted.

The knight glowered, but he did know where to find the cake and nabbed three pieces before sitting next to Draco. “This is unprofessional,” Ronald said, shoving the cake in his mouth.

“That’s the spirit,” Draco drawled.

Being cordoned off by two adults Teddy knew was helping him to relax. Draco tucked the boy closer to his chest. What got Teddy to cheer up for the first time since reaching the bottom of the stairs was when Draco put a fork in his hand and let him have a go at an entire piece on his own. Draco did his best to tuck a napkin in first so the frosting didn’t smear over his fancy clothing.

“Did Hermione chew you out, then?” Ronald asked.

Draco sniffed. “She was perfectly polite.”

“That doesn’t sound like my Hermione,” Ronald said.

“Careful, she’ll pinch you if she catches you saying that,” Draco warned.

Ronald grinned. “Now that sounds like Hermione.”

Draco couldn’t help but chuckle good naturedly. Then they settled into comfortable, cake-filled silence.

Draco watched the ballroom, doing his best to make sense of the activity. He’d lost sight of his aunt and Hermione, and found he recognized so few others. The king, of course, was always easy to spot due to the gaggle of courtiers that followed his every movement. He was a bit far to say for sure, but while King Harry was smiling Draco also thought he looked exhausted. Occasionally someone would set eyes on Teddy and Draco with an eager glint in their eye. In those moments, Draco would harness all his pent up pride and inner disdain for being left to rot after the war and used that emotion to stare down the courtier until they turned tail and left.

“You catch more flies with honey,” Ronald said after Draco scared the third person away.

Draco ignored him and instead scrubbed Teddy’s face with a napkin. “How was the cake, Edward?”

“It’s yummy! Please can I have more,” Teddy said with his cute puppy dog eyes.

Draco bopped him on the nose. “Yummy cake is special food. We’ll have more the next birthday.”

Ingenuitive Teddy looked to Ronald. “Is it your birthday tomorrow?” he asked.

Ronald grinned but shook his head. “I’m afraid you missed it. Next year, mate.” Teddy’s pout just made Ronald smile more.

“Now that we’ve had delicious cake, how do you feel about meeting new friends?” Draco asked.

Teddy immediately shrank against him, hidinging his face again. “I don’t like new friends,” he said.

Draco patted Teddy on the back and gave Ronald an “I told you so” look. Ronald rolled his eyes but let it go. “Isn’t one of your siblings here? We could be good sports and chat with them,” Draco offered.

Ronald shook his head. “It’s not like this is Harry’s actual party. He doesn’t set the guest list,” Ronald explained.

Draco glanced over at the king again, still surrounded by overzealous people and forcing himself to smile through it.

Eventually, Ronald did nod to a few people to invite them to the table. Draco recognized the Longbottoms, who were exceptionally considerate of how difficult this was on Teddy. He met Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, who were clearly skeptical of Draco but willing to let it slide for a pal like “Ron” - Ronald’s name according to all his friends. The Patil sisters stopped by, polite in the way the old families were trained to be from a young age. They acknowledged they knew Draco, but it was truly a distant memory so their lack of affection didn’t offend. For so long Draco had been able to read everyone around him, he was realizing that courtiers had greater talent to conceal their thoughts and he couldn’t read them at all.

So it continued, until Draco himself was exhausted and Teddy was ready to jump out of his skin.

“We need to go,” Draco told Ronald.

Ronald was clearly going to argue, but then he looked at sullen Teddy, tugging at his outfit and ready to throw a fit at any moment. Ronald glanced back up at the room, as if there was anyone there he could consult. Of course there wasn’t. This party was never for Teddy no matter what the announcement said.

“They’ll figure it out,” Ronald agreed.

Both men got to their feet, Draco still holding onto the child.

The moment they were back in their chambers Draco let Teddy tear off his clothes, with Draco only interfering to help when Teddy would otherwise get stuck. Once naked, Teddy ran around the suite of rooms shouting. The nursemaid chased after him, but Draco didn’t bother. He only wished they could go outdoors and run and shout in the sun until Teddy was exhausted and Draco was reinvigorated.

“Andromeda was right, you did good,” Ronald said with a pat to Draco’s shoulder.

“I’ll murder his majesty if he tries to do this to Teddy again,” Draco replied.

Ronald rolled his eyes but didn’t look perturbed. “Do you need me to pass that message along, or can you handle it?”

“I don’t even know when I’ll see the king again,” Draco said.

“Tonight, at his party,” Ronald answered.

Draco glanced at him. “Wasn’t that his party?”

Ronald scoffed. “That was his birthday reception to introduce Teddy to the upper crust of society. Tonight is his party, where we try to stop him from getting too drunk and offending half of court.” Ronald paused a moment in consideration. “You’re good at babysitting. Care to try your hand on him?”

Draco ignored Ronald’s characterization of his relationship with Teddy and focused solidly on looking agog. “The king?” he asked, disbelieving.

Ronald honestly just looked tired. “Yeah, mate. You took down Umbridge and scared off Rita Skeeter with your glare. If you set your mind to it, I’m sure you can keep Harry out of trouble just for one night.”

Chapter Text

The thing was, Draco didn’t know how to stay out of trouble. The prestige and power his family held when Draco was a youth did not require him to learn the skill. It left him to be entitled and cruel. In the years since, he had more bitterness than motivation to change. He might not be entitled to much anymore, but he harnessed his aloofness to pretend he could be. He threw it in the face of every person who would dare to make him feel lesser than he once was and Draco refused to learn how to hold back his Malfoy pride.

Not even for the king.

All the king’s friends were playing some political game Draco was too ignorant to understand, and foolishly they all thought Draco was on the king’s side. It led Ronald to tell Draco how vulnerable the king would be this evening. Which would make it so very easy for Draco to be cruel. They’d even given him an excuse to mingle and scheme with those they said might wish the king harm. It was all laid out in front of him, if only he wished to take his revenge.

Why shouldn’t he? The king had literally tried to kill Draco. He’d succeeded in killing his father. Draco had been barely more than kept prisoner. Everything Draco had now he hard earned for himself, despite the king not because of it. All of it was less than he might have if he was willing to risk taking a stance against this new regime.

The cruelty, though… Draco had been on the receiving end of too much cruelty and he found he no longer had the stomach for it. Not that he had ever been truly horrid. Nothing like King Voldermort, who Draco knew enjoyed personally torturing his prisoners and ruled through the fear that anyone in court might join the prisoners’ ranks. Still, over the years since the war, Draco had been forced to consider how every wicked barb he ever made had landed on those less fortunate than himself. How his derision shaped the behaviors of others. How a subtle kick or tripping of the ankle could injure another, and spur on bullying behavior by the masses. The courtiers looked hungry this evening. They were eager for anyone to display the cruelty Draco once thrived on so they could follow.

Draco didn’t want to side with the jackals, no matter who they were against. Not even if it was the king.

And it was the king. Draco, internally torn by Ronald’s request, had watched King Harry from a corner. The party was early yet. By all accounts the king needn’t even have arrived. Draco assumed there was some political purpose, but also assumed the king couldn’t possibly be achieving it with any effectiveness. The king was skilled at keeping an impartial face, but the lines of his body betrayed his exhaustion. The only thing he was doing effectively was draining his third glass of wine. The king waved for another one, but Draco interceeded before the servant could bring the wine to him.

Draco brought a different glass with him when he approached the king’s side. He handed the proxy off, keeping the glass of wine for himself.

The king was too distracted by the courtier soliciting him to even question Draco’s strange behavior. The king took a large gulp then immediately sputtered. His attention was finally drawn to Draco. “Seriously?” The king growled.

Draco smiled saccharinely. “No need to fuss. It’s water, not poison.” Draco only realized how off color the joke was when the couriers around them flinched.

“Best hope you’re not so unfortunate that someone else does poison me tonight. All the folks here will pin it on you,” the king replied, his tone light in a way Draco wasn’t used to the king using with him. At least when Draco wasn’t wearing a mask. Draco couldn’t tell if it was banter, or the king skillfully covering for Draco once again putting his foot in his mouth.

“Your godson wants you to wish him goodnight,” Draco lied. He saw the king’s subtle frown that showed the king caught the lie. However, instead of questioning it, the king took the out and politely disengaged from the crowd.

The two men hardly walked out of sight of the ballroom before the king found a bench to collapse onto. He still had the glass of water and he chugged it. With only Draco watching, the king leaned backwards, resting his head against the wall and closing his eyes.

He was so very, very vulnerable, but Draco didn’t have it in him to be cruel. Instead he sipped the king’s wine and watched the king decompress from the day’s pressure.

“I used to like my birthday,” King Harry finally said, his eyes still closed.

Draco let the words hang between them for a moment. “What changed?” he finally asked.

King Harry’s face pinched. “Someone had to do the right thing, and it was as easy for me to do it as it would have been for anyone.”

“Is the right thing hosting elaborate parties for people you despise?” Draco inquired, figuring the king had rested enough to face Draco’s questions.

Instead of being upset, King Harry just laughed. “They tell me it is,” he said.

“Hmmm… ‘they,’ a formidable force,” drawled Draco.

The king shrugged. “Hermoine, McGonagall, Andromeda…”

“Are they your Small Council?” Draco asked, perhaps too pointed a dig.

“I don’t get to choose my Small Council,” the king grumbled.

Draco’s laugh was cold. “You’re the king, you do whatever you want.”

King Harry did sit up then. The softness around his edges once again hard. He gazed at Draco the way he stared at any of the courtiers he didn’t care for over the course of the day. Draco himself slumped, only then realizing they’d had a moment and the moment was over. Draco looked away first rather than contend with the king’s brittle boundaries.

“We should be getting back,” said the king.

Draco hated these small moments of rejection. He thought he’d always hate the king for having lost to him in the war, and truly that still stung. However, it was Draco’s own foolish choice to play in a fantasy world where he had never been in the war at all that caused him the most harm. Draco knew exactly what his life would be like if the king was open to seeing him as someone other than a Malfoy.

Draco gripped his wineglass tightly and breathed deep. He liked who he was. People he cared for liked who he was. People he hardly knew saw potential in him for who he was. He didn’t need the approval of the king, or all those strangers in the ballroom who would crawl over him and Teddy for a shred of power. He didn’t want to play their game. He was just on edge from the hours spent in the company of so many people he couldn’t trust. He didn’t know how to reign in his frazzledness.

God, the disapproval Lucius would feel towards Draco for that. It hung heaviest of all on Draco’s shoulders. He was just the wrong sort of Malfoy no matter who was there to judge him for it.

“I think I’d rather stay out here, if it’s all the same,” Draco choked out, ashamed that his voice wobbled.

“It’s not. You can’t.” The king’s words were so matter of fact. “Your absence will be noted. You should probably go back in first.”

Draco wrapped his arms across his chest and squeezed himself. He tried to joke to cover up his turmoil. “You know, Ronald asked me to babysit you since he thought you’d get drunk and embarrass yourself. It was a mad idea, and I suppose no good deed goes unpunished.”

The words lit an anger in the king. “Why would he say that to you?” emphasis on the ‘to you’ part, Draco noted. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Draco struggled not to roll his eyes but managed to maintain his composure. He did snark, “That’s good, because I’m not a babysitter.”

“You watch Teddy well enough,” the king snarked back.

Draco squeezed his hands into fists and pulled his arms in tighter. “Certainly you know I am not Teddy’s babysitter,” Draco said through gritted teeth.

The king snorted. “Then what are you?” he asked.

It was like the floor fell out from under Draco. There was nothing to steady him. Draco had no words to answer King Harry’s question. Teddy had parents. They were murdered by Draco’s own family. Teddy had a devoted and loving grandmother who was present in his life. Teddy had a godfather who might be rough around the edges but also was trying to put Teddy on the throne. Teddy had so many people who Draco knew on paper were more to him than Draco could ever be. Draco didn’t dare claim the same standing.

“He said you’d get drunk and offend half the courtiers,” Draco reflected. “Since you’re starting with me, you can just tell the rest I went to bed with the other servants and I’m sure everyone will understand your meaning just fine.”

Draco didn’t wait for an answer. He just left. Uncharitably, it could be called running away.

Today had been too much. The king had been right that Draco didn’t understand how court worked. Draco was overwhelmed. He didn’t want to be cruel, but he refused to let cruelty be inflicted on him.

“Draco, wait,” the king called after him. Draco didn’t wait. The king was forced to chase after him. “Draco, stop,” he said more insistently. Then a moment later, when he caught up enough to Draco to pull on his arm. “Damnit, I’m the king, could you for once listen to me?”

Draco yanked hard to force the king to let him go. “What are you going to do about it? Banish me? Throw me in the dungeon? Cut off my head and celebrate over my corpse?”

“Don’t be petulant,” the king scolded.

“Why the hell not?” Draco’s voice was too loud but he couldn’t stop himself. “You had me walk behind you in procession, as if I were family. Then the moment you get a chance you make clear that was a lie. You’re using me and it’s awful and I hate it.”

The king didn’t even look upset. His face showed nothing substantive. Draco felt lower than ever facing this brick wall of a man. He wanted the words to say something awful enough to break through but all the words that came to mind would hurt Draco most.

“You’re going home tomorrow. Just keep it together for tonight,” the king directed.

Draco clenched his jaw. He seethed, “This is me keeping it together. I have the good sense to walk away before doing something I can’t come back from.”

The king’s face darkened. “Is that a threat?”

Draco threw up his hands. “Yes, that’s a threat,” he mocked. “Scary Draco Malfoy is going to do some minor treason against the king.” Then, more bitter than even Draco intended, “I don’t know why you didn’t just fucking kill me to begin with.”

The dark shadow across the king’s features deepened. He stepped forward to loom over Draco. “I didn’t kill you because restoration is expensive and Horace Slughorn was the only one who knew where the money was kept. We knew he’d turn tail and run unless he thought I was serious about reconciliation. When we announced your pardon he opened up the vaults.” The king’s glare somehow darkened further. “I voted we chance your mother’s pardon being enough, so you could be executed with your father. Sadly, no one else agreed.”

The king’s wrath somehow steadied Draco. It was an old and familiar menace he’d long ago learned to brave. “A pity your powers of persuasion haven’t improved since then. Maybe if you’d gotten any better you wouldn’t be having such trouble in court.” Draco had found something biting to say, afterall.

The king’s anger fully broke through and he growled out his rage and stomped a few steps away from Draco to fume. “Why do they like you?” King Harry demanded to know. “Andromeda, Percy, Luna, What have you done to wheedle your way into their affection?”

“Don’t forget George,” Draco added. “He’s grown quite keen on me, too.”

The king pointed at Draco. “That! You always do that. You always have the last word. You make a joke out of everything serious. You refuse to keep your mouth shut and behave.”

“And that’s what you want from your friends. You go to Andromeda and say ‘keep your mouth shut and behave!’ You tell Ronald ‘be more serious.’”

“You’re not my friend!” the king all but howled.

Draco yelled back. “My apologies, your majesty! Let me lick your boots and toady up to you. That clearly brings you so much pleasure. Which is why you ran off from the room filled with your sycophants!”

“Stop blowing everything out of proportion. I’m just saying to be normal!”

“But I’m not normal!” Draco snapped. “We’re not normal,” he insisted. “You conquered me. You stripped away all my possessions. You killed nearly everyone I love and tried to kill me - twice! You resent that I’m not dead. What is normal to that? What use is even pretending none of this happened? One conversation with you and it’s right back in my face exactly who I am and what my place is.”

“Don’t make yourself out to be a victim in this,” said the king.

Draco dismissed his concern with a wave. “No, no. I was an exceptionally evil child who condoned all the vicious choices of my king.”

The king loomed again. “They were your father’s choices. Voldermort was on the throne, but Lucius commanded the kingdom. Don’t think I don’t know how devoted you were to your father. There’s not one doubt in my mind you would take up arms for his cause if he were still here.”

That was true, Draco supposed. He could never have let his father go if he were still alive. It was only clear now the many ways Draco had let his father go. In the castle, Draco’s choices to live life differently were starkly juxtaposed against how his father would have had him live it. Still… “You never even knew your parents, but you’re still trying to make them proud,” Draco said. “Don’t judge me for loving mine, too.”

The king grabbed Draco by his coat collar and slammed him back into a wall. His face was furious. Too late, Draco realized that mentioning the king’s parents crossed a line too dangerous even for Draco.

“Harry!” It was Hermione who saved Draco. “What on earth are you doing?”

King Harry released Draco at once and Draco staggered.

“It’s nothing,” the king said, his voice still a growl.

Hermione looked between both men and only looked more worried from what she saw. Something more pressing forced her to push the issue aside. “You disappeared. People have been wondering about it.” She glanced significantly at Draco.

“Christ, Hermione, what gossip are they spinning now?” the king grumbled.

Hermione pursed her lips without responding. “It’s time you get back. Before Prince Krum’s arrival.”

The king swore. He stalked down the hallway for a moment to give himself air. Several deep breaths later he came back. “Alright. I’m ready.”

Hermione looked him over from head to toe before nodding her approval. “Best go in then.” She glanced at Draco. “But not together.”

Draco buried his face in his hands and bit back a groan. What was his life?

“Fine. Handle him,” the king said, clearly referring to Draco.

Draco didn’t have energy left to be offended. Besides, at least the king finally walked away.

Chapter Text

Hermione must have been angry because she didn’t yell at Draco. Instead, with minimal explanation, she foisted him off on Andromeda and stormed away.

Draco was on edge after his fight with the king. He was afraid to look at his aunt. He expected her to be stern. He expected to see hints of Aunt Bellatrix’s anger, like when he first met Andromeda and couldn’t tell the sisters apart. 

Andromeda walked to Draco and lifted his chin up until he would meet her gaze. He resisted, but her stubbornness was stronger than even Draco’s. It was Draco’s will that gave out and he flickered his eyes up to his aunt’s. Andromeda’s gaze held none of the terrifying emotions Draco had been prepared for. She looked on him only with compassion. It hurt to see such kindness. It opened up something in his heart that was just waiting for permission to ache. Andromeda’s gentleness gave him that permission, and before Draco understood what was happening he was sobbing out big, ugly tears. The sort of tears his father had said were for children, not grown men. Andromeda pulled Draco against her and held him as he cried, letting him drip tears onto her elegant silk shawl that Draco was certainly ruining.

“I know you think you’re being asked to do more than you can,” Andromeda murmured in Draco’s ear, “but that’s only because you do not yet know what you’re capable of.” She gently pulled Draco away from her shoulder and cupped his face in her hands. “You are not what you were raised to be. You’re not what I judged you as. You’re only the person you chose to become, a person who loves others more than yourself and who’s love gives you strength to do what otherwise would be impossible.”

“That’s not me,” insisted Draco. He didn’t feel like a person who loved deeply now, only a person who was tired and hurt and who said mean, prideful things when he got angry.

Andromeda smiled gently at him. “It is. Which is how I know you will find the strength to make yourself presentable, and then you will escort me back to the king’s party.”

Draco gripped her hands and stared imploringly. “Why do I need to go back at all? I’m not good at this. I keep screwing it up.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Andromeda stated without a shred of doubt.

“I told the king-”

“Draco, he is the king. It is his responsibility to act with grace and treat his people with respect. It is not your fault he does that part of the job so poorly.” It was Andromeda’s exasperated look, at the king’s expense instead of Draco’s, that convinced Draco she was serious. “The king needs a partner who can ease the weight of managing court without being so self serving they will undermine the work Harry is good at, which is serving the people of this kingdom. We’ve invited a special guest tonight who might just be the one, but we must be a united front and show that Harry is a good choice. It would be easier to run away, but the people you love need you. Never again will I doubt your ability to deliver for the ones you love.”

Draco remembered George’s plan: rehabilitate the king. There was no way George knew it was the same goal Andromeda had. Everyone seemed to think King Harry needed help to find a husband.

As Draco had said, he, the most lowly of nobles, certainly wouldn’t marry the king. If King Harry didn’t get help, what chance did he have to secure someone who’d actually be worthy of the throne?

So, Draco did make himself presentable. He accepted Andromeda’s handkerchief and scrubbed his face clean of tears. He let Andromeda tidy and smooth out his clothes. At the last minute, Andromeda undid Draco’s silver cravat with the pink one Teddy had borrowed off him earlier in the day. “Tell them Teddy asked you to wear it, after the king left from bidding Teddy goodnight.” It was one of many small details Andromeda drilled into him on the walk back to the ballroom.

“Why do I need to say that?” Draco asked after the third instruction.

“They’re gossiping about you. We need to cull the rumors before they disrupt our plans,” was Andromeda’s vague explanation.

Draco’s stomach flipped. He was so tired from already having spoken with more people today than he had in perhaps the last three years. He wanted to go back to being invisible at Grimmauld Place instead of facing a gaggle of gossiping courtiers.

The party was at full tilt when the pair walked in. Those who desired gossip more than dancing still stood near the entrance and turned their eyes to Draco and Andromeda when the herald announced them. Draco could feel eyes raking over him and nearly flenched under the scrutiny. Only, he could handle this. If Teddy were next to him Draco would not hesitate, no matter how exhausted or in over his head Draco was. He could harness that same strength to survive the evening and accomplish whatever task everyone thought it critical he be present for. So, Draco rallied.

He pulled on a polite smile and nodded graciously to anyone seeking his acknowledgement. He must have done well enough, since after a few minutes Andromeda introduced him to a pair of eager courtiers before kissing Draco on the cheek and leaving on her way.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again, Draco!” said one of the courtiers. Draco realized they had met. This man had attended Luna’s picnic. He had thought Draco one of the servants.

Draco tried to add warmth to his smile. “Yes, quite.” He could hardly focus on the people he was talking to. Instead, he was nervous about every tiny thing. Draco didn’t know what to do with his hands now that he wasn’t holding onto Andromeda. He remembered King Harry’s awkward attempt to shove his own hands into his dress pockets. He didn’t want to do anything foolish like that! So, Draco held his hands rigid at his sides, probably broadcasting his awkwardness to everyone watching.

“So you and the king then?” his friend pried. She raised a brow in the least subtle attempt to suggest hidden meaning.

Draco wasn’t sure he got the meaning. To buy time, he looked around the room for the king. As always, he wasn’t too hard to spot.

King Harry was among the elegant dancers, being led by a tall, thin man with dark hair and eyes, and impeccably made clothes that stood out from everyone by being completely black. “I believe his majesty is over there,” Draco said, pointing. He probably was watching too long, his curiosity getting the better of him. The two men looked good together. Regal.

The picnic man prodded and distracted Draco from his thoughts. “Earlier, though, when you left together?”

It was some solace for Draco that these people were worse at courtly intrigue than Draco. He couldn’t imagine what they were actually hoping Draco would say. Hearing the question asked so blatantly, though, did explain why everyone thought it important to address the rumors. “You mean when his godson asked for him?” he asked.

“But you were in here for an hour before you left. Surely you couldn’t have known his godson was asking just then,” the woman said, her eyes shining with glee like she had caught Draco out.

Ah, they knew he’d been lying about that. Thankfully Andromeda had coached him through his response. Draco allowed his smile to wane, even if he wasn’t sure he accomplished the confused expression he hoped to use to replace it. “He goes to bed at the same time every night. I had to wait until he would be ready,” Draco fabricated an explanation.

The woman looked crestfallen at Draco’s easy evasion.

“Why have you changed your clothes?” the picnic man asked, pointing at Draco’s cravat.

Draco looked down at it. “Don’t you recognize this? The duke was wearing it earlier. He asked me to wear it after he went to bed.”

Now both courtiers looked doubtful. Not at Draco, but rather at whatever the rumors about Draco had been saying.

“Ah, excuse me. I think I see a friend calling me over,” Draco lied to have an excuse to leave the conversation, hoping he’d stayed long enough and said the right things so the new gossip would be in Draco’s favor.

Unfortunately, the path Draco took to escape led him past someone he wished he wasn’t familiar with.

“Draco! You look marvelous. Come, tell me how your summer has been since your charming picnic,” Colton was somehow more charming and more overbearing than the previous duo. Also, Draco felt on much shakier ground on how to answer. He wished he had something in his hands so they’d have something to do.

“You’re too kind, Colton,” Draco deflected, as he’d seen his mother do when complimented at court. He leaned into self deprecation for the rest. “Summer in the countryside is so peaceful. I’m better suited to a picnic than to so fancy a ball as this.” He tried to think of a question so he could let Colton talk until it was appropriate to leave. “You look so natural here. What do you do with your hands to stop them being awkward?” Draco lifted his hands awkwardly to demonstrate his struggle.

It surprised a genuine laugh out of Colton, and for a moment the man looked like the younger version of himself that Draco once played with. “Well, let’s start with holding a drink,” Colton suggested, nabbing two glasses of wine from a passing waiter and handing one off to Draco. Colton tapped their glasses together and drank, so Draco followed suit. Draco gulped at the cup, probably more than was appropriate and certainly more than Colton had.

“Do you suppose the king drinks so much at these events because he feels awkward, too?” Draco asked.

Colton laughed again, but this time it drummed up memories of an older boy who had turned cruel. “What wicked things you say,” Colton murmured.

Draco’s face flamed in embarrassment. “That was inappropriate, I’m sorry.”

“No, not at all,” Colton appeased. “Clearly, you and the king are quite familiar. You’re probably used to saying such things to him.”

Draco frowned, uncertain at Colton’s meaning. He tried to remember Andromeda’s coaching but she had not prepared him for this. She had said, though, when in doubt try to be honest. “I don’t really speak to him much at all.”

“I thought you must,” Colton said. His gaze held steady on Draco, building pressure for Draco to explain. It was Draco’s nature to chatter and joke in stressful situations, but he understood now what everyone said about him being more careful here. Colton would take advantage of any wrong move Draco made. So, Draco held out, and Colton was the one to speak next. “How did you get him to attend your picnic?’

“Oh, Luna invited him,” Draco explained. “They’re good friends.”

“Have you two not also become good friends? I hear he visits you frequently.”

“Uh,” Draco stumbled. “He visits Teddy frequently, I just live there.”

“I thought you called him Edward?” Colton said with humor much more sinister than Hermione’s had been.

Draco tried to laugh it off. “What a dunce you must think me. It was only a few years ago we were matched in social skill, but it seems you’ve outpaced me in every way.”

Colton hummed and tapped his chin. “You might think that, but I haven’t been able to get the king to come to any of my parties,” he tried to say it airily but Draco could hear the jealousy in the remarks.

“Oh, he seemed quite fond of you at the picnic,” remarked Draco.

Colton let his affable mask slip to narrow his eyes at Draco. “Does it upset you, knowing he was quite fond of me?”

Draco didn’t have to fake confusion this time. “No?” it sounded more like a question.Even if it was a little bit of a lie.

Colton pursed his lips. “What about him?” he pointed at the dance floor, where the king was gliding by in the arms of the other man. Up close, Draco could see his sharp profile. He had thick eyebrows and dark eyes, and while his nose was large and curved, his jaw was strong and together it came off as ruggedly handsome. “Does it upset you knowing the king hopes to be quite fond of the prince?”

Once again, Draco stared a moment longer than he should. He was unpracticed at withholding his thoughts. “They make a handsome pair, don’t they?” he said, his voice cold enough to imply emotion. Draco could see the gleam back in Colton’s eye and imagined he had once again said the wrong thing. In fact, while Draco was only still upset with the king for his earlier treatment towards Draco, it was entirely possible Colton thought he was jealous. “Do you think the prince would be a good husband for the king?” Draco asked to see if he could prevent further blunders by having Colton talk.

On this, Colton was willing to talk. He scoffed at the very question. “What do we need a foreign prince for? The king is practically foreign, having been raised in the north. He should marry someone of a true bloodline who can guide him in the ways of our kingdom.”

Draco was pleased with himself for not asking who Colton thought would be the best fit for that job. He nearly smiled at his ability to show restraint. Instead he asked another question. “Do you think that’s possible? They’re getting on well, and it would be a good match for both parties.”

This time Colton’s smug expression gave himself away. “These things have a way of working themselves out,” he said elusively. Colton glanced at Draco then, his eyes flickering over Draco’s body in a way that left Draco feeling slimy.

Draco licked his lips nervously, gripping the cup of wine that he was too nervous to keep drinking less it loosen his tongue. He was not winning this tête-à-tête and felt an overwhelming desire to leave. “Ah, excuse me. I think I see a friend calling me over,” he lied again, this time more awkwardly than the last. For the second time tonight it felt like he was running away. He didn’t actually run. In fact, he made a point of walking steadily as if he had no care in the world, still pausing to smile and nod to courtiers as he passed. He walked right up to Neville Longbottom, who he didn’t actually know well enough to call a friend. But Draco was desperate and he was willing to plead. “Please talk to me about anything so Colton Slughorn doesn’t know I used you as an excuse to run away from him.”

Neville paused only a moment, then he bellowed out a laugh that drew glances from everyone around. Neville clapped Draco on the shoulder and said, “If you insist. It just so happens I had the most fascinating encounter with a family of moles that were tunneling under my tomatoes.” It was not a fascinating encounter, but if Colton was watching he would be convinced Draco was riveted.

The evening dragged on. After Neville, Draco stumbled through stilted conversation after stilted conversation. The courtiers had different levels of skill, but one thread was constant between the conversations: what was Draco’s relationship with the king?

Were they good friends? No, Draco was the king’s godson’s cousin and friends with his majesty’s friends. Did they spend time together when the king visited? Not much, they shared meals and occasionally spent time together with the king’s godson. Was the king always so affectionate towards Draco? Draco answered that with a question - was the king being affectionate towards Draco? Draco had hardly talked to him the entire evening.

No one shared the gossip directly with Draco, but he was beginning to get the idea.

Just as Draco saw the courtiers begin to trail out for the evening and he soared with hope, the hope crashed down hard. While he’d been watching the door and dreaming of his bed, someone had walked up to greet him.

“Lord Malfoy,” said the Prince, with only the mildest of accents.

Draco was caught so off guard he actually jumped. “Your majesty!” he gasped, before dropping into a bow. Once again he wished he bowed lower to show deference, but he still hadn’t trained himself into the habit.

Prince Viktor Krum smiled politely at Draco. “I have been seeking to make your acquaintance.”

“Me?” Draco squeaked.

“Certainly. Would you care to dance?” the prince asked.

Draco looked around as if there would be anyone nearby to give him the correct answer. He had been tired before he arrived, and after hours of making a fool of himself in front of courtiers his brain was drained and he wished only to collapse. It was enough that he would reject anyone else’s advances. However, Andromeda had made it clear how much it mattered that the king find the right match. The right match would help the kingdom, but maybe more importantly Draco’s friends and family. He could muster up a smile and accept the prince’s offer.

Prince Viktor led Draco gracefully to the dance floor. Draco stepped into position next to him. The music started and Prince Viktor took the first step, gracefully leading Draco across the dancefloor. Draco was thankful he had attended two balls and had knocked the worst of the rust off his feet. He quickly unlocked the muscle memory of his years of practice, allowing him to meet the prince’s skill and precision. The music picked up tempo and so did Prince Viktor’s steps. Draco matched him beat for beat. The prince led Draco in a series of twirls that left Draco laughing from the dizzy sensation.

“You’re too fast for me!” Draco admitted.

The prince didn’t slow down. Draco looked at the prince’s face and did not see Draco’s good humor reflected there. Suddenly, Draco grew nervous and his steps stumbled again, the blunder noticeable to the crowds watching. Only then did the prince slow down.

After a moment of tense dancing Prince Viktor broke the silence. “I have heard much about you this evening,” stated the prince, staring past Draco instead of at him.

Draco tensed, hard enough that the king most certainly felt it where their arms joined. “I’ve been trying to catch the gossip myself, but everyone’s so coy. What are they saying?”

“That you are the king’s secret lover,” Prince Viktor said bluntly.

Once again Draco laughed, so authentically that it drew the prince actually looked at him. “What am I supposed to say to that?” Draco asked. The prince couldn’t know Draco’s true struggle, that while the rumor was completely fabricated, he also could not fully call it an untruth.

Ignoring Draco’s question, Prince Viktor said, “I will not be cuckolded.”

“Fabulous. I will not be sleeping with the king. It’s a win/win if I ever heard one,” snarked Draco, unable to help himself.

“You say you are not the king’s lover?” the prince asked. His piercing dark eyes burrowed into Draco.

“Heavens, no,” Draco insisted. “He doesn’t even like me. I don’t know where the rumor even came from.”

“They say you are intimate together.”

Draco’s mind flashed to the memory of thrusting into the king. He knew he was blushing and worried it would give him away. Draco cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, um, I do not have occasion to be, um, intimate with… you see… well I live with my aunt and this is the first time she’s allowed me out…” he stuttered over the words, aiming to hide his guilt behind youthful naivete.

Prince Viktor shook his head. “I used the wrong word. Affectionate. They say you are affectionate together.”

This just left Draco baffled. “We’ve hardly exchanged two words,” other than the fight, which clearly no one had heard, “these rumors are fabrications.”

“They say you make him laugh,” the prince countered. “The king doesn’t laugh.”

Draco gaped at the prince, at a loss for words. “Because the king is perpetually grumpy, they’ve decided I’m his secret lover?” he asked.

The prince’s shrug was elegant. “You are his lover, or he wants you to be,” he said as if it didn’t matter which. Draco tried to pull away from the prince but Prince Viktor gripped his hand tighter. “I want to know your character, Draco. I have good friends who I trust to tell me about the king, but no one can tell me about you.”

“There’s nothing to know. I am a nobody, the king thinks of me as no more than a babysitter for his godson,” said Draco, his heart aching to admit it to this stranger.

Prince Viktor shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “Tell me your character. Why should I trust you?”

The song was coming to a stop, but neither man walked off the dance floor.

“I would never do anything that hurt Teddy,” Draco said as honestly as he could.

The prince stared at him, considering. “Can you say now that you have never and would never sleep with the king?”

Draco couldn’t hold back his shock at the question, so bluntly put before him. Prince Viktor stared at him with such intensity Draco believed he would see through any lie Draco might make. Draco gulped, afraid to say anything at all.

The prince didn’t make Draco sit long in his silence. Instead, Prince Viktor shared the smallest of smiles. He lifted Draco’s hand and kissed the back of it. “I am glad we had this conversation,” he said. Then the prince bowed respectfully and left Draco still shellshocked on the dance floor.

Chapter Text

The sun was high in the sky by the time Draco woke up. He rolled over and flung a blanket over his head to block out the light. He didn’t know how long he laid there, drifting in and out of sleep, trying not to dream of social disasters.

He had to get up eventually, even if he felt like death warmed over. Draco’s body felt leaden from exhaustion. His head ached. It was like he was hungover but he’d hardly drank the night before. Draco trudged through his morning routine despite the late hour. He didn’t question why he’d been left alone for half the day when there must have been a busy schedule he should be attending to. He wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, he appreciated the moment given to him and basked in the quiet and solitude.

Draco was half dressed and munching on crackers he’d stored for the long trip when someone knocked at his door. He assumed it would be a servant or his aunt, and didn’t concern himself with putting on so much as a waistcoat for formality’s sake.

Which of course is how he wound up wearing only a linen blouse and trousers in front of the king.

“Oh, good morning, your majesty,” said Draco. Polite was the safe choice and safe seemed good at the moment.

The king stared at him a moment too long before he shook his head to refocus. “It’s half past two,” he said.

“Ah, well, good afternoon your majesty,” said Draco, not overthinking how he must have slept in past noon.

The king clearly did not know what to do with Draco’s nonchalance. His lips twitched into a frown. “Might I come in for a moment?” he finally asked.

Draco blinked. Going alone somewhere where they might rehash last evening’s fight was a terrible idea, and being alone in Draco’s room was exactly the sort of thing that would cause gossip. He leaned out of the room to look down one side of the hallway and then the other. No one was there. Besides, the gossip was already in full swing, and Draco would prefer to get yelled at in private instead of out in the hall. “I don’t suppose it’ll make a difference,” muttered Draco. He walked back into his room, leaving the door open behind him.

The king followed him slowly, taking his time to survey Draco’s space as he entered it. There wasn’t much to see, but Draco had managed to make a mess of the space regardless. Pieces of his fancy outfit were left strewn about the room. His small trunk of clothes was open with the contents scattered. The bed was tousled from a night of uneasy sleep. Draco plopped himself down in the chair by the window as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He was once again munching on crackers, leaving crumbs in his wake.

“I had imagined you as tidy,” the king remarked without any bite.

A wiser person would stop making a scene, but Draco was hungry and apparently had missed two meals. He grinned at the king and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll clean up before I leave.” The king then watched Draco shove two crackers in his mouth at once and chew obnoxiously, making more crumbs.

“Your servants will have a hard time of it if you continue on like that,” King Harry said dryly.

Draco laughed, covering his mouth with a hand to block the mess from view. He gulped water to help swallow his snack down. “I don’t have servants. I’ll clean up after myself.” Instead of responding, the king tilted his head for a moment and examined Draco as if he had done something unexpected. Draco looked out the window instead of meeting the king’s gaze. “How can I help you, your majesty?” he said to the birds flying past the castle. He braced himself to be scolded.

The king cleared his throat and shuffled his feet before finding his words. In his stiffest tone, King Harry announced, “My apologies for my behavior yesterday evening.”

That drew Draco’s attention away from the birds. He turned back to gaze skeptically at the other man. King Harry stood rigidly, his gaze fixed at a point above Draco’s head instead of staring directly at him. He looked pained. “Did Andromeda set you up to this?” Draco asked.

One of the king’s eyes twitched. He narrowed his gaze and met Draco’s eyes straight on. “What, you don’t think I’d do it myself?” he snapped.

Draco shrugged. “Seems out of character,” he admitted.

Now the king was full on glowering. “It is not out of character. I’m man enough to admit when I made a mistake.”

“Are you, though?” Draco asked, because he was not ‘man enough’ to let his pettiness go.

All pretense at formality was dropped and the king crossed his arms across his chest and glared. “I’m here, aren’t I? I recognize I was out of line, and I apologize.”

Draco marveled that the king seemed to be insistent on the matter, belligerently so. It was entirely unexpected. Not that Draco trusted a bit of what the king was saying. Surely the other foot was about to drop. He prodded further to test his suspicions. “Pray tell, what exactly is it you’re apologizing for?”

“You’re really going to do this?” said the king, his hands now on his hips.

Draco snorted. “You can see I’ve been doing nothing. This is all you.”

The king groaned and rubbed his temples. “You’re as bad as Hermione. Fine. I’m sorry that I yelled at you.”

Draco nibbled on a cracker as he considered that. After a moment, he said, “And?”

The king was back to glaring. “And… I’m sorry I treated you poorly after you did me the favor of taking care of Teddy.”

Draco propped his chin up on his hand and maintained a no nonsense look. “And?”

“Seriously?” The king gawked. Draco arched a brow but otherwise did not respond. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry I bullied you into going to the party where everyone was lousy to you?”

Draco didn’t want to press his luck, but he was entirely unimpressed by the exchange. “I’m actually stuck on what you said about wanting me dead, before you shoved me into the wall, where I’m fairly certain you planned on pummeling me,” Draco deadpanned.

The king had the good sense to look ashamed. Then he said the most unexpected thing. “I don’t want you dead, Draco.”

That statement was so unfathomable that Draco realized this entire conversation must be a farce. Draco choked out a laugh. “Oh, alright then. Well, this has been lovely. I accept your apology, thank you for stopping by.”

The king did not leave the room. “You’re a terrible liar,” he told Draco.

“I am being polite,” Draco sneered back. “We’ve sorted out our animosity and can now move on as gentlemanly acquaintances.”

“You’re also fairly bad at being polite,” said the king. 

Draco did an exaggerated gasp. “Now you’re insulting my character.”

“I’m really trying not to,” the king said, not rising to Draco’s bait. It pulled the wind from Draco’s sails and he slumped back into his chair, not having the energy to try to rile the king up further if the king was sincerely not going to rise to the bait. Besides, Draco didn’t actually want to fight.

The king offered a small, authentic smile at Draco. “I am sorry, Draco. There is no excuse for my behavior. I am not here for forgiveness, I just hoped I could give you peace of mind that I am not upset at you and, in fact, I am in your debt.”

Maybe this is what Andromeda had meant, when she said it was the king’s job to act with grace and be respectful. King Harry had acted atrocious, but that was par for the course. She said the king was bad acting otherwise, perhaps because it took him three years to give it a go. Draco didn’t dare trust the king was being sincere, but he found it did mean something that the king was willing to at least pretend. A part of him actually felt a bit guilty about it, though, like he was pulling a trick over on the king. The king certainly didn't owe him anything after how badly Draco botched up the party.

“I think I ruined your chances with Prince Viktor,” Draco confessed before he could lose his nerve. He felt he had to say it, so the king didn’t get the wrong impression and get angry all over again at Draco later.

“Pardon?” That was clearly not what the king expected to hear.

Draco gulped. “I just wanted you to know. You couldn’t possibly owe me anything, since I messed up the party so badly.”

The king’s brows were furrowed in thought instead of anger. “How do you think you did that?”

“Er,” Draco said eloquently. He turned away from the king and looked back out the window, but the birds were gone. He kept looking outside, too uncomfortable to have this conversation directly. He could feel his face heating up even just for considering explaining himself. “The prince might have directly accused us of being secret lovers and I wasn’t able to convince him otherwise.”

There was a long pause, and then the king was laughing. It was a deep, rumbling laugh that came from deep within his chest. “Did he really say that?” the king inquired, disbelieving.

Draco risked a glance at the king and saw him smirking. “Directly, yes. ‘I will not be cuckolded,’ was another memorable phrase,” Draco shared, doing his best to mimic Prince Viktor’s accent.

The king barked out another laugh. “Blimey.” He looked as if he were trying to picture the exchange. “How did you respond?”

“Well, obviously I laughed,” he said, indicating the king’s own reaction. The king smirked at the idea. “Then I insisted there was nothing to the rumor and you didn’t even like me. But he didn’t believe me, because apparently you laughed at one of the stupid things I said and people took that as us being affectionate. I probably should have just told him that you were trying to cover for my embarrassing behavior, but the moment passed too quickly and I didn’t think of it.”

The king looked perplexed. “You weren’t embarrassing,” was his answer.

Draco made a face. He unquestionably had been. “In either case, the prince implied he wasn’t going to make the match. I’m sorry I ruined it.”

The king sighed. “Don’t give yourself too much credit. The only reason the rumor had traction is because of all the other times I had what they might call a ‘secret lover’.” The king paused there to pull a face. Not embarrassed, but aware of how he was characterized in the gossip. “It was always going to increase scrutiny on an arranged marriage. If I ask Hermione to help, I’m sure we could redeem the situation.”

“Do you think?” Draco asked, suddenly hopeful.

The king’s lips twisted. “Maybe. I’m not particularly fond of the idea.”

“Why not? He’s clearly sophisticated, he could handle the court, and, in case you don’t have eyes, he’s quite handsome.”

The king sighed again. “Didn’t you think he was a bit dull?”

Draco considered it carefully. “He’s an exceptional dancer, and our conversation was not dull.”

“Fine, side with Andromeda. I told her if I haven’t found anyone better by November I’ll go grovel to Krum and we’ll make the match,” the king said sullenly.

“Why are you so put out? Isn’t this what you wanted?” Draco asked.

For the first time this morning the king stepped back into the role he played at the ball, looking at Draco once again like he was anyone else at court. Draco could practically see the mask pulled on over the king’s face. The king’s polite smile did not meet his eyes. “I look forward to my impending matrimony,” he recited, clearly lines he’d spoken many times before.

Draco sighed heavily. It was less jarring this time to see the king close himself off. It felt less personal. Draco wanted to push him, but again remembered he wasn’t looking to get into a fight. He felt suddenly as exhausted as he’d been the previous evening. He wrapped his arms around himself and turned again to look at the window.

“Well, you’re quite the catch, I’m sure it’ll all work out,” Draco said to the clouds.

There was a long, long pause before the king spoke. “You really are bad at lying.” Draco was too curious not to glance at the king and catch sight of his long face. The king cleared his throat and forced a polite smile. “I’ve taken up too much of your time. Safe travels home.” The king saw himself out.

Chapter Text

“Rumors are a nasty business,” Percy consoled. Draco hadn’t told him anything, but even Percy had heard. “You say they’re unfounded?”

Draco looked up from his poor attempt to embroider a flower. “Are you suggesting they might be well founded?” he asked, just to be a jerk about it.

Percy was immediately flustered. “Well, Charlie…” he said, referencing the older brother all the Weasleys were still upset with King Harry over. It had been long enough Draco privately thought maybe they should move on, but the Weasleys were a loyal bunch.

Draco grimaced sympathetically. “Point taken. But, no, they’re quite unfounded. Apparently I scandalized the court by making the king laugh.”

“You are very witty,” Audrey acknowledged. Draco preened at the compliment. Audrey was embroidering perfect flowers that made Draco’s look even messier by comparison, but it was fine because the Weasleys liked him enough to let him visit and practice.

“Ron makes the king laugh all the time, and I’ve never heard any rumors about that,” Percy remarked.

Draco’s lips twitched upwards. “I don’t know how to say this delicately, but no one would suspect the king and Ronald would…” he did try to find a delicate way of saying it, but his struggle was cut off by Audrey giggling and Percy huffing and rolling his eyes.

“Why not? I’m not the best judge, but I’m sure Ron would be considered attractive,” Percy continued.

Draco distinctly remembered the celery looking quite attractive running in snug green tights. “I’ll judge for you and reassure you that all the Weasleys are quite fit.” Draco wiggled his eyebrows at Percy, spurring on more giggles from Audrey and an even more flustered friend.

“Dear, Draco is saying that not only is Ron happily married, but he is straight as an arrow,” Audrey explained.

Draco nodded his agreement while struggling to keep the lines of his flower straight. “I think my garden will look particularly rustic,” he predicted.

“It’s charming,” Audrey assured him.

Draco beamed at them both, just because he was happy.

“Do you think the king will marry Prince Krum, then?” Percy inquired.

Draco shrugged. “I’m surprised you’re even following this. I thought you didn’t attend court.”

Percy pursed his lips. He was uncomfortable with gossip at the best of times and didn’t seem to have warmed up to it in this instance. “They’re talking about it at work,” Percy admitted.

Draco blinked, surprised. He didn’t understand Percy’s job, but he knew it had to do with numbers and accounts. “Would you like something salacious to share?” he asked, sure he could come up with something that would help Percy gain social standing.

Percy actually shuddered. “No, thank you,” he said definitively. “It’s just Lord Slughorn keeps making comments about it. He’s upset that Prince Krum was even invited to the king’s birthday.”

A sly smile crossed Draco’s face. “Percy, you do realize you’re sharing salacious gossip with me?”

Percy’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean to!” he insisted.

Audrey patted Percy’s knee. She comforted her husband, “It’s only a rumor if Draco shares it with someone else.”

Draco nodded. “And who would I tell?”

“Andromeda,” said Percy.

“Luna,” said Audrey.

“Ron,” Percy actually looked upset at the idea.

“George,” Audrey exchanged a look and a shudder with her husband at that one.

Draco pouted. “Fine, I won’t tell anyone, but only because you’re such a good friend.” It was Percy’s turn to preen, and Draco couldn’t even feel bad about his promise because it made Percy so happy. “Besides, Lord Slughorn is only upset since he’s trying to marry Colton off to the king. They all probably know that, anyway.”

“Is he really? That would be a fine match,” Percy said, suddenly excited.

Draco frowned down at his flower, suddenly seeing faults in it he hadn’t noticed before. He jabbed the fabric with his needle, resentful that he wasn’t any good at this. “Why do you say that?” Draco asked glumly.

“The Slughorns are a very old family, well respected. It would show the king’s commitment to reconciliation,” Percy explained, taking a tone Draco had never heard from another Weasley.

“Haven’t we finished with all that?” Draco asked.

Percy and Audrey exchanged another look, but this time Draco didn’t follow it. “The king is a reformer,” Audrey tried to explain, only Draco didn’t know what that meant.

“I see,” Draco said, not really seeing. Then, because these were his friends and he was desperate to tell someone, “Only I’m not certain Colton would be a good fit.”

Percy was taken by surprise at that. “Whyever not?” he asked.

Draco shrugged and stabbed at his flowers some more. He was making it worse now, he could tell. Unlike anyone else Draco knew, neither Percy nor Audrey pushed him to speak. Eventually Draco threw down his embroidery project in defeat. He glanced up at his friends, wondering how honest he could be. “You’ll keep a secret?” Draco asked.

Audrey put down her embroidery, too, if far more gently. “Of course, Draco.” Percy nodded as well.

Draco gnawed on his lip nervously before speaking. “Well, it was some time ago now,” he started, trying to recall the details, “but when I was younger, I thought Colton was going to marry me.”

Audrey gasped. “Really? Did you two discuss it?” she asked.

Draco nodded. “At length. It’s silly, because we were just fourteen, which looking back is so young, but I thought myself quite in love and I thought he returned my feelings.”

“What happened?” Percy asked, likely imagining it had something to do with Draco’s falling out after the war.

Draco forced a pained smile. “Summer of our fifteenth year I found him in a compromising position with a young lady. Actually, my friend Pansy. I was surprised, since he’d never expressed any desire in women. He told me after he thought he should try it out, since one day we’d both grow up and have to marry for real.” He tried not to react to his friends’ confused and horrified faces. “Us old families are less progressive about marriage,” Draco explained.

Percy nearly looked green. Draco knew it would be hard for him to reconcile his respect for his employer’s family with his fondness for his friend. “So he broke it off with you?” Percy asked.

That led Draco to laugh bitterly. “Oddly enough, no!” Draco shared. “He was quite willing to keep things on with me, as long as I understood his priorities.”

“That’s awful!” Audrey said, always supportive. Draco smiled at her appreciatively.

Again, Percy looked positively unwell. “You didn’t keep on with him, though, did you?” he asked.

Draco shook his head. “Hardly. I broke it off immediately.” Both his friends showed an alarming amount of relief that made Draco suspicious about exactly what they expected out of him. Did Draco seem like the sort who’d put up with that sort of treatment? He considered the treatment they’d seen Draco endure and supposed it wasn’t that far fetched. He continued on to cover up his embarrassment. “I’m certain Colton has matured since then, but I still have concerns about his character.”

“Naturally,” Audrey agreed. Then, after a beat, “Does the king know? Or his friends?”

Draco shook his head. “I’ve never told anyone else,” he admitted. Both of his friends’ faces softened.

“Well, I won’t share a word,” Percy reiterated. Draco had no doubt of that. “It is the sort of thing we’d want someone to know. It would be horrible if the king made an uninformed decision,” Draco couldn’t help but smile again at Percy’s seriousness on the matter. Spontaneity was not Percy’s strong suit. “Perhaps there’s something from work I can share. Would it be too much like gossip if I shared how much Colton struggles with finance? Lord Slughorn had Colton assist with some of the accounts during the pox outbreak when I was away. I admit they were in a bit of a disarray when I returned to the office. It took me a month to sort it all out. Colton was quite embarrassed when I informed him he’d routed the funds to the wrong account and I had to request a reimbursement.”

Draco frowned. “I think that’s precisely the right amount of gossip you should share, Percy.” Draco hoped he would, because the king’s friends certainly would treat that tale with an appropriate amount of suspicion.

Their conversation quickly returned to more pleasant topics, primarily whatever delightful things Molly, Lucy and Teddy had recently done. Draco shied away from any details of Teddy’s time at court, not wanting to disturb them any further.

The little things were what made Draco happiest around the Weasleys. Like, he knew how important it was to Percy to always present himself properly, but he would ease up around Draco and not worry as much about the details. And, while Percy would be embarrassed to host most anyone since he didn’t have the proper space, he’d long since made his peace with Draco sleeping on a sofa so Draco could have an easy time finding a carriage home in the morning.

That was how Draco found himself still there, sharing breakfast with the girls before they started their studies, when Percy walked in with a stack of letters. Percy quickly flipped through them, before pausing at an envelope Draco once again recognized.

“What’s that?” Draco asked, because he couldn’t help himself.

Percy sighed, not particularly impressed by what he had. “It’s George’s idea of a joke,” Percy said, before continuing to flip through the letters. Draco didn’t dare ask anything further that might give his jealousy away.

Later that day, Draco wandered back into his house through the servant’s entrance, wondering what it would be like to just once receive his own letter. He almost didn’t notice Kreacher waving something out to him as he passed. Thoughtlessly, Draco stopped to accept the item, only realizing what it was once it was placed in his hand.

Draco stared. He was holding a heavy envelope addressed directly to him, with a double spiral in the left corner instead of a return address. The sign for the fall equinox.

Chapter Text

On behalf of His Royal Highness Harry James Potter, and
By royal decree, all eligible gentlemen in the kingdom
Shall be in attendance at his majesty’s fall
Equinox ball. This masquerade event
Requires full costume attire under the theme: our
Vast universe. The event begins
At the stroke of seven and will
Take place at His Royal Highness’s castle.
One attendee per invitation will be allowed to enter.
Retain your invitation throughout the festivities.
Your humble and dedicated host, HJP.

It wasn’t even a bloody poem. It was very nearly nonsense. Draco flipped the card over and examined every bit of it, looking for what he might be missing. There was nothing there. Worse still, Draco was suddenly extremely nervous the invitation didn’t hold any special meaning at all.

All eligible gentlemen were invited. The opposite of exclusivity. This was a new ploy by the king to find a spouse.

“Ron!” George barged into the manner shouting. Draco hadn’t expected him, but George never bothered with that formality. “I know you’re in here. Come out this instant and explain yourself!”

Draco, who was actually within hearing range, wandered down the stairs towards George’s shouting. He still held his invitation, reading through it yet again as he searched for an explanation.

George was spinning in a circle, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice as he shouted, “ROOOOOON!”

“Good afternoon, George,” Draco said at the landing.

George hardly acknowledged him. “Where is my brother? I’m going to clobber him.”

“Unlikely. You’re a bit scrawny,” said Draco, turning his invitation over again.

George, the consummate optimist, waved Draco’s skepticism away. “I can take him. Assuming he’s got the guts to show himself!” that last part was once again at peak volume.

“You’ve got your own this time,” Luna said to Draco, magically appearing out of the air at Draco’s side.

Draco jumped in fright, almost dropping his letter all together. “My god, how do you move so quiet!” Draco gasped. He hadn’t expected Luna either, but George tended to invite her when he planned to show up.

Luna smiled her knowing smile.

“Thank god you made it, Luna, this is a travesty.” announced George, suddenly producing his own equinox ball invitation. “I handed off hosting to you, but Harry stole it.”

Luna plucked the invitation from George’s hand and opened it. “My mum always said things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end. If not always in the way we expect.” she murmured as she read George’s card. Then she smiled and handed it back to him.

Draco stood between them, uncertain of what he could say that wouldn’t give anything away. “Let’s have tea,” he offered, before turning on his heel and leaving the room to procure it.

They settled in the library, as had become their custom. George had propped the “Harry Facts” canvass back up and had added “Giant pillock” to the bottom of it. Draco was supportive, but Luna just pulled out her knitting.

“We didn’t even get to submit for the list!” George wailed, now pacing the room.

Luna shrugged. “Who would you like to secure an invitation for?”

“Well, Draco for one,” George said. Draco, who was staring at his card instead of listening, looked up at his name.

“Pardon?”

“The ball, Draco. We need to get you on the list this time,” George said as if it would be obvious to Draco what he was talking about.

Luna pointed one of her knitting needles at the card Draco held in his lap. “He got his own invitation,” she said.

George looked shocked. “Did he really? Fantastic. The plan is moving right along.”

Draco stared in befuddlement. “What are you two on about?”

Both stared at him, Luna encouraging and George impatient.

“You remember the equinox ball, I gave you the invitation,” Luna explained.

George made a small ‘o’ with his mouth. “That’s how you got in this spring without being on the list.”

Luna shook her head. “No, it was last fall.”

“Luna, I never used the invitation. I’ve never been to an equinox ball” Draco was proud he could say it so levely. He sounded honest. Resolute. This conversation had gotten out of hand and he needed to stop whatever speculation the two of them were onto.

George looked surprised, but Luna only looked disappointed.

“You’ll use this invitation, though?” Luna inquired.

Draco groaned and rubbed his face. “This isn’t even a real invitation. It’s a mess. Mother told me there’d be the most beautiful poetry. The balls are supposed to be magical. But this?” Draco held up the card. “What does it even mean? Plus, all eligible gentleman?’ It’s not like I was invited, I’m just single.”

That drove George to stop his pacing and slump into a chair. “Damn, I didn’t think of it that way.” He fished his invitation back out and stared at it. “Absolutely no artistry.” Then in a voice that did sound vaguely like the king’s, George mimicked, “By royal decree, his majesty Harry James Potter declares all eligible gentlemen shall attend the fall equinox masquerade.”

Draco tried to read along to George’s words, only… “Why are you saying the words like that?”

“Hmm?” George asked, glancing at Draco.

“Those aren’t the words, they’re out of order.”

George held up his invitation. “I’m reading it right off the card, mate.”

Draco reached out and took George’s invite from him, his eyes devouring the words on the invitation.

By royal decree, his majesty Harry James Potter declares
All eligible gentlemen shall attend the fall equinox masquerade.
Located at the castle, the ball begins at the stroke of seven.
Lords and ladies attending this ball are
Required to wear full costumed attire in the theme:
Our vast universe.
One attendee may gain access per invitation.
Maintain your invitation throughout the festivities.

“This is different,” said Draco. He read and reread the card, devouring its content as eagerly as he devoured his own invitations. “It's the same information, the same nonsensical prose. Why would it be different?”

George tried to grab both invites but Draco held them out of reach. So, George jumped up and ran to Draco’s side to read over his shoulder. “Blimey, there has to be a reason. Luna, give us your invite so we can check it.”

Luna smiled her knowing smile. “I believe you two can figure this out on your own,” she said. Draco could see her invitation in her breast pocket, but suspected she would defend it with her life if either man tried to peek.

George looked forlorn. He abandoned Draco entirely to cajole Luna, who amicably resisted all his charms. Draco suspected George was more put out that Luna wouldn’t do him a favor and his groveling had little to do with the puzzle itself.

Draco tried to compare the words used, to see if there was any overlap that would spell out a message. He counted words in each line and the amount of syllables. He tried reading it backwards. He tried reading just the first word of each line. That is how he spotted it.

“It’s an acrostic poem!” announced Draco. Luna laughed and clapped at his discovery. She must have figured it out without the help of comparison.

George, suddenly interested again, grabbed his own invitation back from Draco. “What’s an acrostic poem?” he asked as he read through it again.

Draco talked him through it. “The first letter of each line spells out a word. See here, B, A, L, L, R, O, O, M. Ballroom! And both our cards said to hold onto the invitations, so this must be part of some sort of puzzle.” George tried to reach for Draco’s card, but in a moment of inspiration Draco pulled it back and tucked it into his shirt to hide it. If Luna didn’t want them to see then she must have figured out the clues are best kept secret.

“Come on, you saw mine!” George whined.

Just in time for his brother to walk in. “You are the loudest menace on the planet. What’s got your panties in a twist?” Ron grumbled.

George was back on his feet in an instant and pointing at his brother “Show me your invitation!” he demanded.

Ron grinned at him. “I don’t got one.”

“What do you mean you don’t got one? You’re Harry’s best friend, of course he invited you.”

“Nope,” Ron said, grinning wider. “It’s at the castle, I’ll be working.”

“Ugh!” George groaned before once again dramatically throwing himself into a chair. “All of you are against me. I’m meant to have a partner in crime and instead I’m stuck with you lot.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re so much stuck with me as you keep inviting yourself to my house and bossing me around,” Draco murmured. Luna, usually above such petty things, snickered.

“Buck up. If he likes you he’ll give you a good card and the puzzle will be easier,” Ron promised. He chuckled to himself. “It’s not like you’re some rando who’ll be stuck in the ballroom all evening.”

George groaned even louder at that, before Draco and Luna burst out into howls of laughter at his expense.

“It was my turn to assign a host and I gave it to Luna!” George complained again.

Luna finally took pity on him and responded. “Harry asked so nicely, George. Of course I let him have it.”

Finding out it was Luna’s decision was enough for George to let his animosity go. Later, Draco heard George ask Luna directly, “You'll be my partner for the puzzle, won’t you?” Draco didn’t hear her response, but by the time the pair had left George had crossed the new insult off the “Harry facts” list.

That evening, Draco’s head was buzzing with everything he’d learned. Ron hadn’t been more forthcoming with details no matter who tried to wheedle them out of him, and even Luna gave it a go. They could only speculate what mystery lay ahead.

Still. It had been enough. He had his invitation. An equinox invitation meant just for him. Everyone might have gotten one, but not everyone’s was the same. Draco kept rubbing his thumb over each key letter. He’d been given the observatory. What did that say about how much the king favored him?

Chapter Text

After giving it serious thought, Draco could only conclude that they were on to him. Not, like, the worst people. Just, possibly, the people he considered his friends. It had Draco constantly on edge.

Would Luna be so bad? Obviously she could keep a secret. Also, she had solidly come down in the pro-Draco camp. However, she was the least predictable person Draco knew. He had the vague feeling she was one of the sorts who might reveal devastating facts about you if she thought it would be helpful.

Everyone knew George would be that bad. Draco didn’t know a single soul that trusted him. He delighted in pranks and had a long, convoluted plan to get revenge on the king for a slight that Draco didn’t think was that bad, especially compared to other things the king had done. Draco also suspected George was exceptionally needy. What with the way he’d invite himself over and commandeer spaces, people, and food for his own amusement. It was odd that no one complained about it. Not that Draco would. Draco was always a bit lonely, too. Yet, it was always possible that George would find someone else who’d be a better companion than Draco, and Draco couldn’t trust that wouldn’t be the end of his secrets.

It was a conundrum. For all the turmoil they’d cost him, Draco had loved the balls. He hated the experience only in that he had to compare every experience afterwards to it. They had given him a chance to live fearlessly. He cast off his old, stodgy clothes, and his lumpy, miserable persona, and stepped into a different world where he could be anything. He made fantasy come to life with couture clothing blending long outdated fashion with modern flair until it combined into something edgy and spectacular. At the ball, he could outshine everyone and no one would know they should resent him for it.

How could he show up like that again without giving it all away? Maybe there would be more people there, and it would be harder to distinguish him in a crowd. Except for the puzzle, which he suspected would only be clear to those who knew to look for it. How could he hide from that smaller group, many of which could now recognize Draco on sight? How could he conceal his voice from Luna and George, who he’d spent many an afternoon talking with?

Of course there was the alternative. Draco could show up as himself, for everyone to recognize, with his disguise being a perfectly appropriate fashionable suit and a perfectly appropriate thematic mask, neither of which would harken back to his previous magical adventures. It held none of the whimsy he desired, but in the end it might be enough to drive the lie home that he had never been to an equinox ball and he had never had a midnight tryst with the king.

How horrible that would be. Draco remembered the freedom of dancing that first night with dozens of costumed creatures, each of which let their guard down precisely because they didn’t know who he was. Did he dare compare exuberant anonymous dancing to what was certain to be a stilted formality should anyone know it was actually him? Would he want to wander into the costumed king, only to see the king close himself off when he realized exactly who Draco was? Draco could go so far as to imagine the king reverting back to the worst of their relationship. Sneering and insulting Draco on sight. It frightened him almost out of going at all.

Draco wallowed in his indecision.

Everyone saw he was struggling and sought to help. George offered jokes. Luna offered snacks. Andromeda offered an allowance to purchase a new outfit for the ball.

His mother sat next to him and didn’t offer anything but the comfort of her presence. She looked smaller than Draco remembered. In the last year her clothes had transformed back to respectable outfits, but it didn’t lessen the age she carried. Draco worried he had been too busy on silly things to spend the time with her she deserved. Narcissa didn’t seem worried about that at all. She sat silently with Draco, until he was ready to relax his fretting enough to distract himself with embroidery practice. Then Narcissa practiced her stitches with him. They sat in silent comradery for an entire day and Draco felt better for it after.

Before bed, Draco finally showed her the invitation.

Narcissa touched it reverently. She opened the card and read over the prose with careful scrutiny. “You’ll be visiting the observatory?” she asked, catching the clue at once. Draco imagined that’s how Luna had done it, an almost instinctual ability to spot what the invisible thing right in front of you.

“I suppose,” Draco said noncommittally. “I should dress for it. What out there in our vast universe represents me, mother? Perhaps something sinister, like a black hole. Is it too on the nose to tell them I’m there to suck up and destroy everything good?” It was self disparaging in the self-pitying and childish way that looked bad on anyone, especially Draco.

Draco’s mother cupped his face in her hands, horribly similar to how Andromeda had held him to give him strength when he cried. “You are everything good in this world,” she told him. “In the whole vast universe, there is nothing more precious than you. That is what you will show them.” For the first time in months Draco saw light and determination spark in his mother’s eyes. It lit a spark in him, too. He wanted to be the precious person she saw. More than that, he wanted everyone to see him as that person, the way he had made them do before.

But he also didn’t want to get caught. So he began to plan.

It started with lying to George, since George would think the black hole joke funny. George said it was so good he’d almost steal the idea for himself. He couldn’t though, since he was going as Castor, one half of the gemini constellation. “Who will be Pollux?” Draco asked about the other half. George laughed, then, too hard and not like the question was funny at all.

Next was a visit to Percy, who had to spend half an hour checking to see if he still even had his invitation to the ball. He found it, somewhat soiled, under a heap of trash in the kitchen he’d planned to dispose of that very evening. It was such a waste, but Draco also loved that Percy was the most predictable person he knew. Percy was kind enough to stay and read the letter with Draco.

Greetings from His Royal Highness Harry James Potter, who invites you to
A masquerade ball this fall equinox. This celebration will be
Located at his majesty’s castle and begins at the stroke of seven.
Let yourself enjoy a carefree evening of festivities. This
Event comes only two times a year. Individual invitations are
Required and should be carried with you throughout the evening.
You must dress to the theme: Our vast universe.

“Yours doesn’t even mention eligible gentlemen,” Draco wondered aloud as he reread the details again.

Percy actually snorted. “I should have known you were the sort to enjoy these games.”

“I have a heart of a child, that’s why the children love me,” Draco declared, while in his head he was spelling out the letters. “Gallery. This is for the gallery. I haven’t seen this one yet, can I keep it?”

Percy raised his eyebrows, not at Draco making a request so much as that the request was to take ownership of somewhat smelly garbage. “I don’t see why not.”

“Thank you, you’re a saint. This one has a different number, do you think that matters?”

“I’m sure you’re intended to spend a great deal of time wondering if that’s the case,” said Percy.

Draco made a face at him. “Puzzles are fun. You should know it, you like math! Or is it that math is just joyless puzzles and have ruined your taste for them?”

Percy thumbed his nose up at the joke. “I’m done with you,” he said before walking away. He called back from the hallway. “Did you want to borrow the book?”

To Percy’s great amusement, Draco hadn’t known about the book. It was enough that Draco needled him more for pretending not to like puzzles when clearly he liked them well enough when he was winning. They bickered amicably as Percy walked Draco to the drawing room and over to one of the book-filled shelves. He took out one Draco had never heard of, titled, “Our Vast Universe.”

Draco held the thick novel with growing excitement. “What’s it about?” he asked.

Percy looked up wistfully. “Getting lost, and using math to find your way home.” Draco whacked him with the book to stop him romanticizing over numbers.

Of course, Draco borrowed the book. He carried it as reverently as he did his new invitation. He doubted anyone else would go in with two clues! Draco wanted to make sure he went in with everything he could, so he took it a step forward and committed to reading.

Percy hadn’t been wrong, it was a book about getting lost. The protagonist was sent on a quest to save his kingdom. He captained a ship further than any ship had sailed before and traveled so far that the stars in the sky changed and he could no longer find home. The protagonist had to chart a new sky to navigate. The book was literally about discovering a whole hitherto unknown universe, but it was also about being a stranger in new lands. It was about the captain doing the best he could and that not being enough to stop his crew from suffering. It was about encountering new people you don’t understand and learning how sometimes you are the barbarian, instead of it being the other way around. It was about perseverance needed to finish the journey home. Of course, it also had plenty of math. Even the over abundance of complex equations didn’t stop Draco from loving it.

He held the finished book close to his chest and wondered, why this book? The king could have chosen anything but he decided on what Percy had assured him was an obscure novel. In fact, Percy only owned it because the king had once gifted it to him years ago. Draco felt in his bones that the reason behind the choice mattered.

Of course, Draco once again visited the attic. By now it was as familiar as an old friend and he knew exactly what he was looking for before he even entered.

His first stop was the beloved black chest. Draco’s fingers ghosted over its lid as he considered - was it possible? The king only knew Draco from the ball as a man in celestial masks. There was no way, absolutely no way, that the theme was connected. Draco told himself that over and over again, even as he pulled out the final mask of the trio, his ticket to transforming into an entire universe of undiscovered stars.

Chapter Text

The castle had been like a second home to Draco. He’d seen it decked out for two coronations. He’d seen it fortified in war and scorched from war’s defeat. He’d seen elaborate parties and terrifying tribunals. He had thought he had seen the castle every way there was. Until he walked in on the fall equinox and saw how King Harry had transformed it.

The floor of the great entrance was covered in roiling blue cloth, tangled and twisted to resemble ocean waves. All the artwork that had hung on the walls for centuries had been removed. They were replaced with all manner of paintings depicting the ocean, from battles at sea to tranquil beach views. At the edge of the room, from a doorway to another hall, a giant tentacle crept out and up a wall, wrapping around a picture of a fishing boat. Guests were invited to travel through it all by walking upon a wooden pier with rickety planks, so uneven if discouraged guests from lingering too long to admire the room lest a board give out and everyone tumble over. The path led to a great doorway decorated to look like the gangway to board a ship.

Draco had entered right in the middle of the crowd that was led in precisely at 7:00 pm, minutes after sunset. He had wanted to stay reserved, but the eagerness of the crowd was infectious and Draco couldn’t resist the excitement that built every time a guest spotted a new delightful detail. It was better that so many had not even heard of the equinox ball. It made each discovery more thrilling and heightened the suspense of what could possibly be next.

Guards at the door slowly let guests through the door. It led into a darkened hallway, with black sheets hanging over anything that might offer in light. By controlling the amount who could enter at once, the tunnel never got too crowded. But the suspense built, and the tunnel stretched on just long enough to put butterflies in Draco’s stomach. Until he reached the end, and like everyone who came before him, he pushed through hanging cords of rope until he wiggled his way out to the other side and found himself on the deck of a ginormous, enchanting ship.

It was the ballroom, it had to have been the ballroom, but again the room was transformed into something other. The floor was entirely wood, with bulwark built up the side of the walls to resemble the edges of the ship. Two masts had been assembled in the middle of the room, leaving space between them for a polished dance floor. The ceiling and walls were the blue of a perfectly sunny day, with facsimiles of fluffy clouds and seagulls hanging from the ceiling. The boat rose up at either end of the long room, replicating different tiers of decks upon a ship. At the furthest end, at what was clearly intended as the quarterdeck, was the throne of the king. He was too far to see well, but clearly King Harry was dressed as an admiral. Draco couldn’t see the mask beyond the colors of gold and white.

The crowd poured into the room and Draco was pulled forward with it, as if pulled forward by a strong tide. Once he had the space, Draco spun around and did his best to take it all in. He couldn’t help but grin at the illusion that had been created.

There were too many bodies for the room, but more still came. Masked guests were pushed up against each other to make way for more. Some people climbed up on the foc'sle, the forward deck of the imagined ship. They crowded in with the chamber orchestra dressed up as sailors as they played jaunty music. To make more space, guards let only a few attendees up on the quarter deck with the king. Only when they’d fit in as many as they could and everyone stood packed together like sardines, the king rose to his feet. The orchestra stopped playing and the crowd’s murmur dropped to nothing.

“Honored guests,” the king’s voice boomed. It sounded odd from this distance and in so large a space. “Welcome this evening to the fall equinox ball!” He lifted his hands to indicate the decorated space they shared and despite the tight fit everyone still made room to cheer. The cheers echoed into a roar and Draco covered his ears until the king lifted his hands further to silence everyone. “In being here, each of you have joined my crew and set off on a perilous adventure. Imagine not that we have this one night, but that we have traveled at sea for months. We set out in search of glory but find ourselves well and truly lost. We recognize no landmarks, not even the night sky.” At those words the king paused and let the silence linger.

Then there was noise, a rasping, grinding noise. Something mechanical began to crank, and before their very eyes the sky above them moved. Draco looked up like everyone else and saw the beautiful blue sky pulled away, replaced with a dark cloth. At the same time, the strings that hung the clouds and birds were also pulled along. In their place came bright, shinny bulbs of light. When the noise stopped only the darkness and lights remained. They sparkled in front of the black ceiling like stars in the sky. Awed silence hung in the air for a breath, then again the crowd was cheering.

It took longer for the king to silence them, but when the crowd had once again settled the king continued his story. “I implore each of you to help me solve this puzzle and success will not go unrewarded. Whosoever is able to bring me a clue will have the honor to dance with me, your captain. And to assist you with your efforts, I welcome you into the ship to make merry and nourish yourselves on our humble previsions.” At that, two doors were pulled open under the decks at either side of the room. Bright light shown out, illuminating the pathways through to doors that must lead to other rooms. The king bowed to the crowd, and a final cheer rang out, before the crowd began to shift again, rushing out to explore the other spaces the king had prepared for his game.

Draco watched the costumed guests run past. People moved too fast to make out more than the color of their mask and the vague notion of an outfit. He saw stars, planets, foreign fashion, kaleidoscopic colors, and even religious imagery. There was an entire evening ahead of him to discover all the ways the theme had been interpreted. He grinned from ear to ear, but didn’t join in the zealous exploration. At least not yet.

Draco had memorized both invitations by now, but still he pulled one out to read it again. He had thought and thought about it. The King had announced this was a puzzle to everyone, but Draco knew the invitations had to be additional clues. That was the lever to tell those who knew what an equinox ball meant how they were supposed to gain access to the even deeper puzzle underneath.

Draco took a deep breath. Both invitations said it begins at the stroke of seven. He decided to take them at their word. He needed to find a clock.

Draco wasn’t alone in staying in the ballroom, nor was he alone in examining the pieces of the ship. When Draco had explored everywhere but the quarterdeck, which was thoroughly guarded to keep anyone without the coveted clue out, it became apparent there was nothing on deck that matched the description. Draco entered the doorway under the quarter deck instead.

They’d crafted a fine room to resemble the captain’s quarters of a ship under their pretend deck. The actual room was cordoned off, but Draco could see a meeting table, and to the side a desk covered in nautical instruments. Draco glanced behind him. No guards were watching. So he hopped over the cord and walked straight to the desk.

There, at the edge of the desk, was a marine chronometer. The sort they would use to tell time at sea. The face of the clock was stopped right at 7pm. Draco’s grin was interrupted by the inevitable noise of people coming. He dropped to his knees to hide behind the desk. Whoever saw him would either report him for stepping out of bounds or want to know what he had discovered, and Draco wasn’t keen on either of those outcomes. Unfortunately, once people started walking by they didn’t really stop. Draco was trapped there, waiting.

Perhaps it was for the best, because he was right at eye level with the drawer under the chronometer. The drawer had the double spiral of the fall equinox etched into it. Draco’s eyes lit up at the discovery and, as silently as he could, he opened the drawer as far as it could go until he was able to pull it out of the desk entirely. He sat it on the floor and looked inside.

There was a strange metal box inside. Draco pulled it out and looked at the contraption. He saw he could open it, and inside it looked like some sort of stamp. He examined everything more thoroughly and found a few words on the metal contraption. One was on the side, marking that direction as “top”. Then on what Draco supposed was the front, it was labeled “map maker.”

Draco bit a lip, but supposed he had an invitation to lose if this went poorly. He put in one of the invitations, which appeared to be just the right size for the metal box, lining up the top with the label. Then he closed the box down over it. He held it a few seconds, unsure if there were other steps, then opened it to see what had occurred.

It was a stamp! Blue ink left behind just part of a picture. Draco squinted to see it clearly. Was that a tentacle winding across the page? He grinned again, then swiftly pulled out his second invitation and repeated the motions so both held the start of the map.

Draco tried to pack everything silently away when he was through. He then waited for a break in the traffic. He worried it would never come and took the first moment that was even nearly offered. He knew he’d been seen when he heard shouting behind him, voices asking him to stop and tell them what he’d found.

Draco laughed as he ran, committed to gaining a head start over whoever was behind him. He wasted no time navigating through the ropes and back into the dark cavern to the great entrance hall. The guards watched him run back out to the pier where he spotted the tentacle before. However, when Draco tried to step off the pier and go after it the guard held him back.

Draco held up his borrowed invitation, displaying the clue on the map. The observatory message was tucked away in his chest pocket behind his handkerchief. “I have the map, I need to go over there like it tells me.”

“Let me see that,” the guard said, motioning for Draco to turn it over. The guard nodded at what he saw. “Looks like you need two more people if you want to go through.”

Draco gaped at him, wondering what on the page said that. Then he remembered, the Gallery had the number “two” written out, unlike observatory which listed the word “one”. It was a headache now to go back and find someone, but at least Draco would be able to rub in Percy’s face that yes, the numbers had absolutely mattered!

“Right then,” Draco said with a nod, then he charged back into the cave. He grabbed the first two people he saw on the other side. “I have a clue, but I need your help to get to it.”

One was a younger woman with fiery red hair pulled back from her face. Her mask was bright orange and didn’t hide her freckles. Like Luna, she wore trousers instead of a dress. Her clothes were a dusty red, almost rust colored. “Not interested, we’re not playing the game,” she grumbled.

The other was a man older than Draco but still in his prime. He didn’t look like he’d dressed up at all. He was wearing hardly more than workman’s clothes and his plain black mask barely covered any of his broad, good-natured face. His skin was weather-beaten and so freckly that he looked almost tanned. Despite it all, he was striking, in a tall, lean, chiseled sort of way. “Sorry mate, neither of us want to be forced to dance with his majesty,” said the man.

“Like hell would I dance with him. I just want to win the game,” Draco snarked, holding up his invitation to show the clue he had discovered. It started a chortle out of the woman and Draco could tell he had a chance. “Just come with me. I’ll show you the real puzzle and if you hate it you can ditch me once we get there.”

The two exchanged glances. They were playing at curmudgeons but both must have a playful streak. It was the older man who smirked. “All right then, navigator. Show us what you got.”

Chapter Text

The thing about this giant puzzle game was that Draco didn’t know what was actually going to be important, so he decided to bite the bullet and go back to get his new accomplices the first stamp. He warned them that they shouldn’t give the clue away, which had the woman smirking with a confident, “leave it to me.” The pair left Draco at one side of the tunnel with instructions to “cause a distraction” if needed. Their assertiveness was enough to make Draco nervous.

Draco did have to cause a distraction. A gaggle came by, seeking access to whatever lay beyond the shipdeck. Draco panicked and jumped in front of them, saying the first thing that came to mind. “That is a stunning brocaded silk. Who was your designer?”

The surprised woman cut off what clearly was going to be a sharp comment and instead blushed at Draco’s forwardness. “This old thing?” she tried to play it off.

“Get out of the way, we’re going through here,” said one of the lady’s companions who had no patience for Draco’s disruption. He tried to shove past Draco, leaving Draco to panic again and step directly into his path.

“I say,” Draco said, not sure exactly what he was going to say. “It’s ungentlemanly not to admire a woman as beautiful as this. Don’t you think her outfit stunning?”

That stopped the man short. He stumbled over words, glancing between Draco and the woman who was now staring at her friend with an arched brow, waiting for him to match Draco’s compliment. The man took his time fumbling over a proper accolade and by the time he’d managed the redheaded woman was back, nudging Draco along. Draco bowed to the other party and then swiftly escaped.

The woman waved two stamped invitations at Draco and then tucked them both away. Her friend walked up next to them, having escaped at the same time, only he came barring three mugs and handed one each to Draco and the woman. “Grog.” The man said with a chuckle. “Cheers!” Draco and the woman locked eyes and offered each other skeptical grimaces, but neither hesitated to swing their mugs back and gulp down the drink.

“That’s awful!” Draco sputtered.

The man threw his head back and laughed. “Harry’s got a sick humor. We best drink up before we find out what else he has in store for us.”

That drew a second look from Draco. He eyed the man up and down, from his close cropped dark auburn hair, to his muscled arms, to his ridiculously practical work boots. With no costume to hide his identity Draco would have recognized him if he was anyone Draco knew.

“If we’re going, let’s go,” the woman said. She chugged her drink then handed it off to someone dressed as a sailor that Draco realized was waitstaff. The woman was wandering ahead and Draco knew it was now or never. He pinched his nose and chugged. He gagged when he finished, to the cheers of his new companions, then stumbled back to the front of his crew to lead towards the way out.

This time when he presented his gallery invitation to the guards they responded with a thumbs up. However, instead of letting Draco out to cross over the fake sea, the guard showed them how just inside the dark cavern there was a door. It led to the same hallway where the tentacle emerged from. Draco was sad to see the sea monster did not continue on throughout the entire path, but there were tidy signs posted along the way to make sure they didn’t get lost. Castle guards were also posted, and they watched the trio’s every step to make sure no one wandered off course.

None of the three so much as glanced at the signs, each able to follow their feet through the castle.

“What are you then, a star? A planet?” Draco asked the woman, who mostly came across as red.

She cackled and flexed a muscular pose. “I am Mars! The red planet and god of war!”

Draco tilted his head to take in her overall countenance. She was tiny for a war god but Draco could see the spark in her eyes daring him to question her prowess. “Yes, I think it works,” he decided. He turned to the man. “I confess, I can’t even guess what you are.”

The man smirked and shrugged. “Coerced to attend.”

“Don’t be such a grump,” the woman, Mars, commanded. “Let’s make something up. Who can tell me Mars’ siblings?”

Draco’s head snapped to the man again. Surely, with that signature hair and over enthusiastic zeal, Mars was the Weaslette. Draco couldn’t quite recall how many brothers were left for him to meet. Two? Three? Which one was this?

Draco forced himself to stop staring. He diverted himself by naming off roman gods and goddesses. “Bellona, Mercury, Vulcan…”

The man cut Draco off, “I’m not picking any of those. Can’t be bothered.”

“Right,” Draco said with a small frown. “I think we’ll call you… Aergia.”

“I don’t know that one,” Mars said.

It was Draco’s turn to smirk. “We’ve switched to the Greeks. Aergia is the goddess of sloth and laziness. She doesn’t even have a constellation in the sky. Perfect for the grouchy old man of the party.” The woman laughed along with Draco while the man muttered that he wasn’t a sloth. “Prove it,” Draco said over his shoulder, right before he flung open a set of doors to reveal their destination.

The room was large and beautiful. Each wall was covered nearly to the ceiling and floor with picture after picture, illuminated by brilliant chandeliers above. The room was nearly entirely empty, so guests could bask in the art they were there to see. The only other things in the room was a table laid out with flute glasses of alcohol, and a trio of beautifully adorned women.

“Damnit, of course they got here first!” cursed Mars, clearly recognizing who they discovered.

Two of the women were dressed in complementary yellow and white gowns, designed to show a multi-pronged star reach out from each waist. Their golden star masks were tasteful and elegant, and Draco would bet money they were the Patil sisters.

The third wore a black and silver gown cut simply, but with such intricate design as to make Draco dizzy examining it from afar. Draco walked closer. The decorations were woven into the cloth and displayed celestial navigation tools like backstaffs, octants, and sextants. The mask was an intricate, mechanical thing. It was made of arcs, with rotating discs and small rulers. Draco’s eyes widened when he recognized what it was meant to be. It was an astrolabe, a way to chart the stars and visible heavenly bodies.

He had called the other woman stunning and he had been wrong. Nothing was as amazing as this. “You are glorious,” Draco said in awe.

His companions yanked him back and away from the woman. “Don’t go falling for her! She’s the competition,” Mars said, once again commanding their team. Mars walked them to the table and loaded each person up with drinks. “C’mon navigator, we need to solve the next clue and get ahead of them.”

Draco glanced over his shoulder at the other trio. They’d set their sights on the paintings on the walls and were examining each one carefully. Looking for what? Draco pulled out his gallery clue and showed it to his peers, too distracted by the mystery to bother drinking.

“That’s not like mine,” Aergia said.

“They’re all different,” Draco explained. Then, because he wasn’t one to miss the opportunity, “Show me both of yours.

Mars pulled out both her cards and flipped them over to reveal their clues. Draco taught them how to read them, revealing both “library” for Mars, and, like Draco, “observatory” for Aergia. Draco glanced at the man again, wondering how the clues were assigned.

Draco shook his head and focused on the task at hand. “There’s only one thing in this clue that’s not in the other two, ‘Let yourself enjoy a carefree evening of festivities.’ Let's find that picture.”

“Huzzah!” Shouted Mars before breaking away and running around the room, presumably searching hard even if it looked more like she was just enjoying letting her energy burst out of her.

Aergia shook his head at his sister. “Bit much, isn’t she?”

“I’m rather envious of her ability to let loose and have fun. It might help find the picture we’re looking for,” answered Draco. He decided to turn away and begin searching.

The challenge was there were so many pictures. They weren’t the large, stately images in the great chambers and castle hallways. They were small canvases with intimate scenes depicted. Most had people, and Draco had to peer in and examine each window into the models’ lives. Draco got caught up from time to time in a painting he thought must be the one, but each time it proved false under greater scrutiny. It made Draco uneasy to see so many pictures of parties where the attendees looked stressed or scared instead of having fun. One image was clearly the great ball room they had come from, and some of the figures looked eerily like people Draco knew from his own memory, looming intimidatingly over dancers with terror painted clearly on their faces.

Draco had to step away. He drank his glass fully in one go after.

“Navigator!” called out Mars. She wasn’t stealthy, but the room didn’t allow room to hide so what did it matter. Draco was next to her in an instant. He had to crouch down on the floor to see the painting she had discovered. On it there were four happy people dancing near a lit fireplace. Draco peered closely at the fire. In its swirls was the sign for the fall equinox.

“Very good,” Draco praised. Then without preamble he started fidgeting with the picture frame to find out what clue it would reveal.

It was that the frame pulled forward, revealing a hole carved into the wall with another small metal box.

“Ha!” Mars cried out. “Char- I mean, Aergia, get your lazy butt over here and help us out.”

Draco’s heart raced as he opened up the box and found the top side to line his invitation up with. “Hand me your clues,” he said, then gathered up Mars’ clues with his own and carefully went through all four, hoping no one noticed the extra among the group. He carefully pocketed his own observatory clue before giving the other two back. His trio got out of the way to examine their maps while the three ladies took their turn with the stamp.

This stamp revealed half of the bottom of the map. It looked like a stack of books laid out on a desk. “The library!” Mars crowed, now fully invested. She flipped over her card to read the invitation, letting Draco lean over her shoulder. Draco knew most of it could be ignored and was easily able to find the part that mattered.

“Four. You need four people with you to go.”

Draco, Mars, and Aergia looked up at each other. It was Aergia who grinned.

“Ladies,” he called over to the other group. All three look up. “We’re looking for a pair of stars to help us out.” There was nothing fancy in his words, but the charming smile he threw at the twins was reminiscent of how, at the last ball, the king could light up Draco with a grin. The ladies actually swooned. It was like Aergia transformed from a grump to a gallant knight, the way he strode over to them and offered each lady an arm. They blushed and giggled and apologized to the astrolabe, who knew when she’d been beaten. She only huffed and waved them on.

Back in the hallway, a guard examined Mars’ invitation and carefully counted the guests she’d gathered. Only then were they allowed to continue on their scavenger hunt. Mars and Draco were eager to run ahead to gain whatever lead they could. Draco suspected Aergia held them back on purpose to taunt them for their enthusiasm.

Draco occasionally glanced over his shoulder. He told himself it was to make sure he hadn’t pulled too far ahead. He also used it to watch the other man flirt with the ladies. He made it look easy with his charm, but also he was strong and handsome and just the sort of man who’d draw eyes if anyone was looking.

Draco hated himself for being jealous.

They made it to the library at last. Best yet, they were the first ones there. Mars gleefully bounced up and down. She pulled out her clue to analyze it for the next hint.

“Our Vast Universe, by Robert Galbraith,” Draco said. Mars looked up in surprise. “That’s what we’re looking for.”

“Right-o!” said Mars, taking Draco at his word. She gave him a jaunty salute and then was off running.

Before Draco followed with his own investigation he paused to ask the twins if they’d show him their invitations. The yellow star also had the library, but the white star had “Chapel”. Draco tried to hide his excited smile as he encouraged them to search for clues as well and ran off into the stacks of books.

Draco knew this library like the back of his hands. The hours he’d spent here as a youth was how he knew all the names to the Greek and Roman gods and was so well versed in poetry. His parents urged him to study science and strategy, but Draco never complied. It helped him now, when he found the exact shelf he needed. He noted it was marked facing the walkway with the autumn equinox double spiral. A clue for those who needed guidance to find the book.

There it was, the novel Draco had been searching for. He pulled it off the shelf, revealing the metal box behind it. Draco pulled the box out and stamped his two invitations before anyone could see and question it. Once again, he tucked the observatory invitation away. Only then did he call for everyone else.

After they all received the clue and hid the box back away, they huddled together and stared at the clue provided. It was an image in the middle on the right, angled from either of the first two clues on the top and bottom left.

“It’s… a tube?” one of the twins said, squinting.

The other of the twins shook her head. “It’s a cannon. It’s shooting at the sea monster.”

There was a collective round of “Ahhhs.” Then everyone looked up at each other with pained expressions.

Nobody had the matching invitation.

Chapter Text

The agony of waiting was made easier with alcohol. There had been a table set out in this room, as well. Draco drank and worried over what would happen when the next group finally arrived. It’s not that it mattered, really. This was just a silly game with obtuse rules and an end goal so unknowable Draco wasn’t sure it was possible to win.

He did want to win, though. Or, perhaps, he wanted to give winning his all. He wanted to let loose and revel in the thrill of competition. How long had it been since Draco had even played a competitive game? He’d forgotten he enjoyed it. He’d forgotten how fun it was to be on a team, like children squealing delightfully as they kicked a ball around the yard. Winning hadn’t mattered, then, but the thrill of trying your best never got old.

So, while there was nothing to be done, the competitive folks in the room were unwilling to stop trying.

“Let’s go back for more people!” Mars decided. It was a risky proposal, but Mars was a woman of action and couldn’t be bothered to wait. Draco warred with himself over being cautious and embracing boldness for the equinox. However, Aergia wouldn’t be bothered and the trio couldn’t reach consensus. A squabble broke out before the Patil sisters settled it by trading their library invitation for Draco’s gallery, on the promise that Mars would definitely bring the pair back. “Keep an eye on him for me?” Draco was surprised she had been talking to him about her brother, not the other way around.

“Alright,” Draco committed warily. Aergia could overhear and sighed pointedly.

It was painfully quiet once the girls left the two men alone. Draco was still on edge, waiting for the moment of action to arrive. Aergia slumped in his chair, indifferent to the game. Draco finished his drink, fearful of having another lest he reach questionable levels of inebriation. He glanced around for distraction, tempted to borrow a book off one of the shelves.

“How’d you know which book we needed?” the older man asked suddenly.

It came out of nowhere but Draco welcomed the break in silence. He sat up in his chair and pasted on a smile. “It was the name of the clue,” he shared.

“Yeah, right, but you knew the name of the author,” there was a hard tilt to the man’s voice. The sort of tone Draco’s tutors would ask when he got something wrong and he was about to be scolded for it.

Draco licked his lips, feeling like this was a trick question. “I’ve seen the book before. I just figured, book, library, probably connected,” he explained.

“You’ve read the book?” asked Aergia.

This was starting to feel uncomfortably pointed. Draco tried to smile again. “Yes?” somehow it came out a question.

“Where’d you get it?” It was sounding more and more like an inquisition.

“A friend gave it to me.”

“A friend.” the man sounded skeptical.

“Yes, I have friends,” Draco said, too defensively.

At that the man chuckled. Draco remembered the man had no clue who Draco was and no reason to view him as a social pariah. Aergia leaned back into his chair. “Sure you do,” his tone was bitter, directed more towards himself than at Draco. He plopped his chin down on a hand and stared hard at Draco. “Are you close with this friend?”

Draco half shrugged, not sure what trap he was walking into. “You could say that,” Draco said cautiously. But then, why was he underselling it just because this stranger was odd? “I think he’s my best friend, actually.”

“Is he.” It didn’t sound like a question. The man heaved a sigh and looked away from Draco. He stared sullenly into the distance. “I don’t want to play this game anymore. Help me get my sister to let it lie.”

“Er,” Draco said. He glanced at the door Mars had left through, hoping she didn’t take too long to come back. “She seems a bit worried about you.”

The older man snorted. “She should keep her nose out of it.”

“Probably,” Draco agreed, because he knew a thing or two about being standoffish. “But she won’t,” he said, because he knew a thing or two about how stubborn Weasleys could be.

Aergia rolled his eyes. He looked again at Draco. “Are you really enjoying this? Don’t you find it a bit silly and frivolous?”

Draco nibbled on his lip as he considered it. “I suppose it is,” Draco admitted. “But isn’t it fun to be silly once in a while?”

The man scoffed. “This is so far past that. How much money do you think it took to make up the ball room like that? And the thing with the ceiling? How many families could you feed off that?”

Draco nibbled his lip again. “I suppose he paid for all the work. That money for engineers and artists, as well as all the construction laborers. It’s not too different than going to theater. Are you opposed to the arts as well?”

The other man tried to hide his sneer. “It’s not like going to the theater,” he said flatly.

Draco pinched his lips and stared at his feet. He changed the topic, “Are there families going hungry?”

The sneer wasn’t hidden this time. “What sort of question is that?”

“An honest one,” Draco said to his feet. “I’ve always been quite sheltered, I suppose.”

The silence hung between them for a long, uncomfortable moment. Finally, the older man said, “There are, but Harry’s good about that. I just worry he’s gotten too caught up on all this pageantry to remember why he’s here in the first place.” Draco remembered Audrey’s words about the king being a reformer and better understood now what she meant. “Not that you’d know anything about that, sheltered as you are. I bet you just bop about and go to parties.”

“That’s me. Spoiled and pampered,” Draco drawled, not caring that he was sounding bitter now. He was giving second thought to the man’s request to talk Mars into ditching him. Draco got to his feet and decided he would go for another drink and took it as far away from the older man as he could get without actively disappearing into the shelves. Draco closed his eyes and took deep breaths to calm down. This was his friends’ brother. They were very fond of him and, more than that, defensive when he was slighted. If Draco picked a fight the Weasleys might all abandon him out of loyalty to their family. Draco had always known where he stood on that pecking order and he could play nice for one evening.

Only, it’s not like anyone knew who he was.

What the hell.

Draco turned back round. “Did you really come out tonight just to put in zero effort and be a prick to strangers?” he demanded.

To Draco’s chagrin, the man just laughed. “Basically, yeah,” he said without shame. “Planned to wallow over that disgusting fucking grog and devise ways to make Harry feel awful about himself all evening.”

That took Draco aback. “That’s a terrible plan.”

The man laughed again. “Don’t I know it.”

“No, I mean, you seem to have some chip on your shoulder and you’re letting it get to you. I get why you’d do that out there,” Draco gestured kind of everywhere, “but tonight is supposed to be a made up fantasy world where all of that,” he flailed around again, “doesn’t matter. You can do whatever you want tonight. Why would you spend that being sullen and petulant over whatever… Harry…” Draco stumbled over using the king’s actual name, “did you wrong. A better revenge is enjoying the evening and rubbing it in his face.”

Aergia looked at Draco like he was seeing him for the first time. “And you’d help me do that? Rub it in your best friend’s face?”

Draco recoiled. “The king is not my friend,” he spat out.

The man tilted his head. “Then who gave you his book?”

“I have other friends!” Draco snapped, still defensive about it even though he knew intellectually he needn’t be. He just didn’t know what this man would think of a Malfoy playing with his nieces and cozying up to his brothers. Draco tried to shrug off his nerves. “Some of my friends might know the king, what of it.

Aergia got to his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He glanced at Draco once, then again, contemplating. Draco could practically see him releasing a tension he’d held in his back and shoulders. Now he chose to change the optic. “What do you think happens if you win?” he wondered.

Draco guessed wildly. “You get a dance?”

The older man shook his head. “No, the speech said you just needed one clue for that. I bet he’s out there dancing the night away with all the courtiers who don’t know about this scavenger hunt underway.”

That sounded right. Draco was at a loss. “Maybe a trophy? Some gold token? An invitation to join the equinox committee? Hell, he pulled out all the eligible bachelors in the kingdom. Maybe he’s looking for someone to propose to so he doesn’t have to marry the foreign prince.”

That was the funniest thing Aergia ever heard. He doubled over laughing until tears leaked out of his eyes. “That’s not it, mate. I’m the last person on the planet the king would propose to.”

It was Draco’s turn to laugh, too loud and self disparaging. He distinctly remembered the king yelling at him in the hall the last time he was here for a party. “You give yourself too much credit. I’m the last person in our vast universe the king would ever propose to.”

The men found themselves both laughing together, caught up in their individual imaginings of their own ridiculous scenarios.

When their laughter faded, Aergia was smiling and more at ease than Draco had seen him all evening. Draco grinned to see it, warmed that he could help ease Aergia’s burden even only if for a short while. Aergia tilted his head again, taking in the joy on Draco’s face. Once more, he looked Draco over as if he hadn’t seen him before. This time felt different than the last. It left Draco feeling warm and gooey. “You can’t be so bad a catch as that,” Aergia remarked offhandedly.

Draco thanked whatever god might be looking over him that, at that very moment, a mass of masked attendees flooded into the library. There were so many people. Enough that when Draco intentionally stepped back into a darker corner no one paid him any mind, and even if Aergia wanted to follow it would have been hard to step through the crowd.

That hadn’t been imagined, the man had been flirting. Draco absolutely could not handle any of that right now, for a million different reasons. His last anonymous flirtation had caused nothing but strife and he would not get into another. He could not handle getting familiar with another man only to find out that they also loathed Draco in the real world. Worst still. Draco had already seen the other man flirt with the Patil sisters to gain their favor. The action could be wholly insincere. This Weasley hadn’t proven particularly likable thus far, but if Draco decided he was interested just to find out the man had done it on a lark…

Draco supposed tonight would be the time to learn to stay out of trouble.

In the middle of the room, Mars and the astrolabe had climbed up onto a table and were summoning everyone’s attention to lay out what may have been a twelve point strategy to get to the next step. They kept emphasizing numbers, like how there were seventeen in the room but they needed twenty one. Then they’d emphasize deals made, like here are the people agreed upon to go back because everyone agreed those were the ones who wouldn’t backstab the rest. They laid out terms of agreement about how everyone would play fair and square to get to the next room before it would return to an all out race to the finish line, pulling a man dubbed “the comet” up on to the table to hold up his invitation that spelled out “place of arms” to everyone’s cheers. Right before they launched the plan into action, Draco spoke up.

It was one of those moments where Draco didn’t think before speaking, and therefore didn’t consider the consequences of opening his mouth. Namely, when he shouted, “Everyone should read the invitation card before we start!” and interrupted the grand finale, the eyes of sixteen of the cleverest nobles all focused directly on him.

Draco’s luck wasn’t so sour that he saw any close friends in the crowd. It wasn’t like the first two balls, though. He was out in society now and the subject of intense scrutiny. Any of these people might recognize him. Especially those he had interacted with over the last few months, such as Hermione the astrolabe, the pair of Longbottoms in a pair costume that created a solar eclipse, or even Colton in his elaborate gold-stitched attire that had him shining as the sun.

However, it was as likely as not the words of the invitation held a clue. The choice was to hide from all these people and give up on the game, or to stand up in this moment and give it his all. For Draco, it wasn’t even a choice.

After all, what was the point of an equinox ball if not to embrace the magic? Draco trusted the spell he’d cast on himself this evening. These people would not see Draco Malfoy before them. They saw a stranger worthy of awe.

Chapter Text

Draco had thought himself skilled at tailoring, until he visited the castle and saw what the elites wore. He had examined his own professionally made suit and admired the precise cut and stitch work and understood he could not compete. Courtiers like Colton who could hire the best tailors and seamstresses would always outshine any attempt Draco made to match their style. So he didn’t bother to compete. He sought his inspiration elsewhere.

The Grimmauld Place library was eclectic and extensive. Draco had discovered tomes on fashion over the past centuries. That was how he found it - a style two centuries old that would be ridiculous on any other night or on any person with a shred of self doubt. Draco didn’t trifle with things like self doubt.

He chose black to be the backdrop of his canvas. Instead of the modern form-fitted breeches that would go to the knee, these were short, going only to Draco’s mid thigh. They puffed up, revealing the slashed folds that opened to pleats of silver, creating a visual effect most striking when Draco was in motion. The shorter breeches elongated Draco’s legs, now tightly constrained with black hose that was secured by lace to Draco’s undershirt and a specially fitted corset. A silver embroidered doublet fit firmly across his chest, or at least across the padding he added to slightly shift his shape, but the sleeves were fuller than any modern design and puffed out for effect. He’d added slashes to it again for peeks of silver. The traditional approach would be to add a ruff collar, but Draco did that before so today he went with lace, which added a delicate touch to the ensemble. It was a classic silhouette that would be recognized from any history book, even as the details would obstruct recognition of Draco’s own body shape. It was also the details that set it apart.

There was nothing traditional about the embroidered design. A month ago Draco realized he simply lacked the skill to do it himself, and did the unthinkable of asking his mother to help. She understood without him saying that this was secret and she worked on it only in her own bed chamber until it was complete. It turned out magnificent. Draco had created the design from a diagram of the book, which modeled precisely how to use a sextant for celestial navigation. He added small details, like a silver chain with a large silver star broach at the end, and a silver cord wrapped around his waist.

The detail that mattered most was far from small. Draco had found a short, decorative cape designed to be worn with just such a suit indoors, and reconfigured it for his purposes. Weeks ago he’d finished sewing the outfit, and since then he’d dedicated himself fully to adding the fine details across this cape. It had been made from two pieces of cloth sewn together, which meant Draco could deconstruct it and embroider both sides before reassembling it. This doubled his work, but allowed him to tackle the underside first, which would be less visible to the masses and be more forgiving of his mistakes as he continued to refine his skill. His fingers had ached for weeks but he hadn’t given up. The results were worth it. He stood in front of everyone draped in star charts so accurate that Draco could lay down his cape and match it to the night sky above.

The entire design was topped by the final celestial mask. The frame of the mask was unembellished silver and spread across the top half of Draco’s face, covering his most distinctive features. It was framed with intricate details and at the top stars were artfully arranged along the brow. Wire strands arching up from the mask to hang stars up and beyond the wearer’s head to create a haloing effect. Draco had artfully colored parts of his hair with black ink, so the strands shifted from black to a diluted version of his natural platinum blonde. Draco thought the entire outfit created an optical illusion, making his lighter hair look silver. He’d fluffed up his hair and held it in place with pomade so it would keep a defined, wavy shape.

Such commitment to not only the theme, but also to creating something completely new from it, gained Draco social authority to the point that even here, among the social elite, no one dared contradict his command. He could see some wanted to, since the information on the invitation held such great value, but Draco held their skeptical stares and did not falter under the weight of their appraisal. He lifted his chin defiantly at the room until everyone gave in.

“That’s the most fair approach,” the astrolabe said, breaking a tension in the room.

Draco smirked, recognizing then there were truly two factions. Each was led by a navigator of their own. It thrilled him to understand his competition. Hermoine was the most brilliant courtier of their generation and there was no one he’d rather face off against.

The group broke apart into pieces. One left to pick up people from the gallery. A line followed Mars to the stamp. Draco unwittingly started a clique near the alcohol table as he went back for yet another drink. His head was fuzzy but his body was warm and he giggled frequently at Aergia’s dark humor, even when he didn’t actually think it funny.

Mars brought the Place of Arms invitation to Draco, who had to pretend his vision wasn’t blurry while he read it. He found he suddenly had a crowd around him as he pondered the words aloud, wondering which was the key clue. It was unnerving, and Draco worried counter productive, but when he looked up at the broader room he saw a rival clique scheming and realized the people around him had picked their side.

It was madness. They would never follow Draco Malfoy. Tonight, though, he need not be Draco. He was the navigator and he had yet to lead anyone astray.

Draco made a point of saying that it was Mars who was the cleverest, since she is the one who found the painting and was so thoughtful as to hunt down a quill and ink and make two copies of the invitation in case anyone forgot the words. Mars smirked at him, aware of what he was doing, but she also accepted the attention of the crowd around them as if it were her due. The final group arrived then, to see Mars basking in the limelight as if she were the leader of their team.

Draco was able to back away from the huddle, Aergia following. The older man glanced over to the new arrivals, considering them for only a beat. Then he turned to Draco with that charming grin he had perfected. Aergia wrapped an arm around Draco’s shoulder and leaned close to whisper, “You’re actually the cleverest one, aren’t you?”

Draco was thankful his mask hid most of his blush, but he was certain it could be seen running up the sides of his neck. He bit his lip bashfully, glancing over at Aergia, who did not pull away to give him room. Their noses were nearly brushing against each other. Draco gasped at the unexpected proximity and immediately turned away. Aergia’s actions were too forward for his comfort and he strained to balance embracing the moment with putting space between himself and the other man. He caught sight of the newcomers, hovering between everyone. If it was possible, Draco’s heart beat even faster.

Two people were staring. Not at Draco, but at the man holding him. Draco recognized one instantly. He dressed as a helmeted horseman, with the barest of visors obscuring his face. He dressed as a modest soldier with the only heavy armor being a breastplate with a dokana etched into it. A symbol representing twinhood. One half of the gemini constellation, just as George promised. The other man could have been anyone buff and scrappy enough to pull off such basic attire. He was dressed as a sailor, with striped shirt covered by a seaman’s top coat, with bell-bottomed trousers down to his calves. He wore a blue neckerchief wrapped around his throat, and a second, lighter one around his eyes and forehead to create a mask, tied back behind his head. The twin’s eyes sparkled at the older Weasley, whereas the other man wore a deep frown. Draco turned his back on them both before he could catch their attention. In doing so he stepped away from Aergia without acknowledging his words.

Draco hid from everyone in a corner of the room, trying to sober enough to make sense of the clue Mars had transcribed for him. Most of it was the same poorly written drabble, but a few lines stood out. Phrases like, “Outsiders were not admitted, but tonight we claim the castle as our own“ and “assembled together we will make this an equinox to remember.” Peculiar words not seen in other invitations.

Draco was still pondering when Mars grabbed hold of his arm and tugged him towards the door. The time had come. Twenty-one courtiers were assembled to present themselves to the guard and gain access to the place of arms.

Of course, Draco knew this place. He knew all the places. This one was particularly repugnant in his memories. In the war, right before the first battle they’d decisively lost, Lucius had taken Draco to examine all the soldiers who would defend their kingdom. The place of arms was meant to hold the soldiers assembled to defend the castle or march out to the lands beyond. The castle was meant to be impenetrable, but that hadn’t gone well. By the end of the war Narcissa and Draco had fled the castle before it could be overrun.

The transformation the place of arms underwent tonight taunted those memories. What Draco remembered as a place housing men that would soon become corpses had been transformed to resemble a ballroom in and of itself. This was the first spot outside the main ballroom that presented a feast. Long rows of tables had been laid out, piled with food, where rows of soldiers had once stood preparing to die.

Draco closed his eyes and breathed. It was harder to let go of the past when the equinox ball shoved it in his face, but perhaps this was his chance to move beyond it. Draco didn’t give himself time to reminisce about what was. He charged straight for a table and tore into the food. After all, he hadn’t had a chance to eat before jumping into the puzzle and he’d had plenty of alcohol. The food was savory and delicious, made to be devoured. Draco feverishly ate it, trying to consume better memories.

Not everyone followed, some immediately started to explore the large chamber for clues, but most joined Draco in his respite. The twenty-one they brought didn’t begin to fill the space, but it did make it feel more like a party than just Draco and Aergia in the library. He smiled to think it had been deliberate on the part of the king, to break up the rivalry in this manner.

Still, it was Mars and Aergia who sat on either side of Draco. He smiled again, this time from the comfort of having formed so tight a team.

“What are you thinking?” Mars leaned over and asked.

Draco laid out the transcription on the table between them. “I think there’s only two rooms left, Chapel or Observatory. That doesn’t get us the clue, though.”

Aergia made a thoughtful noise. “If it’s chapel, we don’t have a way in,” he pointed out.

“We don’t even know how many people can get in,” Mars added.

Draco bit into a chicken leg to buy time. He glanced around at the partiers, some watching the trio scheme. Draco chewed thoughtfully before he spoke. “Aergia, if you really want to win this, we need you to go make us friends.”

Aergia laughed heartily. “Really?” he asked.

“You’re a flirt and it works,” Mars agreed. “Use your powers for good. Or,at least, use your powers for our mutual benefit.”

Aergia scoffed, looking like he might argue, but Draco leaned into it. “You’re absolutely a flirt,” Draco said solemnly. Aergia scoffed again but leaned back in his seat without complaint. Draco licked his lips nervously from nerves, contemplating how to convince the man. There was a way he was sure would work, if he was bold enough to try. Tonight was a night for boldness. He leaned over towards Aergia and whispered so Mars wouldn’t be able to hear. “If you truly mean to flirt with me, you should know I find competence extremely sexy. Go get us transport to the chapel.”

This time it was Aergia who blushed, before turning smoldering eyes to Draco. Draco felt the heat all the way down to his toes. He wasn’t sure he liked the man, but it was unquestionable that Aergia had an effect. Aergia gruffly said, “best get us that stamp” before getting to his feet and setting off on his mission.

“What did you say?” Mars demanded to know what had compelled her brother to action.

Draco’s smile was for himself alone. “Encouragement,” he answered vaguely. Then he tapped on the transcript again. “Time to see which of us is truly the cleverest. Are you ready to solve a puzzle?”

Chapter Text

More and more people left the feast to search the room for clues. Neither Draco nor Mars bothered. It was a very large, empty, fortified space, with high columns overhead. A few folks were searching beneath the tables, which Draco thought smarter than checking each wall, since there was absolutely nothing there to hide.

“We have to be missing something,” Draco said, not for the first time.

Mars nodded agreement and once again read through the invitation. The fact she hadn’t gotten up to search the room either made Draco more secure in his decision to study first, act later. “What about this?” Mars asked, pointing at the opening line: “Please join his majesty Harry James Potter in looking up and celebrating the fall equinox.” It was the only part of this invitation that mentioned the king or the equinox.

“That’s not duplicate information,” Draco said.

Mars pointed again. “Look up,” she insisted.

Draco paused and tilted his head. Yes, that was new. He met Mars' eyes for a beat, then both looked upwards to the rafters. This space was technically indoors, but only just. The ceiling was not insulated. In fact, high up on the wall the brick occasionally held space for windows without any frames blocking out the evening wind. The arcs above them were dark and dirty, likely with the remnants of animal nests that staff diligently cleaned out as necessary.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do with that?” Draco muttered.

Mars stood up then, craning her neck to see what everyone else was doing. It was a general free for all of directionless explorers. The astrolabe’s actions were more deliberate. She was circling the outer edges of the room, looking up high at the wall as she did so.

“I think she’s on to something,” Mars said, pointing the astrolabe’s movements out to Draco. The Patil sisters were with her, one craning her neck upwards to the ceiling and the other keeping an eye on everyone else in the room. That meant their team had a ticket to the chapel.

Draco was nodding. “Right. She knows something." He shifted his weight as he thought. “She wasn’t here when they took the castle, was she?” he asked.

“Psh, not here,” Mars scoffed. Then she considered. “But she knows someone who was here. Why? What do you got?”

Draco pointed again at the page. “Outsiders were not admitted. The whole point of a place of arms is it’s fortified and no one can get in. Do you know how they got in?”

Mars stared at him like he unlocked something critical. “I’ve heard this story. They came in through the main gates. They shouldn’t have been able to, because this place was heavily fortified, but somehow they intercepted the guards…” she trailed off.

“Do you think that happened here?” Draco asked, once again glancing around the room, picturing what it looked like filled up with men waiting for battle.

Mars spun in an entire circle, taking it in. “Must have been, for the story to make sense. Our competition is betting on the windows, but…” Draco glanced up at the windows. He understood the pause, there would be no sneaking in that way. Anyone outside would see you trying.

Draco wondered aloud, “Outsiders were not admitted. Does the story say if they had an insider helping?”

Mars grabbed his arm and hissed excitedly. “Yes! Yes! We did. One of Voldermort’s small council was a spy. He helped us get in.”

Draco’s eyes widened in true shock. This couldn’t be a story wildly shared, even Draco would have heard of it. Draco needed to know. “Who?”

Mars hesitated then closed her mouth, choosing not to say. It was a secret, then. A real secret from outside the game.

It didn’t matter who, Draco supposed. Someone hand picked by his father had betrayed King Voldermort and possibly cost them the war. It would eat him up inside if he let himself wonder why. Tonight wasn’t about the past, it was an outlet to live in the present, and in the present he needed to focus on the clue. An insider would be admitted. Only, from where?

Draco looked up again, spinning once more in a circle to examine the room with fresh eyes. Most walls led outdoors, but one abutted the castle. Draco paused to stare at it. It had one window, high up, separated from this room by a pane of glass that did not look like it had been untouched for decades, when it should have been too unimportant to bother cleaning.

Draco immediately dropped his gaze and grabbed Mars, squeezing tightly and biting his lips so as not to squeal. He glanced clandestinely around, making sure no one saw what he did.

“Tell me, tell me, tell me,” Mars insisted, huddling closer to Draco.

“Don’t look, but it’s the window behind you. I think something is up there, probably hidden on the windowsill.”

Draco had no clue how this woman managed to keep the secret of who betrayed his family, since she immediately whipped around and stared up at the window. Draco was rolling his eyes up towards the heavens when she looked back to him.

“It’s so high up! What are we going to do?”

Draco ran a palm over his face, trying to decide that himself. “For the love of everything good, stop drawing attention. Whatever we do, we’re going to have to move fast and get out quick.” He tried to guestimate how tall the window was, maybe 5 meters? One man on another’s shoulders couldn’t reach it. However… he glanced at the tables. If everything lined up just right this could work. “How strong would you say Aergia is?”

Mars, incapable of subterfuge, cackled. “Let’s go find out if he’s built us a team.”

Aergia had not disappointed. He winked when he saw his team approach, his gaze lingering a touch longer on Draco, then subtly turned his new friends’ attentions to Draco and Mars.

“What perfect timing, this shooting star was just saying how she needed seven to make it to the chapel. You two get us exactly there,” Aergia said smoothly. “That is, if you have anything we can use to get to the chapel?” He was good at selling that he wasn’t convinced.

Draco looked at the woman with the chapel invitation, not recognizing her at all. At her side was the comet, who had gotten them into the place of arms and was worth repaying for the effort. Butting elbows with the comet was the redhead dressed as half of a twin. Draco tried to see him as Castor, but his nerves had him only seeing George and waiting with baited breath for whether or not he was recognized. No spark of recognition came. Draco hardly glanced at the final man, until he realized the sailor was staring hard at his face. No, not his face, his mask. Just one piece of a disguise that Draco knew to be exemplary. This man couldn’t see Draco at all. When Draco examined him in turn, he couldn’t see enough to know if he’d ever met him before.

Draco almost opened his mouth to explain, but then thought better and motioned for Mars to take the lead. She grinned, as if it was a continuation of their game rather than Draco’s effort to minimize speaking to those who knew him best. Thankfully, everyone on the team did far better than Mars had when she instructed “don’t look!” since by now they were being watched closely from the fourteen other courtiers surrounding them from all directions.

“But how are we going to get up there?” asked the comet.

Draco grinned and pitched his voice lower than normal when he spoke. “We’ll need to move quickly, but before we do, which of you four is the strongest of the lot?”

He had meant it to tease, but the reaction was enlightening. Castor said, “Lee! Wait, what are we calling you? Oh yeah, Comet.” Comet whacked him over the head but agreed with his assessment. The sailor was pointing to Aergia, who also pointed to himself.

“Fabulous, we needed two. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

With the plan agreed upon, everyone jumped into action. Comet took the lead, pointing to the table everyone should gather round. On his count they lifted, each of the four strong men at a corner and Draco with the shooting star on a side across from Mars. They strained and shuffled, carrying the table all the way to the wall under the targeted window. Other folks were hollering at them now, but they powered on without explanation. Comet and Aergia jumped on the table, followed by the sailor.

Draco slipped off his shoes before following in their stead. He lost two inches that had been intentionally added to further confuse his identity, but he was still taller than any of the others who wouldn’t serve as a base. He was nearly at eye level with the sailor and for the first time that night he met the sailor’s brilliant green eyes. They looked familiar, but in Draco’s distraction he couldn’t place them. Besides, the sailor was bending down to hold out his hands for Draco’s foot. They’d agreed to focus and keep going, so Draco let the odd feeling in him die and stepped into the sailor’s hand to be boosted upwards.

Comet and Aergia caught and helped steady him as he climbed onto each of their shoulders. They held Draco’s calves as he crouched on them, and stayed steady as Draco balanced against the wall and pushed up to standing. For a moment, the entire world wavered beneath him and he swore he was about to fall. He grabbed forward for the wall, throwing his weight towards it to catch his balance.

“You’ve got this, Navigator!” Mars cheered beneath him.

Draco choked out a laugh, his fingers still clinging to the bricks.

“Steady on, you’re nearly there,” said an unexpected voice Draco recognized too well. Despite his fear of falling, he twisted to the side to look down at the third man still standing on the table. The sailor’s green eyes twinkled back at him, and Draco knew for certain who he was. King Harry called out, “Keep going. I’ll catch you if you fall.”

Draco’s heart clinched in his chest as a new panic gripped him. He didn’t care about the height or his very real lack of balance. He didn’t worry about the strain he put on the two men propping him up. His only fear was what the king had seen when he’d recognized Draco and what it meant for the rest of this adventure.

Draco looked straight ahead. If he wanted the rest of the adventure to happen he couldn’t panic now. He’d look a fool to all these people he’d tried so hard to impress, but more than that he’d be letting himself down. Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t like the king, and the king didn’t like him. However, the king was very fond of his equinox persona and Draco was far too aware of what possibilities that unlocked. But Draco hadn’t come here for the king. He’d come here to have the magical adventure his parents always promised awaited him. That adventure was exploring remarkable spaces and building teams to solve ridiculous puzzles. He was here now, goddamnit, and it was his for the taking. The king had nothing at all to do with him having the night of his life.

With a deep breath, Draco steadied himself and looked up. His eyes didn’t reach the level of the windowsill, but he would be able to reach it if he tried. He held one hand to the wall for stability and then shifted upwards, trying to stand on tip toes as he reached an arm out as high as it would go. His fingers found the window and he started at one edge then inched along it to the other. It was slow going to not lose his balance, and half way through he had to carefully switch arms to reach the full way. Not once did Draco lose the certainty that this was right and as long as he kept going it would be there.

It was. At the very end, it was. Draco had to lean and stretch, but his fingers went from cold stone to brushing smooth metal.

“I’ve got it!” He cried out, too jubilant to distort his voice. The cheer that went up was from more than Draco’s team. Everyone was thrilled to be in on the action.

Mars had the clever idea to plan for that. While Draco firmly grabbed the metal box and pulled it off the sill, he made no effort to lower himself. Insead, he leaned his head and shoulders against the wall for stability so he could maneuver the box with both hands. He pulled out a pile of papers he had tucked away and held them in his mouth. Then slow and carefully, one at a time, he lined each up to the box and stamped out the next clue. Courtiers beneath him groaned out in frustration when he finished and stretched out one final time to put the metal box back where he found it.

The men beneath Draco each held out a hand for him to grasp so he could drop his feet and be lowered steadily back down to the table. His team was cheering, thrilled to have succeeded so completely. Comet slapped him on the back, but Aergia pulled Draco into a congratulatory hug. The older man squeezed Draco tightly and held on much longer than a friendly hug would go. Once released, Draco stumbled back a step and had to cling to Aergia for balance on the uneven table. When he was steady enough to let go and look up it was to see King Harry’s pained expression as he watched how close the two men were. Draco felt the sudden need to explain that this didn’t mean anything. Not that it mattered, since this whole thing was a lie and the king would abandon Draco should the king ever learn his true identity. Only, if it didn’t matter, why were nerves squeezing Draco’s chest?

Draco turned to Aergia, ready to seek his help in explaining the exaggerated affection away. Only, Aergia wasn’t looking at Draco. He was smirking and his gaze held steady on the king.

Chapter Text

Suddenly everything was moving too fast. Draco hadn’t the time to think through what had happened or what it meant.

Mars was shouting at everyone to hurry. Draco’s legs were shaky as he climbed down off the table and he accepted a steading hand from Aergia, then immediately glanced over at the sailor and saw him watching. Draco averted his eyes and let Mars herd him towards the door. Draco’s hands were also shaky and he barely tucked his own invitation cards away before the sailor unceremoniously took the rest of the stack from him to redistribute. He was no longer looking at Draco at all.

No one dragged their feet on the trip to the chapel. Then everything ground to a halt.

The comet, twin, shooting star, and sailor pointedly blocked out the other trio the moment they reached their new destination, stopping Mars, Aergia, and Draco from getting the slightest hint of the current clue.

“Fuuuck,” Mars groaned, huddled up with her two friends who could only watch the others scheme.

Draco buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god we were suckered.”

Aergia laughed at both of them. “You two need to chill out, this isn’t the end of the world.” Mars actually punched him, with far more force than you’d expect from so small a woman. Aergia winced. “What was that for?”

“Just chill out,” Mars answered in the most mocking tone.

Mars might have been acting childish, but Draco sided with her more than her brother. “I thought we were on the same page, the goal is to win,” Draco reminded him.

Aergia was still rubbing his arm when he flashed Draco a grin and a wink. He tapped the pocket where his invitation was stored. “They’ll have to show us where the stamp is eventually, and we’ll just go after them. There’s a good chance the next location is the observatory, so we’ll catch up with them then.”

“Assuming they find it before the next group gets here and we’re behind a dozen people,” Mars complained sourly.

Aergia sighed and looked to Draco for confirmation that Mars was blowing things out of proportion. Draco tried to smile politely, but his stomach was in knots considering that Mars might be right. It wouldn’t take long for the next group to catch up.

“That’s it, I’m going to investigate,” Mars said before running off to explore the small space. This time Draco did return Aergia’s look, because neither thought her impatience would pay off.

Immediately forgetting about his sister, Aergia used the moment to step closer to Draco. He leaned over so his mouth was close to Draco’s ear. “My invite only lets me bring one person with me,” he murmured, his hand brushing over Draco’s elbow.

Draco swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His eyes glanced up briefly to meet Aergia’s heated gaze. Without question, Draco thought he was an attractive man, but the flirtation didn’t inspire butterflies in Draco’s stomach. It conjured up the image of Aergia smirking at the king. Draco tried to deflect with a laugh, even if the laugh was overly forced. “Mars would kill you if you left her behind,” Draco said. He was exaggerating only a little.

Aergia smirked and shrugged. He stepped even closer. “We could have some fun while we waited for her to catch up.” Draco forced out another laugh, taking a half step back. Without intending to, he glanced back over at the sailor.

Green eyes blazed from across the room, watching the entire exchange. Draco’s breath stopped short even while his pulse sped up. He tried to turn back to Aergia to distract himself but Aergia was still too close. Draco took another half step back. “I… I’ll think about it,” he lied, then turned away from both men and towards the only unoccupied escape that would save face - another table serving alcohol.

Draco chugged an entire flute of champagne in one go. He slammed it down on the table afterwards and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to process everything happening. The evening had swiftly lost its whimsy and Draco was left dreading failure. He grabbed a second flute glass and chugged again.

“Are you trying to get drunk?” came the smooth voice of the king. It held amusement like after Draco had told off Umbridge or joked about poison. A rare thing the king only used with Draco in public. Draco closed his eyes at the realization that the king hadn’t actually recognized him at all. The confirmation of it had Draco twitching to grab another flute and show just how drunk he’d like to get.

Instead he forced a smile, struggling not to look pained. “I’m wallowing. Make them show me the clue so I can stop drowning my sorrows.” It came out strained instead of self assured.

The king widened his eyes in surprise. He glanced over his shoulder at Aergia, who was hassling his sister and pretending not to pay attention to King Harry and Draco’s discussion. “I thought you were having a good time,” he said.

This time Draco’s laughter was real. He worried it was obvious and everyone could tell the difference. He choked it off before anyone could recognize the sound. Draco cleared his throat. “It’ll be fun when the puzzle comes back round.” He shook off his discomfort and adopted a haughty air. “I suppose it’s quite noble of me to give a different team a turn at the game.”

It was the king’s turn to laugh, deep and full throated. “You’re going to be a sore loser, I can tell,” he teased. Draco huffed before grabbing another glass of alcohol after all. The king looked a bit worried as Draco drank it swiftly. “You sure you don’t want to slow down? That’s the good stuff, it’ll fuck you up.”

“How do you know?” Draco snapped, knowing full well the king hadn’t drunk any and wanting to put him on the spot for having details on the event. His entire body was suddenly hot, either from booze or a burst of anger. He wasn’t sure who the anger was for. Maybe Aergia, although Draco didn’t think it fair to be angry at a little flirting. Maybe the king, only Draco didn’t think it fair to be angry at him for not seeing through an intentionally elaborate disguise. Maybe the other players, only Draco thought they were clever for seizing the opportunity and didn’t blame them for leaving his team out. Who was left? Draco’s cheeks flamed as he considered he might be angry at himself for putting himself in a position he clearly wasn’t prepared to handle. Draco reached out for another glass.

The king gently touched his hand, nudging it away from the motion. “Talk to me, what’s going on?” he asked gently. Draco’s eyes were caught on the king’s hand on top of his own. He warred with the knowledge that, even though he knew better, the king’s touch felt so much nicer than Aergia’s.

Maybe it was that he’d been drinking all night and added on too much here in the end, but Draco’s was authentically worried he’d drop his guard and say something honest. Instead, he went on the attack. “This is a stupid game,” he grumbled.

“Are you really this upset about the game?” the king asked.

Draco glowered at him. “I don’t care if you, or Aergia, or anyone doesn’t think it’s worth taking seriously.” He gestured at the folks still huddled together and Mars scouring the room for clues. “The rest of us care and we’re having fun with it.” Draco’s words were starting to slur.

“I actually love that you’re taking this seriously. I’m just worried that something else might be wrong.” Draco absolutely hated that the king looked concerned. He had never, ever been concerned for Draco Malfoy and it felt horrible to experience it for the first time while being seen as a stranger.

Draco clenched his fist, still under the king’s gentle touch. “I’m fine. Shouldn’t you be helping your friends with the puzzle? What are you even doing here talking to me.”

Goddamnit, the king looked hurt. He pulled his hand back from Draco’s and looked sheepishly down at his feet. “I thought you recognized me,” he said, self consciously.

Draco heaved the largest sigh he was capable of. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. He wanted to shout, “Of course I recognized you!” but if he started shouting he might not stop. Draco had no right to be so upset that he had succeeded in so thoroughly deceiving the man in front of him.

He needed to say something, though. Not for the king, but for his own desperate desire to get some part of the truth off his chest.

“When I was little, my parents would tell me stories of equinox balls,” Draco started, his words surprising himself. The king had stilled and watched Draco like what he said mattered. Draco licked his lips nervously, then continued. “They made each ball sound like magic, and I always imagined that whatever was happening, if I was invited to an equinox ball I could enter a magical world and everything else… everything bad… it would all be left behind.” Draco stumbled through the words, not wanting to dwell on how his fantasies of escape started long before they lost the war. He turned back to the king, his eyes imploring. “I don’t want to recognize anything when I’m here. I don’t want you to recognize me. I want us all to show up and pretend to be something different and give a chance on any random person, not caring if we would hate them in real life, and to leave afterwards only with good memories and the mutual agreement that all of this was a dream that we don’t ever have to worry about again.”

The king was staring at Draco with wide, longing eyes. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

Draco could feel his heartbeat in his throat. “Then why do you care if I recognize you?” he whispered.

The king gulped. His expression was strained for a long moment, then he stepped away from Draco and was walking back towards his friends. Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He felt weak in the knees.

To Draco’s utter surprise, the king next spoke loud and booming to the entire room. “This is taking too long. Give the invite to the navigator. I want to see if he can crack it.” His friends let out a round of protest but he silenced them with a stare. The king himself took the invitation from the group and walked it over to Draco. King Harry’s eyes bored into Draco’s as he held the card out. Draco stood frozen on the spot and couldn’t take it. “C’mon, navigator. You yelled at me when you thought I wasn’t taking this seriously,” the king taunted. Then he relaxed and let his eyes sparkle. “Imagine how fun it will be when you show us how quickly you can solve it.”

That sparked something in Draco. His grin was all teeth, but all hesitation was gone as he grabbed the invitation card. He stood tall, resting one hand on a hip he’d cocked out to the side, and the other holding the invitation out in front of him as he made a show of his examination. His vision was blurry again, but with effort he could read it. In truth, he could only make out so much on the page. But he caught keywords.

Pair. Hands. Vows.

“It’s a wedding,” Draco slurred.

A litany of protests and complaints sounded from the king’s friends, but Draco didn’t care. He cared only about how smugly the king was smiling at him.

Draco was too drunk to be the one who put the actual clue to the test. Others did that work. There were marks on the floor where the altar would be, and the twin and comet discovered that when two people worked together part of the floor could be moved, revealing the stamp underneath. It was a job too complex for one - it required teamwork. Like a marriage. Everyone took turns stamping their cards on the device, focusing more on speed than care. Draco went last, stumbling to pull out his cards. He fumbled and both fell to the ground.

“How do you have two?” someone asked. It was the twin. He sounded angry.

Without answering, Draco crouched down to pick them up, but lost his balance and stumbled.

“Fucking drunk,” the twin muttered, then let go of the contraption to stand up and walk away. It didn’t bother Draco, since George was only angry he was cheating.

Draco picked up his cards, but the stamp was gone and he didn’t actually know how to bring it back.

The next thing he knew, Aergia was by his side. “Let me help you,” he said, then he fiddled with the floor to reveal the stamp again.

Draco tried very hard to focus, but he couldn’t figure out the contraption.

Someone else knelt next to him. “Let me do it,” King Harry offered, taking the cards out of Draco’s hands. He paused to look at them. “Why do you have two?” The tone was cold, and painfully familiar. That’s what the king sounded when he talked down to Draco.

“Um,” Draco said, at a loss for words.

“Just stamp the cards already,” Aergia spoke up for him.

The king gave Aergia such a withering look. “Did you know he had two?”

“I don’t care if he had all six,” Aergia snarled at him. “I am so over this, just stamp the cards so we can move on.”

Watching the two of them glare at each other made Draco tired and he hung his head between his legs so he didn’t have to watch them. “Just stamp one of them, we can throw the other away,” Draco suggested. The king scoffed but Aergia eagerly agreed that was a fair approach.

“Fine, which one is actually yours?” the king demanded, holding both cards out.

Draco didn’t even look up. After an entire evening of working so hard to be clever he had been found out as a cheat and screwed it all up. Now the king hated him in both realities. Maybe the king would finally get a good look at him and put the pieces together. Draco squeezed himself tightly for a moment, then without even looking pointed vaguely at the king to randomly select one of the cards.

The king made a small pained noise. Out of nowhere he asked, “You’re married?” That confused Draco enough to look up. The king was holding out the gallery card.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Draco asked.

The king looked physically pained. “Is it recent?” he asked.

“No, seriously, what are you talking about?” Draco repeated.

“You can tell me if it’s recent,” the king said, looking uncomfortable by the idea.

Draco snapped, “I’m not fucking married, why would you even ask.”

The king held the card out again. “Only married people all got sent gallery,” he said.

Draco gaped. He looked from the king, to Aergia, to everyone in the room who weren’t even pretending not to watch.

“How would you possibly know that?” Draco demanded, loudly.

All eyes turned to King Harry. He realized suddenly the size of the audience. “Errrrrr,” he said, trying to think of an excuse before breaking down and admitting, “I’m on the equinox committee.”

“Mate, I’m on the equinox committee, and I didn’t know shit about these invitations,” said the twin, in a minor act of revenge for having been left out of the loop.

“No one is supposed to be saying if they’re on the equinox committee!” Draco nearly shouted. “It’s supposed to be a clandestine organization no one even knows is real. What is so hard about just keeping a secret?”

“Simmer down, there,” said Aergia. “This is a silly game, none of it really matters.”

The entire room was in an uproar over that comment, with any number of choice words for the man, most prominently Mars flailing about and shouting, “Stop trying to make everyone else as miserable as you are!” That was when the astrolabe and her crew walked into the room.

It was amazing timing, in a sense, because Mars was making enough of a distraction that no one noticed Draco shift over so that he was sitting on top of where someone could access the stamp. A moment later the king shifted as well, scooting closer to Draco and blocking the other side of the mechanism. They sat incredibly stiff, the discomfort between them palpable. Still, both committed fully to the game.

“Hey now, what’s all this shouting about?” one of the newcomers asked jovially. A couple people jeered in response, but otherwise their lips stayed sealed.

Draco wondered what they should do. He found himself glancing at the king in the hope he’d have some idea. Draco startled when he turned and the king was already staring back at him. They sat there, looking at each other.

Then Aergia cleared his throat. Draco looked up to see Aergia’s narrowed eyes hard on the pair of men sitting side by side on the floor. He turned to the room and held up his invitation high above everyone, showing off the side with the newly minted fifth stamp of a moon. “They were fighting over who I’ll be taking to the observatory,” he announced. The newcomers gasped, and even Draco’s group murmured. Aergia turned to Draco. “What do you say, navigator, want to come with me?”

Chapter Text

Draco went rigid. His eyes were wide as saucers and he didn’t dare look anywhere but at Aergia, so it would be impossible for Draco to miss the man’s smug expression.

Why would he do that? Draco might have lied to the newcomers out of loyalty to his own team, but that’s not what this was. Loyalty would be owed first and foremost to Mars, and only to Draco if they had made a deal. Aergia had directly asked and Draco had begged off. Draco racked his brain for anything he might have done to be so thoroughly misunderstood by Aergia that the older man would blatantly put him on the spot. Draco had flirted a little. He had teased. Had he crossed a line he wasn’t aware of? He felt far more embarrassed that he wasn’t experienced enough with romance to know for sure. Then again, what was there to learn that would negate how he didn’t want to spend time with any man so careless in causing Draco discomfort?

Perhaps Aergia didn’t see his actions as any different than the King’s. King Harry had called Draco out, daring him to solve a puzzle on command. Only, the two did feel different to Draco. He had asked the king to make his friend’s share the game. Plus, Draco didn’t think the king’s demonstration was about the game at all. He had asked over and over again if Draco was okay, and when Draco refused to open up to him the king had found a different way to distract Draco from his worries.

Draco turned his attention, and saw a brief flash of frustration on Aergia’s face right before Draco looked at the king. King Harry wouldn’t look back at him. He just clinched his jaw and stared straight ahead, waiting for Draco’s answer.

Draco got to his feet, putting space between him and the king. What did he matter, anyway? This wasn’t a choice between two men. Draco had just wanted to enjoy a party game and somehow he got caught up in things he didn’t understand. It was almost worth laughing over, all the things Draco didn’t understand that he got himself caught up in.

Draco understood plenty, though. He understood what is meant to be manipulated and exploited. He knew how people acted when they thought they could pressure you into serving their goals. He had no self doubt about how to respond to that.

“I think you’d best pick someone else,” Draco said, trying to stay even keeled. Still, there were murmurs from everyone watching.

“For real?” Aergia asked. “I thought you said you wanted to win this.”

This wasn't a conversation Draco wanted to have in front of everyone. He glanced at the faces watching but the masks hid individual expressions and Draco couldn’t read everyone’s thoughts. Even if they couldn’t recognize him, Draco didn’t want to be a cause of gossip for himself or his friends’ brother.

“Neither of us will win if we go,” Draco explained. He hated to give the game away, but he hated more to hurt his friends where it mattered and this could save face. “Next is observatory, then I suspect it’s back to the ballroom. Both invitations only let you take one person. You need to pair up with someone who can take you all the way.”

Aergia’s face twisted as the continued refusal. “This will be your only chance to go then, no one else will take you.” Of course Draco’s excuse didn’t work, because Aergia didn’t actually care about the game.

Draco tried not to tighten up in frustration. He tried to ignore the eyes watching and took a few steps closer to Aergia so he could lower his voice. He knew he still would look flushed and embarrassed. “If you want to go, take Mars. You two came together, you should stick it out till the end.”

“If you don’t want to go with me just say it,” the older man said, his eyes boring into Draco as he spoke too loudly.

Draco bit his tongue to hold back his emotional reaction. He stepped a bit closer so he could speak softer but even still he worried they would be overheard. “Can’t we talk about this privately? I’m drunk and stressed out. I’m so off kilter I couldn’t even get the stamp machine to work.” for once he let himself sound pleading, giving a little so Aergia might meet him half way.

Aergia crossed his arms with a frown, but he did lower his voice. “I just want you to be straight with me.”

“Okay,” said Draco. He leaned in even closer so he could speak ever more quietly, but took straightforward too far. “I feel like you’re being really pushy and manipulative right now and I don’t understand why.”

Aergia’s eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Seriously? The only reason I’m even here is because I did you a favor.”

“I appreciate that, I do. And we made a great team. But going forward would be giving up on the game all together, so this is about something else. Can you just be honest with me?” Draco insisted.

“Honest?” Aergia growled. He finally glanced around, like maybe he also didn’t want to be overheard. “Why don’t you start by being honest about how you know Harry.”

Draco’s mouth literally fell open. There were too many layers to this conversation and his drunken brain struggled to keep up. He managed to hiss out, “Who the hell is Harry?” but he could tell Aergia wasn’t convinced.

No, Aergia scoffed in Draco’s face. “You really expect me to believe that Harry would stare daggers at me every time I get close to you, then cozy up to you himself, if you two didn’t know each other?”

Draco was shaking his head. “The king is in the ballroom, we saw him,” he insisted, clinging to the lie even if it sounded hollow even to himself.

“Like this would be the first time Harry put out a body double so he could run off and be irresponsible,” Aergia snarked, explaining King Harry’s sudden appearance in the game.

Draco could only stare at Aergia. Draco’s mouth was opening and closing over and over but he didn’t have any words. He needed something true enough that Aergia would believe him without learning too much. “The equinox balls are anonymous, I never asked him who he was,” Draco squeaked.

This time Aergia’s frown was thoughtful. “So you do know him.” Draco nodded, then shook his head. It was too complicated a question, he didn’t know how to answer. Aergia did the thinking for him. “You recognize him from from the last of these stupid balls.”

“They’re not stupid,” Draco answered, unhelpfully. Then, because he was drunk and not thinking, Draco added, “We met last fall.”

The look Aergia gave him was downright scathing. “You met last fall.” he said in a voice so cold Draco felt icy from hearing it. “That’s it? You had a nice chat?” It clicked then in Draco’s head the king’s timeline for breaking it off with the man he was talking to. Draco blushed harder than ever, unable to meet Aergia’s eyes. Aergia was the one to take two steps back, nearly growling in frustration. “Fuck this,” he said loudly. “Who the fuck has a ballroom card and wants to get out of here?”

The room was dead silent.

“One of you wants to win this. We’ll wrap it up and go see what prize the king has waiting for us.” He stared straight at King Harry as he said it.

It was the twin who spoke up. “Hey, let’s just take a moment. Come have a drink with me and we’ll talk this over.”

Aergia glared at his brother. “No, I’m not going to talk this over. Do you have a ballroom card or not?”

“Yeah, mate, but like let’s calm down a bit before we do anything rash,” his brother said.

That was the last straw. “All you guys do is yammer on about how much you want to win this, but when I say let’s go for it I’m being rash?”

There was a long and pained pause where all of Aergia’s friends stared at him, their mouths creased with worry or pity. Draco closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see and imagine how that would make all of this worse for Aergia. Draco was seconds away from stepping in and begging the twin to just let it go and take his brother’s invitation.

He didn’t have to. It was somehow worse when Colton spoke up and said, “I have the ballroom. Show me how to get the stamp and I’ll go with you.”

There was a chorus of groans from Draco’s side of the room. Mars spoke up to say, “You’re really just going to go off and leave us all here?” she sounded hurt.

Aergia ignored her. He stomped over to where King Harry was still sitting on the floor and said, “Move.” The king sighed, but got to his feet and walked away.

Of course the newer people all watched how Aergia used the trick to open the floor and display the stamp. Colton snuck in quickly and updated his card. The two men didn’t pause to talk with anyone before leaving the room together.

A floodgate of chatter burst open the moment the door closed behind them. Even as they gossiped, the newcomers all lined up to figure out how to access the stamp, and one by one took their turn with it. Draco’s team huddled together and lamented their turn of fate.

It was the king that stepped up to Draco and asked, “Are you okay?”

Draco, so caught up in his thoughts, nearly jumped at the distraction. “Fine!” he yelped.

“That seemed rough,” the king said, still looking a bit worried.

“Oh,” Draco answered with a shrug. “It wasn’t fun. But I don’t think he’s actually angry at me.”

The king raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but Draco just looked at him pointedly until the king’s expression shifted to bashfulness. “Ah,” he said. The king cleared his throat and looked away. “You should go get your card stamped.” He held out a card to Draco, his original observatory invitation.

“Oh, no. Do you still have the gallery one? I already used that, it would be cheating to use two,” Draco said.

“And now that you’re caught you don’t want to?” the king’s voice wasn’t pointed but it wasn’t kind spirited, either.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and left the king holding the card. “They didn’t say you couldn’t bring two,” he grumbled.

“So you stole a second one?” the king guessed.

Draco’s chest tightened painfully at his judgemental tone. “Yes, I am a thief,” Draco said with an exaggerated bravado to cover up for his distress. Spitefully, he grabbed the invitation from King Harry and stomped away towards the crowd of people around the stamp, trying not to think too hard about how easily the king looked down on him. At least when King Harry knew who he was Draco could blame the king’s prejudice. Somehow, in hiding, there was nothing to hide behind. It was clear the king was inclined to think the worst of him.

He struggled when it was his turn. He’d been spiked full of adrenaline during the confrontation, but now he was light headed and sluggish. It took him three tries to do it right, and still his stamp came out slightly lopsided. Draco took the imperfect card with him to a corner where he could collapse against a wall. He watched two more pairs of observatory and ballroom invitations run out into the hallway and his own invitation felt heavy in his hand.

Mars plopped down against the wall next to him. “Everything’s gone to shit,” she said.

Draco nodded. “It’s exceptionally bad, even for me,” he agreed. “Could be worse. I don’t think anyone’s actually died.”

Mars tilted her head back and laughed. “Just wait. I’m going to murder him.”

Draco rolled his head over to look at her. “Are you really?” he asked.

Her head thunked back against the wall. “No,” she said sourly. “He deserves it, though.”

“Does he?” Draco asked, truly curious.

She somehow looked ever more sour. “No,” she said with a pout. “I shouldn’t have bullied him into coming. I thought I could break him out of his funk, but this wasn’t the place to try.”

Draco hummed to acknowledge her words. “He seemed okay, until…” he’s eyes flickered towards the king.

“Yeeeaaaah,” Mars said, dragging the word out. Neither of them wanted to dwell on that issue.

Draco sighed, then held out his card to Mars. “Trade me. You should go after him, make sure he’s okay.”

Mars’ eyes went wide in surprise. “How’d you get that? You had gallery.”

“I cheated,” Draco admitted without remorse.

Mars face split into a giant grin. “Wicked.” She paused for a moment before letting the grin fade. “I couldn’t do that, though. It doesn’t feel right to leave everyone else behind.”

Her words were like a balm to Draco’s nerves. He found himself smiling naturally for the first time in what felt like ages. “I feel exactly the same.”

Both of them paused to look out over the room. It had grown even more crowded than when Aergia left. Clearly the teams at the front had long since lost their lead. This room wasn’t big enough for the amount of people crowded into it now. Draco supposed eventually someone would have to go back. Maybe that was why the last room was so large and served a feast? Perhaps everyone was meant to be stuck there, except for the lucky few who could get to the end.

“It doesn’t make any sense, to make a game where so many people are abandoned,” said Draco.

“Fucking blows, is what it does,” agreed Mars.

Draco glanced around the room, his eyes searching for the king, but he was now hidden amongst the guests. Draco could only catch a glimpse of him, crowded as the room was. He was across the room talking quietly with the astrolabe. Draco chewed on his lip as he thought.

“Why would the king make us play a game like that?” Draco asked.

Mars shrugged. “As you said, it doesn’t make sense. He’s an asshole, but he’s not that sort of asshole, if you know what I mean.”

“No,” Draco murmured. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She paused to think about it. “His heart is in the right place. If you remember that, and give him enough time to work through his feelings, he always comes back around and does the right thing.” She sighed. “He’s like Charlie, that way. They’re too alike, and they’re too different.”

Draco glanced at her. It hurt a bit to keep up the lie as he asked, “Who’s Charlie?”

She blinked in surprise, and then burst out again in laughter. “My asshole brother. Well, one of them.” She smiled broadly. “I’m glad we met up, tonight. It’s too bad you and Charlie didn’t hit it off, I think you’d have been good for him.”

Draco tried to laugh good naturedly but he could tell it came out a bit choked. “I don’t think he’s my type. He kept calling the game stupid.”

That sent Mars into a fit of giggles. She nudged Draco’s shoulder with her own as she laughed. “No, you two never would have made it,” she agreed, fondly. She paused to watch another pair leave for the observatory. “What are we going to do about the game? I don’t want to go back.”

Draco stared after the pair as well. “I’ll stick it out with you as long as you’re willing,” he decided. She didn’t answer, but he saw her smiling. They both watched the crowd get increasingly agitated around them. The flutes of champagne had long since run out there was nothing to do in the room. “We have to be missing something,” Draco murmured, mostly to himself.

“You read the last clue, do you remember what it said?” Mars asked.

Draco shook his head. “Honestly, I was so drunk I hardly read it. If it wasn’t so obvious I never would have figured it out.”

That perked Mars up. “So you might have missed something?” she asked.

Draco paused to think, then without hesitation he said, “Yes.”

They didn’t even discuss it before they were both standing. In unison they walked over to the shooting star and asked to see her card again. No one cared, anymore, and she shared it willingly. Draco and Mars hovered over it, their eyes scanning the page again and again, determined to find out what they’d missed. It was Mars who pointed at the word. It was not something they’d missed, but a sign that something wasn’t there. The invitation declared the event began at the stroke of midnight, but it didn’t have any other number.

Mars and Draco met each other’s eyes. “Do you think…” Mars started and Draco immediately said, “it would have to.”

Draco pulled his observatory card back out. He licked his lips nervously, staring at the card, and then at his companion. “We have to test it,” Draco said.

Mars nodded, then pushed Draco towards the door, grabbing people as she followed behind him.

Draco was first in the line up, followed by the twin, the comet, the shooting star, Mars, the Patil sisters, and finally another woman Draco didn’t recognize that he guessed was dressed as a planet. Outside the door was the guard who would make sure only people with proper invitations could pass. Draco looked him squarely in the eye and showed him the invitation. He pointed to the same line in his that the chapel invite had. “I want to take seven,” he said with the confidence of someone who desperately wanted to be correct.

The guard took his invitation, confirmed the stamp on the back, and counted the people he’d brought with him. Then he gave the card back with a nod, pointing the way to the observatory.

There was a long, disbelieving pause, and then the entire team let out an enthusiastic cheer. The comet and twin were jumping up and down, the shooting star pulled Mars in for a hug. Draco let the planet hug him, too. He pulled away only to pop his head back into the chapel, where everyone else stared on in confusion.

Draco still wanted to win the game, but more than that he didn’t want anyone to be left behind all alone. “You can bring seven!” he called out, so that everyone would have the clue. Then he was being pulled back out the door, to join his team towards the final puzzle.

Chapter Text

The tower had a different use, once. For centuries, it served as a dungeon for some of the most notorious prisoners in the kingdom. Until a previous king desired to be a man of science and had the tower dungeon decommissioned and replaced with what stood there now.

The group had to climb until their legs ached, up to the highest point in the entire City. The group walked into the room distracted as they heaved deep breaths. Then they stopped to stare. The observatory walls were taller than the great hall, arched up and over the octagonal room. Its large windows must have been almost six meters high, allowing guests to view nearly the entire sky. At the top of the windows were eight life-size full-length portraits of astrologers. On the domed ceiling were intricate paintings of the twelve figures of the zodiac and the stars which accompany them.

The paintings had everyone looking up, but the room itself was worthy of attention. Across the floor was an embedded meridian line - a line running between the north and south points on the horizon. Astronomers could use it to identify when objects could be viewed at their highest point in the sky. To help with viewing, there were three long telescopes, as well as various instruments for measuring celestial coordinates, dials, refracting binoculars and pendulum clocks.

Draco was not a man of science, but even he was entranced. He walked into the room, taking in the beautiful mechanical tools that would unveil the heavens to those who looked.

There was just one thing out of sorts - a pair of guests standing next to a hastily erased chalkboard.

“What’s this?” Draco asked, walking up to them.

A woman in a fairly unoriginal take on a star shuffled her feet. “We got here just as everyone else was leaving. One of them laughed at us, and, well, I think they erased the clue.”

Draco blinked and stared at the chalkboard. There were scratches of letters still visible, but nothing that could be read.

“That leaves us proper fucked, don’t it,” said the comet, who’d walked up to Draco’s side. The others were gathering around to add in their two cents about the situation.

Draco interrupted to ask, “Which one of them was it that laughed?”

The second of the guests half shrugged, but still put thought into remembering. “I didn’t know him, but he was dressed in gold I think.”

Draco was thankful his mask hid his dark expression, so the only thing that showed was the thin line of his angry lips.

“You know him?” Mars asked, too perceptive for Draco’s liking, if only just for tonight. Draco shook his head so his voice wouldn’t betray him but it wasn’t convincing. She didn’t buy it. “If you know the fucker you have to tell me so I can show him what’s for.”

Draco cracked a smile at that. He tilted his head at the woman’s balled fists and fierce gaze. “I don’t think I’d ever risk getting on the bad side of anyone in your family,” he remarked off hand.

It was the twin who laughed at that. Frankly, he laughed much harder than the comment could possibly deserve. “Then you best fess up and give us a name,” he said jovially.

With a sigh, Draco just shook his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Colton to get what was coming to him, he just didn’t want anything to come back to him at the end of this. He made sure to shift his voice just a bit as he answered, “Speculation doesn’t suit us.”

“Don’t know if you can tell, mate, but speculation is all we’ve got without the clue here,” the comet threw in.

They all paused to stare melancholily at the board again.

Mars wasn’t one to let that sit. With a clap of her hands, she began to order folks about the room. “Searching” she called it, but really the assignments she doled out seemed more like having everyone play with the fascinating, and likely delicate and expensive, astronomy tools.

The melancholy vanished entirely as Draco stared through a telescope and saw stars like he never had before. He found he didn’t care a lick that they were trapped here. It was nice, even, being able to linger and take in each of his favorite constellations without the pressure to move along to the next step.

He almost missed the next group arriving at the observatory. Mars had to call him back over to the blackboard where she was once again huddling, this time with the astrolabe and the crew following her. Draco glanced around, he didn’t recognize any of the newcomers. They were talking very seriously and didn’t hesitate to bring Draco into it.

“It was in chapter twenty seven when the captain devised a way to track time at sea and with the star map he began in chapter eighteen…” she began to launch into a complicated retelling of this events’ namesake, focused entirely on the bits Draco had skimmed over. She looked at Draco when she finished talking, “Don’t you agree?”

Draco’s eyes went wide, and he did his best to keep the “why did you bring me over here?” look he sent Mars discreetly before pasting on a smile and actually answering, “Can’t say I rightly know.”

The astrolabe deflated. “I thought you’d read the book, too.”

Draco’s smile slipped, but he rallied and managed to answer confidently. “Not the math parts.”

Mars snorted. “I thought you were good at puzzles.”

“Not the math puzzles,” Draco said, managing to look down his nose at her primly as if she were the silly one.

“Can’t you do math?” Mars asked, clearly needling him just for fun.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Why would I bother with maths when I can just have -” he stopped talking. He had seriously been about to say he could just have Percy do it, to Percy’s sister, who wasn’t meant to know he knew any of her family at all. However, when you stop talking suddenly no one stops looking at you and now Draco was left muttering “er” in front of onlookers who he was determined to have respect him. “Specialization is how you get ahead! And the astrolabe clearly is the specialist here, let’s trust her explicitly.”

Mars snorted again, but let it go this time since she clearly agreed that following the astrolabe’s lead was the right approach. It meant listening to more math, though, which Draco was not here for, so he politely excused himself with the intent of returning to a telescope. The view of the night sky shining through the windows once again caught him up in awe. It was beautiful. He smiled just because he was able to see it. He couldn’t believe he had never been allowed to visit before. If he’d known what he was missing he’d certainly have snuck in at some point in his childhood. What a wonder the king was opening it up to everyone now.

Only… Draco turned back around to the group and tugged at the astrolabe’s arm. “How many people are left in the chapel?” he asked.

She was caught off guard at the question. “Perhaps two dozen?” she guessed.

Draco’s lips tightened again. “Were there not anymore observatory cards?” he asked.

The astrolabe shook her head. “No, most everyone with one left right at the start. More will come, most likely, in time.”

A worry had formed in the pit of Draco’s stomach and he couldn’t let it go. “Will it be enough to bring everyone, do you think?”

The astrolabe could only shrug. “I wish I knew, but I don’t know how invitations were distributed.”

Draco licked his lips, considering. “I have a card,” he showed her his observatory invitation. “And you brought one. And one that bloke over there. That’s three. If we go back in one group, we could get most everyone. Whoever’s left could easily get picked up by a group who needs a seventh to go the final way.”

The astrolabe’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why would you do that? This is a competition,” she reminded him.

Draco couldn’t hold back a sigh. He didn’t want to pick a fight, but he found her words cold hearted. “The competition only works if it’s fun. There’s nothing fun in not being able to play because the people with the power ditched you instead of putting in the work to get the puzzle right. Just as there’s nothing fun in showing up and having the clue erased so you’re stuck guessing.”

“And what’s fun about showing up to cheat with two invitations?” she asked stonily.

Draco winced. “I thought it rather fun, honestly,” he tried for glib.

She only hardened further. “If you hadn’t cheated, I would be winning,” she declared. Draco believed it.

“Alright, fine, I gave myself an edge in the game. All I can say is I didn’t know what I was getting into when I did it and it was all good spirited. Maybe I could have caught up with you on my own merit, maybe I would have been held up in the great hall by having to be more strategic in befriending strangers and it would have taken me ages to even get started. Who’s to say. At the end of the day, your big, puzzle-solving brain is what’s going to find the stamp with absolutely no clues because you’re brilliant and can do things I can’t. And while you’re doing that, I’m going to go back and get everyone else who needs your brilliance just as much as I do.” Draco was out of breath again when he finished talking, but it was worth it because the astrolabe’s face had softened.

She was still cold-hearted, though, and responded only with, “That’s an awful lot of stairs to do twice.”

It sounded mocking, or perhaps daring, in any case it sounded like she didn’t believe Draco would follow through if he thought a little harder about what it took. Draco nearly growled out, “Not only will I do it twice, but watch me find six folks who care enough to do it, too.”

The astrolabe cocked an eyebrow. While she didn’t smile, her eyes sparkled with mirth. Draco suspected she was pleased with his answer even if she didn’t say so. It was infuriating, but also gratifying. He stomped off to do exactly what he said before he broke down and asked her what the story was behind her deep expressions and terse words.

The pair they’d found in the room agreed immediately. “I have a library invitation, anyway. We just wanted to stick together, and were tired of being trapped in the chapel,” said the woman. It was like if Aergia hadn’t ended the night an asshole and Draco liked them better for it.

The random bloke who’d brought through the Astrolabe’s group agreed as well. “Anything for Hermione,” he said. On inquisition he admitted he meant the astrolabe, and yes, he did actually take confidentiality seriously, and no, he wouldn’t be breaking it again please stop yelling at him. Draco wasn’t yelling but he forgave the man for his mistake.

The shining star passed, but offered up her chapel card to Mars, who informed Draco from the start that of course she would be going how dare he not ask her first. For that matter, the twin and the comet had the same sentiment when they rounded the crew out to the chapel invitation plus six.

They left the room to cheers. Draco paused at the doorway, looking backwards. Everyone was still hard at work, either searching in earnest or out an endearing sort of obligation. They had stopped their work, though, to see their friends off on a quest to bring more of their friends back together. Draco didn’t really know any of these people, but tonight, on this strange journey, they had become friends. At the very least teammates. Perhaps even a crew, the way the voyagers in the book had been a crew. Each dedicated to the other, for the good of the whole.

Draco didn’t mind the long trek downwards. His heart was warm and his smile was happy.

Chapter Text

Draco minded the trek upwards, again, quite a lot. Of course it was because of the steps, which went on forever and showed Draco’s lack of stamina. He regretted that he was closer to the tail end of the much larger group of people returning. He was immensely grateful that Mars had stuck by his side, even though he suspected she had capacity to go faster and would have if Draco wasn’t holding her back.

Ultimately, this was fine, though. Draco had signed up for this. He’d known what he was getting into when the astrolabe rubbed it in his face and still dedicated himself to the challenge. Who cared if once again he was getting a beautifully crafted costume a bit rumbled and sweaty. It was fine.

What had been far less fine was the bickering he had to sit through between the nineteen- not two dozen, mind you, exactly nineteen, they kept saying - people in the chapel over who exactly would go forward to the next step. Draco could bicker with the best of him, but this hadn’t been the pleasant sort. This was grown adults counting on fingers, talking about what twenty four minus seven meant, then how twenty four plus another nine somehow was also important, and also here’s how many people would need to stay in the chapel to balance out the groups of seven who would arrive with unknown invitations, except if you’re following the pattern, which someone definitely was doing and explaining in depth, it was likely there would be no shortage of observatory and ballroom cards in the future, if only someone stuck around and lined up the math.

Draco wasn’t even bad at math, truly. He excelled at all his subjects, his father would never have let him do otherwise. It’s just he came to this party to dance, drink, and look fabulous, and he had spent much too much time leaning against a wall feeling sweaty with no booze in sight, listening to people count.

Climbing up stairs getting sweatier was better than that, he supposed, if only just.

He heard the cheering up ahead when the first of the group reached the top, and it gave him hope that his legs wouldn’t have to scream at him for much longer. Everyone at the tail of the group rallied at the promise of this soon being done.

Then it was done, and Draco was being greeted warmly as if he belonged there, amongst all these strangers, and everyone was excited to have him. Bollocks, it was a head trip he wasn’t prepared for. Sure, at the first two equinox balls, he’d been welcomed. He’d been included in games. He’d won over individuals. Hell, he’d been lusted after.

He hadn’t been swept up in a hug by the Patil sisters, who finally let their stoic exteriors crack. He hadn’t been slapped on the back by two strangers telling him how he’d done good. He hadn’t been pulled into yet another huddle of clever thinkers who not only put their minds together to succeed, but thought Draco deserved to be among them.

He wasn’t crashing someone else’s event. He was meant to be here, whether they knew it, or whether he had truly realized it himself.

The huddle was a bit silly, though, because it was just the astrolabe explaining that she had definitely solved the puzzle while they were out, before launching into more counting. Draco humpfed loudly, but the shooting star was there as well, and she launched into a simultaneous explanation of how someone definitely left booze to be discovered in a cupboard, and by the way everyone please take a glass. Draco, the twin, Mars, and the comet were all willing to listen to math for that.

And really, all the math came down to was that three people would need to stay behind. Draco didn’t think they needed to take so long to say that. Twenty four, plus nine, divided by eight, was four groups with three left over. Less, perhaps, if there were five ballroom invitations. Then there would only be one person who couldn’t tag along. Draco was on his second drink when the astrolabe insisted on an inventory. He and his friends snickered behind their glasses, before the astrolabe glared at them and the group raucously supported the idea and demanded everyone pull out their cards.

It’s not that they didn’t care about the counting and math, just that they’d been through so much that night. They’d long since lost the actual game, which had only really mattered anyway when it was about having something to strive for. Draco didn’t feel like he needed anything to strive for, not with so many people around him not only putting in effort, but doing it with the assumption it was at least in part on his behalf. He was surprised to find himself, well, not content… there was still a lingering thought in his mind that held off contentment. Perhaps, though, he was happy.

Of course, there were five ballroom cards. Wise, committed, passionate people began to argue about what would happen next, but Draco and his friends didn’t. They were sitting on the floor now, their backs against one of the giant windows.

The twin was on the far edge of the group and he had to lean forward to glance over at the others. “We going or we staying?” he asked, like it didn’t mean anything to him.

Mars was tapping her fingers across the floor, still needing to constantly move. “Do we leave Charlie to his fate or go murder him?” she asked.

Draco nudged her shoulder with his own. “You should go after him. Tell him you forgive him or some rot,” he said. He was beginning to feel fuzzy again from the booze and it made him too honest. “That’s what I’d want someone to do for me.”

Mars slumped forward and grunted. “He doesn’t deserve it,” she muttered, but it didn’t sound sincere.

“So we’re all in for it, then?” Comet asked, with the same nonchalance the twin displayed.

Draco thought a bit. He glanced around the room, his eyes tilting up to the wide, tall windows. It had been peaceful, just staring into the night.

“I think I’m going to stay,” he realized it only as he said it.

“Oy, no you’re not!” said Mars. “We’re in this together.”

Draco’s lips twitched upwards. He nudged her again. “I’m glad we met tonight, but you should go, and I should stay. I’d quite like to enjoy the telescopes some more.”

“This isn’t you being noble again, is it?” the comet asked, side eyeing Draco as if he wasn’t sure he trusted people who were noble.

Draco could understand that. Noble people did things that only made sense if you flipped your thoughts on their head. He didn’t think he was doing that. Not even when he glanced around the room and saw the nervous faces of the people on the outskirts. The ones who didn’t have a clique of people already committed to them. The sort Draco should be part of, only he somehow was not. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

In the end, any number of people offered to stay behind with Draco. He found himself stumbling over reasons why they shouldn’t. It was all, “you should go take care of your brother,” or “you should stop your sister from murdering your brother,” and “You’re the only reason we’ve solved this, I’ll never forgive you if you don’t win.” It felt like they’d be winning, even if they didn’t come in first.

The comet surprised him by booth taking Draco’s side in pressuring their friends along, and finding a solution to the someone-gets-left-behind challenge. “We just need to send another group back to the chapel to pick up one more person. Then you’re back at even numbers, and eventually you should be able to hop out with another group.”

It was ridiculous, to send seven people back to come back with just eight, and Draco flat out refused to climb the stairs a third time.

It was just, he didn’t have to. The comet didn’t even have to. Seven volunteers came out of nowhere, Draco didn’t even know them. They’d been some of the ones trapped behind at the chapel that he’d gone back for, and they were more than willing to return the favor. So Mars squeezed Draco goodbye, and the comet clapped him on the shoulder, and the astrolabe shook Draco’s hand, and they went down the stairs with the seven strangers heading the opposite way so that Draco would have a chance to meet up together in the end.

Staring up at the stars and sitting in the enormous observatory with a handful of stragglers waiting for their friends to return, Draco felt like he had won. It would have been enough for him, just knowing he could have made it all the way and it was his choice alone that stopped him. This add on, where strangers refused to give up on him, warmed him to the bone.

He still wasn’t in a rush to go anywhere. He settled in for a long rest, unclasping his cape to lay over himself as a blanket, and pulling out the handkerchief the Weasley girls made him to wipe the sweat that had gathered beneath his mask while he had the moment to do so unseen. He relaxed back against his hands, savoring the moment of quiet.

He knew the ballroom would be fun. It would have the dancing and delight he’d been looking for. It also would be a lot more emotional toil and constant concern that if he slipped up and was too much of himself he’d lose control and the bigger game of concealing his identity, the game that mattered, would be up for good.

Out of nowhere, the clock in the room where the final clue was hidden began to toll. Twelve loud chimes rang out, noting the midnight hour. Draco smiled to himself, reminded of the first equinox ball when he really had to leave before he was found out. This wasn’t so different. Just, instead of rushing home to hide his choices from his household, he was staying put to hide himself from… everyone.

Draco had forgotten what it had been like, to be liked. Not that he truly understood, before. He’d had friends, but not in the way Mars and the twin and the comet had been his friend tonight. Draco supposed he had lackeys and sycophants, or manipulative bastards like Colton, each clinging to him because he could get away with nearly anything and would one day be a duke. While Draco had enjoyed their company, it hadn’t been the easy comradery of folks who were there just because they thought you a good sort of fellow that they wouldn’t mind having along. Nor had his childhood friendships ever required Draco to prove himself a decent person, like he had to this evening.

It made him wonder if his two worlds could ever meet. It was so easy, to prove himself when he was anonymous. Like it had been easy to play the game when he dealt himself an extra hand. Proving himself as himself wasn’t easy at all. It took risking his life as a child to help his cousin eat, or waiting hand and foot on sick family members to show he offered any value. Draco didn’t want another tragedy just so he could stand out in the real world where it truly mattered.

He also wasn’t sure he wanted to stand out here, anymore, where he couldn’t know if he’d get the same kindness and respect if he took off his mask. Because in these quiet moments when he allowed himself to think, he knew, whether he wanted it to or not, it did matter to him a great deal whether they would think differently of him if they knew.

He was still lost in thought when the others in the room cheered again. He looked up in time to see everyone return. Only, it was definitely more than one group and everyone was talking loudly and coordinating logistics. Draco turned back to the stars and let the room do what it would.

“Hey, we’re heading off now,” some said to draw Draco’s attention. There was a chorus of goodbyes, and statements of appreciation before the parting comment, “Our friends in the chapel are going to help line up the numbers so you two can get out soon.” Draco remembered then they weren’t talking to him alone, but it wasn’t until everyone began to leave that the partner they collected for him was revealed.

Of course, it was the sailor, King Harry. If Draco wasn’t ready to face his friends, he certainly wasn’t ready to face the king. Their eyes met for just a moment, just long enough for Draco to feel the heat of that intense emerald gaze. Then Draco turned away. When the crowd left, it was just Draco, and the king, and the silence between them.

The king approached Draco carefully, as if he knew he was unwelcomed.

“Come too close and I’ll steal something of yours,” said Draco, unable to help himself.

The barb gave the king pause. Then, instead of walking towards Draco, he beelined for a table that Draco hadn’t realized had drawers in it. The king pulled out several items and carted them all over to Draco, before plopping down next to the younger man and laying out his find. There was another bottle of alcohol, but also what looked like water, and some cheese and crackers as well.

“You can have whatever you want,” the king said.

Draco could only stare at the offerings. He didn’t dare meet the king’s earnest gaze. Draco shifted nervously. He did want some food, and some water, but he couldn’t just move on. Instead, Draco mirrored the words he’d used earlier that evening for Aergia, “I think you’d best save this for someone else.”

The king’s expression drooped like a sad puppy. “I was hoping I’d see you again tonight. I wanted to talk.”

Draco sighed and shook his head, looking back to the stars. He wished he was an astrologer and could read the future in the stars. As it was, the stars were beautiful but his future looked murky and unknown. He tried to tread carefully in this uncertain space. “I think we’ve talked enough. Let’s just enjoy the view until the next group arrives.”

“Please, Wolf, give me a chance. I’m sorry I upset you earlier, I wasn’t thinking and I didn’t mean it,” the king pleaded.

His words were unexpected enough that Draco did glance back. The king was leaning towards him, entirely focused on Draco. A look like that would send heat rushing through any man. Still, Draco couldn’t accept the apology. “You can’t just be nice to me sometimes, and mean to me when it suits you. You’re judgemental past the point of rudeness,” said Draco, not sure he was talking about the king’s behavior this evening.

“I’m sorry,” the king said again, crushing Draco more than a little. How many times had Draco called the king out on his actions only for the king to respond with anger? Now, though, looking at a stranger, the king was all sincerity and contrition. “It’s my nature to be suspicious, but I know that makes me harsh. I shouldn’t have thought the worst of you tonight.”

“I doubt you really mean that,” Draco answered.

The king was taken aback. “Of course I do!”

Draco shook his head. “No, you don’t. You’re saying it to me here and now because I’m anonymous and it means nothing to apologize to me and say you wish you were better. It only means anything if you think about how you treat all the people you dislike out in the real world and wish you’d treat them better, too.”

The king’s gaze grew hard, but no less focused. “If that’s what it takes. I wish I was a kinder person. I wish I could face conflict with effortless good will, and always keep a cool head and see the best in people. I want to be that way. Can that be enough? Wanting, but not yet knowing how?” It tugged at Draco’s heart to hear his yearning and to believe it.

Draco had to blink back his own emotions and look away. “You wouldn’t like me out in the real world,” he said, not for the first time. “How am I supposed to feel, knowing you can be kind to me when I wear a mask, but can’t bring yourself to be kind to my face?”

“You don’t know me, you don’t know how I would act” the king insisted.

Draco threw his head back and laughed. “Of course I know you,” he admitted, his eyes on the sky in front of him instead of the king. He hadn’t meant to admit it, but he didn’t know how else to make the king understand. “I’ve always known who you were.”

Silence stretched between them again. When the king spoke next his voice was strained. “Always?” It was a bleak rhetorical question. “And you just figured, this was your chance to sleep with the king?” He sounded pained instead of angry.

Draco scoffed. “Hardly. I didn’t want anything to do with you but you wouldn’t let up. This has been such a mess.” He couldn’t even blame his honesty on alcohol anymore, he was once again nearly sober.

The king paused for a long time, long enough Draco’s curiosity got the better of him and he looked back again. He caught the king watching him, all thoughtful and intense. The king bore into him with his gaze, trying to see deeper into him to discern some hidden truth. “Tell me who you are,” he said, more of a command than a question.

Draco shrunk in on himself. “You wouldn’t like me,” he said again. There were cleverer things to say, but that was the one Draco couldn’t let go of. It hurt every time the king was kind because he knew it was just part of the fantasy. Even still, he didn’t want to ruin every memory of every equinox ball by ending it here and now.

The king’s hand twitched with his desire to reach out to Draco, but he held himself back. “Give me the chance to decide that for myself,” the king pleaded.

“Why?” Draco asked, not actually wanting an answer. He licked his lips nervously before pouring out his anxieties. “It’s not like I mean anything to you. If I hadn’t been there, it’s not like you wouldn’t have just found someone else. In spring, you’d chosen out a room for sex and had all your supplies stocked up, and I doubt you’d planned that I’d be the one you took back for the night. These parties are fantasies. Nothing in them matters, especially not anything that happens between us.”

“It may have only been two nights, but they felt more real to me than months with other men,” shared the king. He cracked a small, self deprecating smile. “I suppose that may have been in part because I thought you didn’t know, and you liked me just for myself.”

Draco laughed again, imagining the king’s disappointment. “More like I liked you despite yourself.” He cringed hearing his own words. They sounded nearly affectionate. “Not that I like you at all.” That didn’t walk far enough back for Draco’s liking. “Fucking you meant nothing to me.” It was too harsh and the blood was pounding in Draco’s ears, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“Why are you lying?” the king asked, his voice soft and gentle. This time he did reach out and placed one hand over Draco’s. It was so warm but Draco refused to be comforted.

“I’m not lying,” Draco nearly squeaked. He didn’t want to be lying. He didn’t want it to have meant anything, so he didn’t have to feel anything now or ever.

“Okay,” the king placated. “Okay.” He rubbed a thumb over the back of Draco’s hand. He took a deep breath. “It’s alright if it didn’t mean anything to you. But you’re wrong, about how I feel. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I came tonight only hoping for the chance to see you again.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, but it only made the king’s hand feel warmer against his own. He forced out one word. “Why?”

The king hummed thoughtfully. “I had wondered, myself,” he shared, “But watching you tonight, I think I get it. You’re this perfect mix of determination, playfulness, and generosity. You win over everyone around you,” he shared a small, intimate smile before continuing, “no matter how broken down we may be.”

“You’re not broken,” Draco said, focusing on the one safe thing he could use to deflect form all the rest of the nonsense the king had said.

It was the king’s turn to laugh, lightening his entire body. “Yeah, you know who I am, but you don’t know me.” He fully took Draco’s hand in his own. “And I think I know you, but don’t know who you are.”

“No,” Draco said, uncertain of what exactly he was disagreeing with.

“Okay,” King Harry said, the word warm and comforting and in no way pushing Draco beyond where he wanted to be.

“I mean it. I don’t want that,” Draco insisted.

The king leaned against Draco, resting his head on Draco and gently kissing his shoulder. “Okay, whatever you want,” he said, sounding more resigned.

Draco’s heart was pounding. His mind was stuck on how warm his arm was with the king wrapped around it. “This isn’t what I wanted,” he felt the need to keep explaining even though no one was fighting him. “I just wanted an anonymous fantasy escape for fun. That’s all this was supposed to be. I don’t care who you are, it’s not supposed to matter.”

The king wrapped an arm around Draco’s back, pulling him closer. “I know,” he soothed. Draco hadn’t realized how tight he was squeezing his fists until the king’s other hand stroked one hand gently, easing Draco’s grip before he could hurt himself with his nails. “If that’s all you want,” the king paused mid sentence. Draco could feel him taking a deep breath and steading himself. “If that’s all you want,” he continued, “I can do that for you.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. “You don’t mean that.”

King Harry pulled away just enough that he could raise both hands to either side of Draco’s face, coaxing Draco to open his eyes and look into the King’s. “I told you. You can have whatever you want.”

Draco stared, unable to look away from the king’s earnestness. He felt warm and lightheaded from the gentle and supportive touches. This wasn’t anything like the past balls. This wasn’t anything like anything Draco had ever imagined. He felt like he was floating, but it didn’t feel like fantasy. It felt so, so real. The sort of reality you might regret, but not as much as you’d regret not going for it. Afterall, Draco always did make such stupid choices.

He was the one, this time, who deliberately leaned forward, until his body lined up against King Harry’s. Draco pushed the king’s hands away but only so he could wrap his own arms around the king’s neck, before pulling him in for a bruising, fervent kiss.

Chapter Text

The king kissed hungrily. One hand clung to Draco’s chest, the other started at his knee but quickly trailed over his cotton hose to wrap around the sensitive skin on the back of Draco’s thigh. His fingers teased at the edge of Draco’s breeches, tantalizingly close to places that would be more pleasurable to grip and caress. Draco moaned into the king’s mouth, before quickly losing patience with the teasing.

Draco rolled over to climb closer until he crawled onto the king’s lap to straddle the other man. The king chuckled underneath him. He was all grins and it made something flutter in Draco’s chest to see the other man so pleased. It was probably a mistake, letting this happen. Draco should run away and end it, to protect both of them from whatever fallout must be coming. Only, the king’s grin had softened into a smile, and he had wrapped both hands around Draco’s waist to hold him close. The fluttering inside Draco intensified and instead of running he leaned in again, capturing the king’s lips in another kiss.

The king clung to Draco. One strong hand had slipped from his waist down further to his rump where he squeezed Draco’s ass and ground Draco down against him. Draco could feel the king’s arousal matching his own and he moaned again. It just felt so good. It couldn’t be too bad, letting himself feel this good.

They were so lost in the sensation of touching each other that both men missed the creak of the door opening, until it hit the wall with a bang. Draco tore himself away at the noise. People were pouring into the room, with a full view of the entangled men on the floor. Several among them laughed as Draco jumped back and off the king’s lap, flopping inelegantly to the floor.

The king made a soft noise of protest when Draco pulled away, uncaring of the audience who discovered them. His lidded gaze was only for Draco. He was watching so closely it would have been impossible not to tell that Draco was uncomfortable. So the king stood up, discreetly adjusting himself as he did so. He held out a hand to the younger man and helped him back onto his feet before intentionally standing between Draco and everyone else to half hide him from view.

Draco noticed the privacy he’d been granted and with eyes off him he felt like he could breathe. He gave himself a moment to calm down and stop his heart from racing, only then remembering to swoop down and pick up his cloak and handkerchief. Then he tilted sideways so he could see. What he saw were dozens of people streaming into the observatory from the staircase. The room was soon so full that King Harry and Draco were lost among a crowd of people, most of which had never seen the two canoodling. The king took a half step backwards to make space, at the same time Draco stepped forward to be closer to him. They bumped together, but instead of springing apart, Draco slipped his free arm around the king’s waist and hid his face against his back. It would still be wiser to run away, but Draco stood there, taking deliberate breaths, feeling more comforted by the other man’s solid presence then he would be with the sea of strangers.

“Distinguished guests, the final stamp awaits,” a woman called out in a sing-song voice. Draco looked up. He was tall enough he could rest his head on the king’s shoulder. What he saw was a slim woman dressed in black trousers and blouse, with a hand knitted shawl around her shoulders made of white, green and pink yarn. Her mask was matching waves of green and white. She recited to the room, “My hands are just as important as my face, and I'm not one to sit still. What am I?”

“A clock,” Draco whispered into the king’s ear while the other guests scrambled to solve the riddle and find the final stamp. King Harry’s whole body rumbled in laughter.

King Harry reached down to grab the hand Draco had wrapped around him. “Let’s get out of here,” he suggested as he pulled Draco forward towards the door. The two slipped out of the room without further notice.

Of course, the guards didn’t stop King Harry. He and Draco jogged down the stairs before immediately leaving the marked path. The longer Draco followed the king, the harder his heart pounded. For the first time tonight the castle felt too large, the rooms too far away from each other. He tried to focus only on the king in front of him, who walked with deliberate confidence that told Draco the destination could not be too far.

Of course, Draco recognized the room they entered. The king’s solar was a private chamber for quiet use. It had a large fireplace, already lit, which warmed and illuminated the room. The king paused just inside, turning back to Draco to gently cup his face once more. This time, King Harry’s kiss was gentle. Draco tried to push forward and deepen it, but King Harry held him back until Draco gave in and accepted the king’s tantalizingly soft menstrations. The kiss built slowly, with small flickers of tongue and nibbles on lips. Each time Draco pushed for faster, the king slowed more, until Draco whimpered and rubbed his entire body against the other man, desperate for more sensation.

The king pulled away with a moan, his hooded eyes devouring the sight of Draco, all eager and wanton. King Harry took Draco by the waist again and began to walk backwards, pulling Draco further into the room. Draco tried to be patient, but it was hard when the king’s intense gaze focused on Draco alone. So Draco lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the older man and smothering him in the deeper kiss he’d longed for.

King Harry gave in. He kissed Draco with all the ferocity Draco gave to him, one hand carding through Draco’s hair before gripping it and pulling Draco’s head backwards. The king’s kisses trailed over Draco’s chin, down to his neck, until King Harry’s teeth grazed his sensitive skin and he sucked over Draco’s pulse point.

“No marks,” Draco gasped out.

The king groaned into his neck. “It’ll feel good.” His voice was raspy with desire.

Draco knew it would. “No marks,” he said anyway. “It was a bitch to hide them last time.”

The king’s teeth scraped over Draco’s neck again. “So don’t hide them. I want everyone to see.”

Heat shot through Draco, and if it was possible he grew even more aroused. The king’s possessiveness an unexpected kink. Draco’s hips bucked to meet the king, grinding against him to further the sensation. He said anyway, “No marks. You said whatever I want.”

The king pulled his head back from Draco’s neck, resting it against the puff of sleeve on Draco’s shoulder. “Okay.” He was panting, as if it took great effort to restrain himself. “We’ll do something else.” Both his hands slid under Draco’s thighs and suddenly lifted, pulling Draco up into the air. Draco yelped as he wrapped both legs around the king instinctively, still dropping the cloak and handkerchief in surprise. This was clearly what King Harry had wanted, since he immediately carried Draco across the room before tossing him down onto a giant bed.

He was in the king’s bed, in the king’s private chamber, in the king’s castle, where the king was staring down at him as if he could devour Draco whole. King Harry held Draco’s gaze as he pulled off his pea coat and tossed it aside. The king crawled onto the bed after him until he loomed over Draco, his gaze promising wicked and pleasurable things.

King Harry slid his hands across Draco’s chest, reaching behind him to find whatever cords needed be untied to release his doublet. “How do you want it?” he asked, at the same time he untied the bindings holding Draco’s outwear tight. Draco let him pull off the outer layer.

“However you want,” Draco answered, not certain that was the truth but also distracted by the king’s nimble fingers untying his corset.

“Hmmmm,” the king murmured thoughtfully. He licked his lips as he pulled off another layer. “Why do you have so many clothes?” The question was playful, but also sincere. The layers Draco had worn to hide himself were noticed.

Draco grabbed for the king’s hands and pulled them off Draco’s body before the king could shed all of Draco’s clothes. Draco tried to distract from the action by reaching next for the king’s trousers, loosening their ties. “Take them off,” he commanded.

The king grinned as he obeyed. He also peeled off his shirt, leaving his broad chest bare so Draco could oogle his muscles. Draco hesitated, but then realized he didn’t have to and so reached out a hand to touch the king. The king made an encouraging noise before returning to Draco’s clothing, now working on the ties keeping his breeches closed. He tugged them loose and tossed them aside to be lost in the dark corners of the room.

The king paused then to rake his eyes over Draco’s body. Draco wore only his undershirt and tight undergarment, as well as the cotton hose still secured to his shirt with ribbons. King Harry’s hands twitched before they reached out to touch Draco’s legs. He rubbed his thumbs over the cotton hose, enjoying their feel over Draco’s tight muscles.

“You’re beautiful,” King Harry said. Draco felt the blush rise over him and looked away. Slowly, the king leaned forward until he rested with an arm on either side of Draco’s head. He nosed along Draco’s jaw, kissing each piece of skin he encountered. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered directly into Draco’s ear. Draco couldn’t suppress a shiver. King Harry propped his weight on one arm so he could reach out again to Draco, gently pulling his face back to face the king so King Harry could capture his lips in another kiss. It was warm and lovely and perfect. The king rested his forehead against Draco’s when he pulled away. “I want to fuck you,” he said without the slightest shred of embarrassment.

Draco’s face flushed again. “I…” he didn’t know what to say.

The king kissed him again briefly. “It’s okay if you’d rather,” he amended swiftly.

The shake of Draco’s head was almost imperceptible. “That’s not, it’s not…” he still didn’t have words. “I just… I haven’t…”

The king grazed his cheek with his thumb, soothing. “We can do whatever you want,” he reminded.

Draco jerked a nod. “Right, right. Yeah. I think I want to…” he gulped, looking anywhere but at the king above him. “I just haven’t…”

Recognition finally sparked in the king’s eyes. “You haven’t done this before?”

Draco jerked his head in another nod, too embarrassed to speak.

“Never?” The king asked, although his tone had shifted to something gravely and eager. He didn’t wait for Draco to clarify before he was once again kissing at Draco’s chin, his free hand carding through Draco’s hair, flexing as if he wanted to pull it taunt. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it good for you.”

It drove Draco wild to be so desired. Draco bit his lip and groaned, arching his back so he could feel the man above him. The king groaned in turn, then pulled back just enough he could continue undressing Draco. Draco was only thinking about how eager, and nervous, he was for this to happen. He didn’t remember to think about what was happening to get there. The king was untying his stockings, then pulling them down off his legs along with Draco’s underpants. Draco’s cock popped out and stood at attention, gaining the attention of the king, who paused briefly to stroke it firmly until Draco’s eyes rolled back and he arched up again into the sensation. It was understandable, then, that Draco didn’t think to stop the king from pulling off his final undershirt. He didn’t remember why he should have until the king stopped entirely, his eyes locked on Draco’s stomach.

Draco knew what it looked like, but he hated to look. The sword slashes had cut deeply, deep enough it was a miracle Draco survived at all. That miracle hadn’t saved him from the scarring. Draco tried to reach for his undershirt back so he could cover back up.

“Wait, no, it’s okay,” the king was saying, even as he let Draco take the shirt from him. Draco was stumbling to find the right hole to push his head through when the king rested his hands back over Draco’s. “Please, don’t worry about this. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. You’re beautiful and I want to see you just as you are.”

Draco’s laugh was maniacal. There was no reason the king would recognize his marks on Draco’s body, but Draco knew them for what they were. Guilt ripped through him. He shouldn’t be here, letting the king touch him without King Harry knowing the man he was touching was someone he despised enough to kill. “I’m not,” he insisted, still clutching his shirt.

“Of course you are,” the king said, nuzzling against him. Draco felt sick. And also, each gentle touch soothed his nerves. It felt like taking advantage.

“You wouldn’t think so if you knew who I was,” Draco whispered.

At that, the king sighed. He wrapped an arm around Draco and leaned his head once again on Draco’s shoulder. “Please, just tell me,” he asked.

Draco should. Of course he should. But he couldn’t. It felt so warm being held in someone’s arms and he couldn’t ruin this. If he spoke the truth that would be the end of it. It would be worse than if any of this had never happened. He’d have to live the rest of his life seeing how much the king reviled him for his trickery, and he couldn’t live like that. So he stayed silent.

The king sighed again, squeezing him closer. “What can I say to make you trust me?” he asked.

Draco stared past him, looking into the fire instead. He blinked at the light, not for any other reason like holding back tears. “It’s not you,” Draco finally said, even though it might have been, just a little. The king was like two different people, the real king and the masquerade man. Draco could only trust the one who knew him as Draco Malfoy, since Draco knew that king would never let Draco forget exactly where he stood in the king’s eyes. Draco looked towards the door, wondering how hard it would be to run.

The king sensed it. “I’ll do anything you want. Just be here with me,” he implored.

Draco closed his eyes, trying to block out the king’s words, and his warm body, and his gentle hands. “It’s better if I go.”

The king tightened his grip for a moment, then forced himself to relax his arms so they’d fall away. Draco could still feel the tension in the king’s body beside him, but the king wouldn’t stop him if he wanted to leave.

But King Harry wasn’t ready to give up. He said one final thing to try to break through to Draco.

“Marry me.”

“What?” Draco asked, certain he’d misheard.

“Marry me,” the king repeated.

Draco’s eyes were comically wide. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” insisted the king.

“You don't know who I am,” Draco argued.

“I’ll have a lifetime to find out.”

Draco was shaking his head. “You wouldn’t propose to me.”

“I already have.”

“You wouldn’t like me,” Draco sounded like he was begging and pleading to be understood.

The king’s gentle gaze held Draco’s firm, but didn’t give in. “I don’t like anyone, so you’re not as bad a prospect as you think you are.”

Draco’s groan this time was from frustration instead of lust. “Why would you ever propose to a complete stranger? This is madness.”

The king risked taking Draco’s hand back in his. “I made the chapel trap on purpose,” he admitted. Draco gasped, although that shouldn’t have been as shocking after the recent more astounding demands. “I’ve been pressured to find a husband, and there are plenty of men who’d jump at the chance. So, I gave every eligible gentleman the chance to show me what choice they’d make under pressure. Nearly two dozen left without questioning their decision. At least one deliberately sabotaged everyone behind him, even though he already would come out ahead. You were the only one who rejected the conceit that you had to choose yourself above everyone else. You kept looking until you found another way.” He carded his hand through Draco’s hair again, as if he couldn’t resist touching him. “That’s the sort of man I want by my side. So marry me.”

Draco’s jaw had fallen open. His head was buzzing with thoughts about this revelation. He should have known, and also how could he have known. He hadn’t made any decision tonight with the king in mind, but still every choice he’d made was exactly what the king had been looking for.

Still, King Harry’s hand holding Draco’s, the king’s hand in Draco’s hair, the king’s body warming Draco’s nakedness, it all was still a lie. The king didn’t know, and Draco couldn’t bear to tell him.

Draco didn’t realize he was shaking his head until the king pulled away.

“I can’t,” Draco said, his voice pleading. “Not like this, I can’t.”

King Harry looked crestfallen. “How then?” he asked, still not giving up.

Draco swallowed, nerves crashing through him even as the idea formed in his mind. “I could only ever say yes if you proposed to the real me.”

The king surged forward with hope, taking both of Draco’s hands back in his own. “How do I find you?” he asked.

Draco shook his head again. “You don’t.” He ignored the king’s pained sound, and the hurt look in his bright green eyes. Draco ignored everything as he pulled away. He grasped for his clothing, gathering up handfuls of embroidered clothes off the floor.

“Don’t go!” The king begged, even as Draco walked out the door.

Chapter Text

It was just as well Draco had arranged everything before the ball. He had a hotel room to sleep in, a bag of clothes to change into, and a hair appointment the next day to restore the same short cut he was forced to take in spring. It was enough that no one could tell what a mess he was when he returned home. He held it together long enough to greet his mother, then his aunt, and of course Teddy. He listened to one wistful comment from his mother about Draco attending his first equinox ball before he completely lost it and had to get away.

Thankfully, the adults just thought it funny that he was tired and wanted to return to bed.

He didn’t sleep. He ached to, but his mind whirled and his heart raced and there was no sleep to be had. He lay in bed for hours second guessing every choice he’d ever made. As if as a child he might have done something different and won King Voldermort the war. Or, as an adult, he could have done something different and learned how to be a wallflower who never said anything and wasn’t noticed by the king.

Draco was in a sleep-deprived haze when he stumbled back down the stairs for dinner.

His mother kept smiling at him. It was excruciating. She hardly ever smiled, anymore. She wanted to know everything. Draco was forced to reflect on the details of his evening, pulling out pieces extravagant enough to impress his mother and bland enough that they might have happened to anyone. It was only after he spent ten minutes reflecting on the ship’s transformation from daylight to stars that he realized both women were watching him intently.

“That sounds wonderful, Draco,” his mother said. Her eyes were shining with life. He didn’t dare say anything that would contradict her assessment.

“It’s about time you were invited,” Andromeda added, pragmatic but pleased.

Draco ducked his head. “Everyone was invited,” he mumbled, before shoving a forkful of chicken into his mouth.

Andromeda waved the comment off. “You’ll be invited next time, too,” she said decisively.

Draco slumped. It was likely Andromeda already knew, in that way old wise people knew everything, that he had made friends with equinox committee members. How was he to explain that he no longer cared to go?

“What happened next?” His mother asked, because there was no escaping.

Draco fidgeted with his fork as he considered how to merge fact and fiction to protect his secrets without once again being overcome by the guilt of lying. He talked about how horrible the grog was because he thought it would make his mother laugh. Andromeda even chortled. Draco realized he hadn’t actually visited the other rooms and couldn’t describe them, so instead he described the intricate costumes he saw, drawing inspiration from his companions throughout the night, but also fabricating a few so that it wouldn’t match anyone they knew.

“Remind me, what did you go as?” Andromeda asked.

The lie was ready on Draco’s lips. “An eclipse,” he said. He rubbed a hand over his shorn hair. “I wore a black suit with gold edges. It was clean and simple.” He saw Andromeda’s musing and added, “Next time I’ll probably do more,” to cut off any commentary. Draco caught his mother’s small smile as she delicately took a bite of food. His mother glanced up and winked at him.

“You should have let me pay for an outfit,” Andromeda chided gently.

Draco gulped and stared down to speak to his plate as he replied. “I like making it myself.”

Andromeda could only nod at that, and because she was loyal to Draco she had to remark on how talented Draco’s sewing was. Then she followed up with more questions about the activities and Draco was panicked and admitted the king’s announcement about clues and puzzles. He explained in detail the constructed captain’s quarters where he found the marine chronometer and the stamp. He extrapolated on minor details to make it sound bigger than it was - and to eat up time while his family ate their dinner. The women were thrilled, but Draco couldn’t make the story last beyond the dinner course. The servants cleared their plates and brought out dessert, while his mother once again beckoned him to share what happened next.

Draco didn’t know what happened next for those who had stayed in the ballroom, but he didn’t dare reveal he took part in the greater puzzle. So, he lied. He took what details he could recall from the beginning of the evening and spun a tale of lining up to see the king and claim the prize for the clue, which was a dance with King Harry. Draco had danced with King Harry before, and he used that to explain what it had been like to waltz around a ship deck with the leader of their kingdom. He caught his own wistful tone and cut himself off. He dunked his spoon into his pudding and took a large swallow to buy time. He added after, “I was the better dancer, of course.” His mother laughed, truly sounding happy.

Draco felt awful. He wished his evening had been as lighthearted as the picture he painted for his mother. He wished there was someone to confide in about what had actually happened. There wasn’t a single person in his life he could tell. Loneliness nearly overwhelmed him, and despite his desire to see his mother laugh again, Draco had to get away from the cheer. He strained himself to maintain a smile and thank both women for his evening. Then he made excuses to leave.

Sleep finally overtook him that evening. He slept far too long into the morning, and still felt miserable when he awoke. He braced himself with more lies to share with his mother, but ultimately decided to put off seeing her by finally unpacking his bundle of clothes from the ball.

He laid out his outfit piece by piece. The exquisitely embroidered doublet. The only competently embroidered cape. His fully stamped invitation. The undergarments, hose, and breeches. The jewelry he’d ornamented himself with. Of course, his mother’s mask. He reached in again, but there was nothing left. Draco froze for a moment, then scrambled to turn the bag inside out. Nothing. He turned to his bed and pulled off each piece of clothing, examining each side and sleeve in case the bit of cloth had gotten stuck. No, it was nowhere. His handkerchief was lost.

True panic gripped him. Of all the things he could have lost, why did it have to be this? It wasn’t a piece of his costume, it was the most precious gift from his dear friends and he knew deep down they’d be devastated by his carelessness. Draco slumped to the floor, trying to grip at his hair but it was too short and he could only cling to the back of his head as he rasped in air and tried to think.

Where had he lost it?

No. It couldn’t have been there. He wouldn’t have left it for the king.

Only it had been dark, and he had been panicking, and he hadn’t checked what he’d scrambled to pick up off the floor before he ran from the room naked. He hadn’t even slipped back into his whole outfit before beelining for the nearest exit. He knew the castle well and was able to leave with hardly anyone even spotting him.

Draco groaned into his hands. It would be impossible to get the handkerchief back from the castle. Just as it would be impossible for him to lie to Molly and Lucy about having lost their gift. He knew they would forgive him, but also that he would lose a piece of their trust forever.

Draco was such a fuckup.

He shoved everything back in the bag, no longer caring about the pieces he had left from the ball. He was so lost in self loathing that he hid in Teddy’s room instead of joining his mother and aunt for breakfast. He tried to buck up and give Teddy all the love and attention he deserved. Usually, a morning with Teddy was exactly what Draco needed to cheer his spirits. Today, Draco’s turmoil lingered. Teddy must even have seen the cloud of misery surrounding Draco. The child compensated for it with extra hugs and requests for Draco to read him all the books Teddy knew Draco loved. It made Draco’s heart soar, and filled him with guilt that he couldn’t even restrain his angst so it wouldn’t tarnish Teddy.

After tucking Teddy in for his nap, Draco stepped out of the room and straight into his Aunt Andromeda.

“Walk with me,” Andromeda said in her no nonsense tone. Draco dared not do anything but follow.

Andromeda walked him to her study. She sat behind her large desk, next to the wall of shelves covered in pictures of her loved ones. She gestured for Draco to take a seat across from her. He sat, awkwardly, feeling like he’d been summoned to be scolded for bad behavior.

Andromeda scrutinized her nephew, noting his averted gaze and fidgeting fingers. Draco could see her watching. But she didn’t snap at him or make a biting comment, or do any of the things Draco might have expected.

Instead, Andromeda spoke kindly. “Are you alright?”

Draco glanced up at her. Andromeda’s gaze was shrewd, but soft. He worried about what details her sharp gaze would read off his face, but suddenly the fear she was angry at him evaporated. “I’m fine,” Draco lied.

Andromeda’s eyes narrowed momentarily, then relaxed as she smiled. “It’s alright if you’re not,” she said.

“I am,” Draco doubled down.

Andromeda nodded. “If you say so,” she said, clearly not meaning it. “You seem worn down.”

Draco winced. “I’ve just had a long…” day, week, month, year… years.

“You have,” Andromeda agreed. She smiled a tight, clenched smile. “And it’s not easy facing Narcissa when she sets her mind to something.”

Draco’s brows furrowed. “I don’t know what you mean.” He really didn’t.

“It seems your mother has her heart set on you having experienced that equinox ball exactly as she did hers,” Andromeda said flatly. “It’s a hard weight to carry, living up to your parents expectations.”

Draco’s brows furrowed further. “No, it’s nothing like that,” he said, not sure exactly what Andromeda was saying it should be like, but still certain that it couldn’t be right.

Andromeda gazed at her nephew thoughtfully. “What did your mother tell you of the balls?” she asked.

It felt like a trap question, but Draco didn’t dare avoid answering. As he spoke his eyes grew glassy and he stared into the distance, remembering his mother’s words. “They were like magic. They were the most beautiful events, where mystery hosts made unimaginable feats real. Only the most elite get invited, and anyone who was anyone would be there. There would be poetry, beautifully crafted with secret meanings, and the cleverest people would delve deeper into the experience. Each equinox ball was a fairytale, where anything could happen. My mother met my father at a ball, under the stars. It was love at first sight, and it was magic.”

Andromeda listened, her own gaze softening as she heard the reverence in Draco’s voice. “That does sound lovely,” Andromeda acknowledged.

Draco blinked and remembered where he was and who he was talking to. “Was it not like that for you?” he asked.

This time, Andromeda’s smile was forced in the way people smile at unpleasant memories. “I want to know what it was like for you,” she sidestepped. “Was it everything you expected?”

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but paused before words came out. Andromeda gave him time. Her steady gaze held his, but she no longer looked on him with judgment. She hadn’t for quite some time. And, unlike his mother, she wasn’t looking for details he couldn’t share without revealing too much. She was just giving him the space he needed to open up. Draco licked his lips and tried again.

“It was magic.” This was true. “The poetry was bad, but the puzzles were fun. And I was clever. Everyone saw and people wanted to be on my team.” Words got stuck in his throat but he forced them out. “I made friends,” for some reason he had to strain to say it. “It was like a fairy tale. Everyone wanted me to be there. They hugged me and cheered for me. I belonged.”

His aunt's soft eyes stared on with sympathy. “Why was that hard for you?” she asked, too perspective like so many people in Draco’s life.

Only, Draco thought maybe he could say it, to her. Just this once, in her office away from everyone else who thought he should think of the ball a certain way.

“They treated me different when I wore a mask,” admitted Draco. His voice didn’t break but his eyes clenched sad and despairing.

Andromeda nodded. “You get to be a different person,” she agreed.

Draco blinked to clear his eyes. He asked, “Um. Did you? Get to be a different person, I mean.”

Andromeda’s heavy sigh filled the room. She turned to the pictures on the shelf and stared at them, as if seeing something else. Achingly slow, she got to her feet and stepped closer to the shelf. She arched up on the tips of her toes and reached above her head until she could touch the roof of the shelf. Her fingers grazed it until she found something and pulled it down. Andromeda laid the picture frame on the desk in front of Draco, letting him stare down at a picture of three radiant young women, each in a celestial mask. Draco reached out so his fingers could graze across the frame.

“I went to a dozen of them, at least,” Andromeda shared. “Bella and Cissy loved them.” She paused then, realizing she’d reverted to childhood nicknames. Andromeda drew both hands back into her lap and sat up straight, refocusing. “Our parents only had girls, and lamented that their line would end with us. They overcompensated by insisting on each of us marrying up in society.” She pointed to the frame in front of Draco. “That night, Narcissa did them proud. Lucius had been courting another woman, but Narcissa charmed him at his own ball. She was truly the star of the evening, and Lucius never looked back. That night… well, it was when I realized I would likely never live up to those expectations. There had been a man courting me, as well, but he thought I wouldn’t recognize him in disguise and he used the evening to pursue other women. It was the first of several masquerade disappointments.”

Draco could only stare wide eyed, uncertain of how to take in his aunt’s recollections. He settled for indulging his curiosity. “But you kept going back?”

Andromeda’s smile was grim. “Anyone who was anyone was there,” she quoted Draco back to him.

“But you didn’t like them?” he needed to know.

His aunt shrugged. “I was good at the puzzles, and you saw how there can be spectacle. But, no, I don’t think they were for me.” She paused and her face lit up with a happiness Draco only ever saw on her when she looked at Teddy. “In the end, I didn’t need to be anyone. When I met Ted in that shop, I knew immediately he was the one. There was no spectacle to it at all.” The light faded a bit as she pulled back from the memory, but she still looked on Draco warmly. “There’s no right way to live your life, Draco. You just need to find the way that’s right for you.”

The words sat uncomfortably on Draco’s chest. They didn’t feel familiar, but they did feel warm and filled with possibilities. Draco supposed the discomfort was in daring to believe what she said was possible. Still… “What if I want a fairy tale?”

This time Andromeda’s smile was large, and shining, and only for Draco. “Whether it’s at a masquerade ball, or in a small stationary shop near the wharf, whenever you find your happy ending, you’ll look back, and every step that got you there will be a fairy tale.”

She believed it so thoroughly, Draco decided he could believe it, too.

Chapter Text

“Can’t catch me!” Teddy squealed. He bolted away from Draco, running as fast as a three year old could across the lawn. Two smaller children squealed and did their best to run, too.

Draco raised his hands up above his head and stomped after the lot of them. “Grr, I’m a wolf and I’m going to gobble you piggies up!” he play-growled to the children’s delight. He swooped down and tried to grab Teddy, but the little boy dodged out of the way with a shriek and ran off in the other direction. Draco adopted his play-wolf persona and stomped around more until he captured the smallest of the bunch. He lifted little Hugo up and blue raspberries on his neck while the toddler shriek laughed.

“Do it to me! Do it to me!” Teddy returned to demand. Draco tickled Hugo one last time before picking up his cousin to do the same.

They wouldn’t get many beautiful days left in the year and Draco wasn’t one to squander one.

He chased the children until Teddy grew bored of the game and decided he was the wolf now. He told the two small children they were his wolf pack and the three of them charged after Draco. Draco held back his laughter as the children followed him around a bench before he let them catch up. The three little ones grabbed his legs, and Draco didn’t have to try hard at all to fall over onto the ground so the lot of them could climb up on him. Teddy knew how to blow raspberries, but Rose hadn’t learned yet and was just rubbing her face against Draco’s shoulder as if that would accomplish anything. Draco laughed as the kids crawled over him and studiously attempted tickling.

“Ukle ‘Arry!” said Rose in her toddler voice Draco couldn’t quite decipher. The other kids could clearly parse it, because they both looked up and yelled excitedly before crawling off Draco and running back towards the house. Draco rolled over and pushed himself up to seated so he could find out what was going on.

Clearly she had said Uncle Harry, Draco realized as he watched the king crouch down to the three children and accept all their hugs. King Harry lifted his godson up and spun him around, eliciting more giggles and joyful wollaps. Of course, it also caused the younger child equivalent of “do it to me!” demands and the king had to cycle through each of the children, until it looped back around to Teddy who insisted he had never received a turn. King Harry looked more at ease then, as he gave in to Teddy’s pressure for another spin, than Draco had ever seen before. After the king put his godson down he pulled out something from his jacket pocket, which must have been a treat of some sort. The children accepted jubilantly, and were sent off to gnaw on their snack and transform into sticky messes.

Then King Harry was walking towards Draco. Draco’s eyes widened as he watched the king approach, all roguish with his stubble and his jacket billowing behind him. It made Draco think dirty thoughts. He tried to suppress them, but it had only been a few days since the ball and the king’s naked body was still too top of mind. The king paused a couple steps away, staring inquisitively down at Draco who was still down on the ground. Draco had a sudden thought that the king might do something awful like offer to help him to his feet, and then Draco would have to stay calm while holding his hand. Draco quickly scrambled up before the king could decide. He made a point of pulling his coat up and around him so his neck and chin was tucked in under the collar and the king would only be able to look at the part’s of his face that had been covered by his mask.

“Hello, your majesty,” Draco greeted with the perfect accompanying bow. He adopted Percy-esc levels of formality as a defense mechanism.

The king did that forced smile thing that was his version of a polite response. “I should have known you’d be out with the children,” King Harry said.

Draco wrinkled his brow, not sure if that was well intended. So Draco only said, “I hate to see them cooped up inside.”

The king nodded. “It was kind of you to take the time,” he said. Draco eyed him warily, since it was unlike the king to say nice things about Draco, little less acknowledge his efforts. The king saw it and huffed, but didn’t comment. He just got straight to business. “I wanted to talk with you. Teddy will be coming to the castle again in October. Would you accompany him again?”

Draco’s eyes widened. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Not that he’d been expecting anything, really. In the king’s mind, they hadn’t spoken in ages and had left things rather tense. Draco tried to imagine back to four days ago before… everything. He couldn’t put himself in that space. It was completely lost to him.

Draco cleared his dry throat and asked, “What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing, really,” King Harry said. “I just want to get him more familiar with the place, show him it’s alright. That sort of thing. Andromeda reckons he should stay a week or so and we should avoid any fanfare. We might have some close friends visit so he associates it with people he actually likes.”

Draco nodded, but inside he was petrified and his voice sounded cold. “Seems wise.” It came out icy.

“You think it a bad idea?” The king questioned.

Draco swallowed down his feelings. “Not at all.”

The king’s eyes narrowed, but again he let the things Draco didn’t say go. “So you’ll come, then?”

Draco turned to Teddy, who was back to running around with his friends with nursemaid supervision while the adults did boring conversation. It seemed like the king would soon be taking him away for good and he wanted Draco’s help in the process. Draco felt cold again and bundled himself up further into his jacket, hunching in on himself in the process.

King Harry took it as rejection. He said bluntly, “If you don’t want to just say so. We’ll get by without you.”

It was a far cry from the king’s gentle coaxing and promises to give Draco whatever he wanted. Draco squeezed his arms in tighter. His mind was buzzing, drowning out any words he might want to say.

The king shifted gears. “What’s up with you? You never miss a chance to speak your mind.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and forced out a strained laugh. He couldn’t handle this any more than he could handle his mother’s expectations. The pressure was too much and Draco didn’t want to fight. “I’ll do whatever is most helpful, your majesty. Just say the word.”

The king stared at Draco like the younger man had gone mad. He pulled his hands to his hips and narrowed his eyes. “Are you mocking me? Is that what this is?”

Draco took in the king’s pinched face and grouchy eyes. He couldn’t help but laugh at it. “I’m really not. What was it you said? I’m being normal and listening to your direction. I’m doing what you wanted.”

The king clearly didn’t believe it one bit. “You’re up to something,” he accused.

This time Draco could only gape. “What could I possibly be up to?” he demanded to know. “One second I’m playing big bad wolf with toddlers, and the next you’re here telling me your plan to take Teddy away. I’ve already agreed to do my part, now tell me what you’d have of me and let me be.”

Suspicion melted off King Harry’s face as he listened, to be replaced with sympathy. “I’m not taking Teddy away, Draco.” Draco snorted and refused to look at him. “It’s for one week. Then he’ll be back.”

“One week, this time,” Draco snarked. He didn’t want to fight, but Draco eased into the familiarity of bickering with King Harry and the pressure of the king’s presence eased.

The king also released his tension, as if he’d been waiting for the same familiar routine. “Only you would turn one week into a banishment. It’s one week. And before you get all paranoid that I’m lying, you should know Ron and Hermione just agreed to move to Andromeda’s cabin down the way when they’re not in court, so Hermione and the kids can be closer when Ron’s guarding Teddy.”

Everything aside, this was quite the news. The cabin was named such because it was a smaller house at the far side of the property which once housed gamesmen. By smaller, Draco meant smaller than the giant manor house, not small like an actual cabin. It was a large holding for the sixth son of a minor lord, especially since he’d married a tradesmen’s daughter.

“Teddy will be staying here?” Draco asked, not quite believing it.

The king pulled back his exasperation in his best attempt to take Draco’s concern seriously. “Yes, Draco. For a while, at least. The boy is only three. Let’s let him get to at least ten before we throw him to the vultures.”

Relief washed over Draco. Ten was ages away. There would never be enough time, but he did not need to panic right this moment. He was a bit self conscious over how strongly he’d reacted to a misunderstanding. Draco did his best to straighten himself out and project aloofness when he said, “You won’t expect me to be joining as a babysitter will you.”

The king didn’t hold back his eye roll, this time. “You never let a thing go.”

Draco scoffed. “I offered to do it your way and you got all huffy and suspicious and wouldn’t accept it. I suppose my way is the only option.”

“And what is your way?”

Draco’s stomach lurched at the question. He suspected his way might be carrying on where he and the king had left off in the King’s bed chambers, only this time without lies or masks. It was a fantasy. Draco cleared his throat, and forced out instead, “You don’t treat me like a babysitter, for starters. I won’t be a servant for you to dispose of once you realize I’m not a magician and can’t actually stop Teddy from having tantrums.”

“Of course I don’t expect that-”

Draco cut the king off. “And I’m not going to help you put him in cruel situations again! That was awful and he deserves better.”

“We talked about that-”

“And you don’t get to invite me under false pretenses of being a family friend and then turn around and tell me I’m to shut up, be normal, and do as you say. You can’t treat me worse than everyone else just because you hate me.”

“I don’t-”

“And I can leave if I hate it! I’m not stuck there just because I said yes once.”

Draco was breathing heavily as he waited for King Harry to talk again. The king held his tongue, trying to cover his smirk behind his hand.

“Well?” Draco demanded now that the king was silent.

King Harry’s smirk grew. “Your demands are immensely reasonable.”

“Good!” Draco couldn’t restrain the vehemence. The king’s agreement didn’t make him feel better, and he wanted to push against it in case that helped. In his mind, Draco kept hearing King Harry say “I’ll do anything you want” and he felt the need to prove the king hadn’t meant it. Draco prodded, “I’m not sure I want to go, in any case. It sounds boring.”

That turned the king’s smirk into a scowl. “How can it be more boring than Grimmauld Place?”

Draco feigned indifference with a shrug. “My friends visit all the time here.”

“You’ll have friends,” the king grumbled, disgruntled that he’d stumbled into a position of defending himself to Draco.

Draco raised a brow skeptically. “Luna?”

“Well, I wasn’t planning on her…”

“Percy then.”

“Percy? Why would I invite Percy?” He sounded incredulous.

Draco’s lips thinned. He continued on, but didn’t hide his disdain. “I suppose George would be acceptable.”

The king actually threw up his hands. “I have friends you actually like. You get on with Ron, he’ll be there the whole time.”

Draco’s stare was cold enough to chill. “Thank you ever so for the invitation, sadly I have to pass.”

King Harry took an actual step back and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Come on, you’re being ridiculous.”

Draco sniffed, managing to look down on the king while staying huddled in his coat. His voice was the same ice cold as before when he said, “I suppose we’ll just have to invite my mother.”

The king actually took a second step away. The frustration was gone and replaced with astonishment. “You can’t be serious,” he said, deadly serious.

“There’s nothing wrong with her that’s not also wrong with me,” Draco stated flatly.

“Teddy doesn’t like her,” said the king.

Draco blinked long and slow. That was that then. “I thought I wasn’t going as Teddy’s keeper. I was to be a guest, just like everyone else. I suppose it was not so reasonable a demand, afterall.”

“C’mon, Draco,” Harry started, but Draco was already leaving.

Proving the king hadn’t meant his kindness to Draco hadn’t solved anything. Draco just felt horrible, and, on top of that, foolish. Plus, it was embarrassing to be storming out on the same man over and over. All of the pressure and overwhelming feelings fell back on top of Draco’s shoulders and he couldn’t handle it. He needed to do more than storm away, he needed to go somewhere else. Somewhere he and his mother wouldn’t face rejection.

Draco found his mother in the drawing room. Ten minutes later he had her ready to walk out the front door.

“Where are you going?” said the King, who’d come up behind them.

Draco ignored his mother’s deep courtesy and appropriate greeting. He hunkered down into his coat again to hide whatever parts of him that could be recognized, if the king wasn’t so oblivious.

“We’re going out,” Draco said. “It will surprise you to learn, but some people enjoy our company just for ourselves.”

Draco cut off his mother’s protest at his harsh language while shepherding her out the door.

Chapter Text

“Narcissa! What a lovely surprise,” said cousin Xeno. He had opened the door himself, wearing flannel pajama pants and a lumpy purple sweater.

Narcissa stepped forward and kissed her cousin on the cheek in greeting. “Sorry to arrive unannounced. Draco’s in a mood and insisted on us coming.”

Ever accommodating, Xeno was all smiles as he welcomed them in. “No trouble, no trouble at all! I was just about to continue my studies of mercury amalgamation, and could use a mind as sharp as yours to help catalog the findings.”

“How many times must I tell you not to bring out the mercury?” Narcissa chided gently as she took off her coat and gloves.

Xeno’s eyes twinkled. “At least one more.”

“Well enough of it today. Draco dragged me from the house before luncheon, would you mind terribly if we ate?” It had been a long time since Draco saw his mother be so forward, There was light in his mother’s eyes and color in her cheeks. It gave the vague impression of what she’d been like before.

Motioning his guests to follow, Xeno led off into his home where he managed to scrounge up a large block of cheese and some crackers. “I’ve got quite a good brandy, too, if you’re up for it.” Shockingly, Narcissa was.

“What sort of mood have you collected?” said Luna, who had snuck up when Draco’s attention was focused elsewhere. He shouldn’t have missed her, seeing how she wore an eye-catching white, green, and pink shawl.

Draco startled like always and took a step to the side to gather his wits. “I should put a bell on you,” he wheezed.

Luna tilted her head sideways. “Don’t you think that would scare the little folk?” Draco had never considered.

Luna put on a pink hat and green gloves, and her own pair of muddy work boots before tromping outside with a jug of cream. Since he was already dressed in warm, sturdy clothes, Draco accepted an invitation to join her. Together they ventured down a path to the grounds.

Luna paused near a garden to fill a tin pail hiding in a patch of flowers. Draco kicked a rock off the path as he waited. “Check if it’s a pretty rock before sending it away. The little folk love when you leave behind treasures.”

“What sort of little folk?” Draco inquired.

Luna got to her feet and heaved the jug back up into her arms. “It draws their attention if you say their names too openly.” She gave Draco an apology smile. “Best not discuss it until they know you better.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “Alright,” he said skeptically.

It wasn’t a short chore Luna undertook. There were tin pails all around the grounds and Luna painstakingly filled each one. Draco followed dutifully behind her, finding peace in the tranquil landscape and chill autumn air.

“Do you always do this?” Draco wondered.

Luna tilted her head thoughtfully. “I watch for the signs the fae folk are hungry,” she said cryptically.

“Oh, right,” Draco muttered.

Luna shot him a conspiratorial smile. “I know you don’t believe,” she said. "Most people don’t. They think I'm a bit odd, you know. Some people call me 'Loony Lovegood' actually."

Draco actually gasped. “They wouldn’t,” he said, even as he imagined which people he knew would.

Light laughter burst out of the woman. “You’re sweet, Draco.” Draco ducked his head and kicked at another rock without checking. Luna looped her arm around his and pulled him in close, forcing him out of his bashfulness. “Tell me about this mood that’s descended on you.”

It was Draco’s turn to laugh, even if his laugh was rough around the edges. “My mother exaggerated.”

“Did she,” Luna said serenely, like she wasn’t second guessing him at all.

“She did,” Draco insisted. Luna looked up at him with a sweet smile and patted his arm. It was disarmingly accepting. Draco found himself burrowing into his coat again even without someone to hide from. It took several minutes for him to admit, “The king visited.”

“Ahhh,” said Luna. “And you don’t like the king.”

Draco harrumphed. “The king doesn’t like me.”

Luna made a thoughtful noise. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s obvious. He’s always glaring and yelling at me,” Draco insisted.

“I suppose so,” murmured Luna as she looked dreamily off into the leaves of a tree that were coloring in the cold weather.

“It’s taken years for him to put up with me, but now he just acts like I’m one of the servants,” Draco continued complaining.

Luna patted his arm again. “That sounds very hard.” her tone was consoling but not committed.

Draco breathed deep and let it out in one large woosh. “I get it, you’re his friend first. You’re supposed to take his side.”

“There are no sides, Draco,” it was the gentlest of reprimands.

Draco couldn’t help but snort. “Sure there are. My side locked you in a dungeon, and the king’s side rescued you and the entire kingdom.”

For the first time, Luna tensed on his arm. It lasted only a moment before she relaxed back into their afternoon stroll. “I suppose you’ll never move past the war,” she reflected.

It was Draco’s turn to tense. He didn’t relax at all afterwards, just stared forward and took rigid steps on Luna’s arm. “How could you have moved past it?”

Luna slowed down her steps until they’d both stopped walking. They were next to a small pond with a bench. Luna pulled Draco over to it so they could sit down and stair at the lilly pads in the water.

“My mother was from the north,” Luna began. “She was from an old family, well established, so no one judged father for it. We traveled each winter up to the north to visit my mother’s family” Almost offhand she added, “That’s where I first met Harry. We weren’t close, but he was often kind. Except for when he was angry, and he always had a reason to be angry.” She said it so sadly that Draco didn’t think she judged him at all for it. Luna cleared her throat and returned to her point. “My mother was quite an extraordinary alchemist, you know, but she did like to experiment and one of her concoctions went rather badly wrong one day. I was nine." Silence stretched for a long time. Draco had no words to comfort so instead he reached out and took Luna’s hand and squeezed it. Luna smiled at him then, her eyes watery. “What does time in a dungeon compare to that?” she asked Draco.

Draco remembered well the pit of sadness in him that only came to the surface when he dwelled on his father’s execution. It ached in him if he let it, even years after the fact. Draco didn’t even have the blessing of thinking it an injustice his father died young. Instead he held a cold understanding for why it happened and how it cemented Draco’s lowly place in the world. A place where he still lived, because his parents loved him enough to fight for his life instead of their own. So Draco was supposed to be grateful, no matter what lot he was given in life. Only, he never managed to figure out how to be grateful for the things he didn’t like.

“Grieving one bad thing doesn’t mean all the other bad things don’t count anymore,” said Draco.

“Hmm,” Luna said again. “I try to dwell on the positive. Feed the things that bring me joy,” she held up the empty jug. Draco saw the moment she had a thought that made her laugh. “I never thought I’d return to the castle. I’m not one to dwell. But when Harry asked me to help with the ball I found it wasn’t too hard to be there as long as it was to make happy memories.”

“What do you mean you don’t return to the castle?” Draco asked. “Does the king not invite you?”

This time her laughter was at Draco’s expense. “He’d never,” she said merrily. “I’d hate to turn him down, and he’d hate if I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy it.”

Wheels were turning in Draco’s head. The king had been so awkward at who he suggested be guests. “But he invited you to the ball?”

This time Luna’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “He truly needed the assistance.” Luna looked around as if there might actually be someone she’d need to hide from before saying, “This is a secret and you must not tell. But Harry practically begged me to let him plan the ball. George wouldn’t pass on host to him, and only the host gets the previous invitation list. Harry was looking for someone and he asked me to help.”

The wheels turned faster. “He planned the entire ball just to get his hands on a list?”

Luna nodded. “For nothing, as it turns out. The king checked every name and the man wasn’t on it! So Harry changed the rules and invited every eligible gentleman in the kingdom in the hopes that it would draw his crush out.”

“No!” Draco gasped. He lifted a hand to cover his mouth and did his best to restrain the shock.

Luna laughed merrily at Draco’s reaction. “Exactly! It’s so scandalous. But you can’t tell, because Harry didn’t find him in the end and now he’s going to have to marry Prince Viktor. Or Colton Slughorn, who won the king’s game.”

Draco’s eyes widened at that revelation. The king had lied to his friend about what happened and why he’d narrowed his choices down to non-Draco suitors. Draco could feel the surprise on his face being far too vivid and he had to do something to change it. “The prince gets very jealous,” Draco supplied to the story.

“Does he?” Luna asked, leaning forward. Her light-hearted interest was a bane for the heavier topics, so Draco gave in and told her everything. Well, almost everything. At least the light-hearted version of events focused on Draco making a fool of himself and everyone misconstruing that for him charming the king. She reacted at all the right places and in the end Draco found himself happy. Not for the gossip, but for the company.

“Did you make good memories at the ball?” Draco asked, since he didn’t know and genuinely wanted to.

Luna tilted her chin up and stared into the far distance. “I made sure other people had fun, which can be very happy in a way.”

“Sounds a little lonely, the way you say it,” noted Draco. Luna did a half shrug but didn’t answer. “Didn’t George wanted to go with you? What happened with that?”

This smile was a little sad. “I promised Harry I’d help make sure no one got left behind, but that wasn’t going to be fun for George so I sent him on ahead.”

“That’s too bad. He really wanted to go with you,” said Draco.

Her smile grew a little sadder. “I’m never going to be a replacement for Fred.”

“Who’s Fred?” Luna sighed and leaned onto Draco’s shoulder, not answering.

Afterwards, they strolled again back towards the house. Draco chewed on his lip as he considered how to broach the topic. Finally, he just spit it out. “George really does like you. Should I tell him to let it go?”

Luna hummed a tune Draco didn’t recognize as she thought. “Our compatibility is unclear,” she said vaguely. That drew a chuckle and a head shake from Draco. If he needed to, Draco was certain he could be there for George when his heart broke.

When they got back to the house Draco had one final question for his cousin. “What would you have planned, if you had been the host?”

Luna pondered dreamily. “You’ll see in the spring.”

Draco and Narcissa left the Lovegoods not long after a poorly cooked dinner. Draco’s mother was tipsy and didn’t care that the bread had been burned and the vegetables stringy. Draco would have cared, but he’d been side tracked by terribly long and more terribly inaccurate stories on the history of trade routes. Xeno was fascinated with them since he relied on new discoveries to bring in materials for his experiments.

So, both Malfoys were in high spirits when they returned home to Grimmauld Place.

Despite the late hour, Andromeda was still up and in the main rooms of the house. She heard her family’s return and greeted them in the vestibule to hand Narcissa a missive before Andromeda retired to bed.

“What’s this?” Narcissa asked even as she opened it. Inside was a small note written with very bad penmanship. Narcissa looked up upon reading it. In an alarmed tone she repeated, “What’s this?”

Andromeda shrugged and answered, “He just asked me to give it to you. I didn’t read it.”

“Read what?” Draco asked, pulling the paper from his mother’s hand despite her noise of protest. Draco squinted to better read the scribble.

“Dear Narcissa, I’m sorry to have missed you earlier today. I came to invite you to join Andromeda and Teddy for their trip to the castle this October. It would be my pleasure if the entire family could attend. Sincerely, HJP.”

“No fucking way,” said Draco. Both of his elders scolded his language but Draco couldn’t be bothered to care. He looked at his mother, who could only look back at him. Although she didn’t look back with the same helpless desperation roiling inside Draco. She looked back with shining eyes and a smile tugging the side of her lips. That was how Draco knew he’d be giving in to the king.

Chapter Text

“I have a big favor to ask you,” Percy said, almost as soon as he closed his office door between Draco and Percy and the rest of Percy’s family.

Without hesitation Draco answered, “Of course, anything.”

Percy scrunched up his face. “You should let me tell you what I’m asking before you agree.”

Draco flopped down to lounge in one of Percy’s office chairs since this would apparently take a minute. “Even if I didn’t have next to nothing, it wouldn’t matter, I’d still give it to you. But go on, put your mind at ease.”

Percy clinched his hands together, then pulled them apart to set them on his hips, then twitched them again and crossed his hands over his chest. He held them there as he paced. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” he insisted.

Draco did his best to pull back his smile. “Again, even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter.”

“It’ll likely take all day. Are you sure you have the time?” Percy had little worry lines on his forehead brought on by thinking unnecessarily hard about logistics.

Draco did his best to look reassuring. “If not with you, I’d just be spending the day with mother and Aunt Andromeda watching them dress shop.” Draco didn’t say that he wouldn’t mind that so much, since he’d quite like a look at the latest fashions and to possibly talk Andromeda into buying him patterns to test out at home. If he told Percy that his invitation had interrupted Draco’s plans Percy might break down and never ask for his favor at all.

Fortunately, Percy interpreted Draco’s comment as Draco appreciating an excuse to avoid shopping. He was adorable like that.

Percy finally lowered himself to his chair, perching just on the edge of it, his back ramrod straight. His lips were thin and his worry lines etched deeper as he leaned forward towards Draco. “I need to speak to the king,” Percy finally said.

Draco raised his eyebrows curiously but Percy didn’t go on. It took a moment before Draco realized that was it. That was the favor. “I’m a bit confused. What does that have to do with me?”

Percy made a little noise too manly to be a squeak but definitely sounding distressed. He explained, “You can get a meeting with him.”

Draco’s eyebrows raised further. “Pardon?”

Percy was gripping his desk so tightly it must hurt his fingers. “Let me show you the records, you’ll understand then why it’s important.”

Draco sat himself upwards and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “Percy, I need you to do me a favor here and believe me when I tell you I absolutely do not need to look at any records. If you say it’s important I trust you, and I’m here for you. I just don’t know how we’re jumping from me lending you a hand to you getting a meeting with the king.”

Then Percy said the most ridiculous thing. “You two are close!”

Draco might have laughed if he wasn’t so baffled. “What have I ever done or said to give you that impression?”

Percy was looking at Draco like he was the obstinate one. “He came to your picnic party, and to your birthday party, you were a special guest at his birthday party, and he visits you all the time.”

If it were possible, Draco’s eyebrows would have made it through the roof. Draco held up his fingers and counted off, “Luna, Teddy, Teddy, and Teddy. None of those were about me.”

Draco wasn’t certain he’d ever seen Percy roll his eyes before. It was the sort of immature expression Percy usually turned his nose up at. He was doing it now, with a long suffering sigh for good measure. “It doesn’t matter why you two are close, only that you clearly have some relationship and I’m certain you could get us through the door if you asked.”

A week ago Draco would have laughed in Percy’s face, no matter how rude and unsupportive it would have been. Draco bet he could have even talked Percy into pursuing a different channel to meet his goal, in a supportive friendly way where he definitely had Percy’s back. He’d have done it for Percy’s own good, because Draco desperately wanted Percy to get this meeting that apparently was very important and required things like records, and likely data, and, knowing Percy, plenty of math.

Only, after the invitation written directly to his mother inviting her to the castle, Draco had the sneaking suspicion he actually could get a meeting with the king. It was a disturbing thought. Draco licked his lips nervously and looked anywhere other than at Percy.

“I’m not saying no,” he started, glancing at Percy to drive home the point so Percy wouldn’t freak out, “but don’t you have, like, family who are the king’s best friends?”

Percy’s entire body dropped down at least an inch. “Yes.”

“And you couldn’t ask them?” Draco pushed.

It was like Draco could see the exact moment Percy aged ten years as his face drooped and frown lines cemented to his features. “They told me to submit a formal request through the Overseer of Finance.”

Draco blinked. “You asked them first?”

Percy looked at Draco the way he looked at his girls when they said something impossibly naive. “Of course, Draco. This is important.”

Draco hunched a bit and leaned away, back into his chair. “Right, of course. Whatever. Anyway, what do we do now? Like, just walk up to the castle and see if the king’s in?”

Percy was already getting to his feet. “He’s in,” Percy said solemnly, so certain that Draco wondered exactly what Percy had done not to leave this up to chance.

Percy tucked a bundle of reports under an arm, they interrupted math lessons to kiss the girls goodbye, and then they were on their way. Percy lived in town, and while it was far enough you could justify hiring a ride, Percy was also the sort to economize so they were hoofing it. It gave Draco plenty of time to think through what was happening.

Draco was nosy, so he just asked what he was wondering. “Why didn’t your family help?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked, since Percy’s face grew dark again at the question. He said shortly, “They don’t trust me.”

Draco tripped over his feet and Percy actually had to slow down to help steady him. Draco all out paused in the street while Percy left his hand at Draco’s elbow. “You’re the steadiest person I know. Why wouldn’t they trust you?”

Percy’s jaw clenched so tight. It reminded Draco of when Percy was holding back tears while he feared his wife might die. He let go of Draco’s elbow and nodded towards the path they were on and began walking without looking back to see if Draco followed. Draco didn’t, then he realized Percy wasn’t stopping and he trotted to catch up.

“I’m sorry. I can see you’re under a lot of strain right now. It’s none of my business, anyway,” Draco said.

That only made Percy frown guiltily. “I don’t mind you asking,” he said, even though Draco thought he minded anyone asking.

“You just don’t like talking about it?” Draco guessed.

Percy nodded almost imperceptibly. His jaw was still tight but he squeezed out the words, “They resent me for staying out of the war.” The war was the last thing Draco talked about with anyone and so he was caught off guard to hear it brought up. He also didn’t understand the sentiment. Draco envied anyone who’d managed to stay out of the war.

This was the sort of moment when Draco was unsure if he should let it go or prod further. He knew Percy would hate Draco nosing into his secrets. He also knew Percy didn’t have people who cared enough about him to talk about it.

“Must have been a hard choice. The war was brutal, and you were living in the City then. You’d have to have uprooted your whole family,” said Draco.

None of the tension in Percy eased. His voice was gruff when he answered. “It wasn’t a hard choice. I think they’d forgive me if it had been.”

Draco wished Percy was the sort who would accept a hug. Draco knew he would, in private, but not here out on the street. Out here, he’d simply bear the weight of all his choices, hiding his emotions behind a firm brow, straight back, and perfectly ironed, far too old fashioned suit.

At the castle gate Draco had been worried. He was certain the name “Malfoy” would be no good there, no matter his relation to the king. He needn’t have worried.

“I have an urgent message for Overseer Slughorn, he’s meeting with the king now,” Percy said to the guards, brandishing some identification that made him appear legitimate so that the guards let them in.

Draco waited until they were inside the castle proper and well out of earshot before he whispered, “You little liar! I didn’t know you had it in you.” Percy gave him a look so helpless that Draco took pity and let go of any future ribbing on the subject.

Instead, Draco leaned into the scheming. This is where he excelled. Which was good, because Percy’s plan was already on thin ice. He hadn’t planned anything past the clever bit with the guards, and intended just to walk straight up to the Hogsmeade Chamber where the king took his official meetings. The same rooms Horace Slughorn would be leaving any minute, apparently. Draco confirmed that the goal was to avoid Slughorn’s notice, and then led Percy on an alternative pathway that doubled back repeatedly to kill time.

“Just look normal,” Draco told Percy to help them blend in. Percy looked pinched and nervous as they walked. Draco supposed that was normal enough for him. They got some funny looks, but no one stopped them and they arrived well past Slughorn’s scheduled exit.

They made it all the way to a holding room outside of the chamber before encountering a snag. There they found what must be a secretary. The young man was holding a leather bound notebook and looked rather stern. He narrowed his eyes immediately at the two intruders. “Gentlemen, do you have an appointment?” The words hung between them long enough to answer the question. The secretary’s suspicious gaze was shifting into a sneer.

This is why Percy brought him, Draco had to remind himself. So he snapped out of his self consciousness and snapped into action. Draco stood to his full height and adopted an uninterested air, as if the secretary and his schedule were beneath Draco. “Please tell his majesty Draco Malfoy has an urgent matter to discuss.”

The secretary looked unimpressed. “You’re not on the schedule,” he confirmed.

Draco forced himself not to look at Percy for support. The secretary would pounce on any sign of unease. Draco held the secretary’s gaze without breaking character. “I’d think not.”

The secretary didn’t flinch. “The schedule is full. Please submit an inquiry on your way out and the appropriate staff will follow up.”

This time Draco did look at Percy, but it was with a sort of eyeroll and a look that would have shared some private joke if Percy was quicker on the uptick. He wasn’t, he just stood there standing rigid and completely out of place. He’d never have made it in alone.

“I don’t make appointments with his majesty, he comes to me,” Draco drawled to the secretary, balancing on a fine line between confidence and condescension. “When is he next scheduled for Grimmauld Place. Is it this afternoon? Because I do need to see him today and I’m sure if you tell him I’m here he’ll find the time.”

The secretary’s polished persona cracked, allowing just a sliver of uncertainty in. Draco could have grinned if it wouldn’t have ruined the game. “We don’t share out his majesty’s schedule,” the secretary said as a buffer to dealing with the actual issue at hand.

Now was the time to be understanding, so Draco nodded approval. “Certainly, I’d expect no less.” But it wasn’t time to let anything go. “We’ll just wait here until you’ve had a chance to figure this out and then you can share when he has time for us.” Percy got with the program and sat down with Draco on delicate wooden chairs that may just have been meant for decoration. Draco relaxed into it. Percy sat on the very edge and clutched his bundle of papers to his chest.

The secretary’s mouth was doing a funny thing where he couldn’t decide if he should open it to complain or leave it closed until he’d gotten to the bottom of this. Draco did allow himself a smile when the secretary stormed off.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Percy asked.

Apparently so. It was less than a minute later when the king himself walked into the room, the secretary hot on his heels. King Harry was back to his court attire, wearing a trim, lightly decorated suit that showed off his figure. It fit him perfectly, but he didn’t wear it comfortably like he did his soldier's clothes or workman’s trousers.

“Draco, what are you doing here? Is Teddy alright?”

Percy rushed to his feet to bow but Draco took his time. “Teddy’s fine. If Teddy was hurt I would have included that in the message to your secretary,” answered Draco.

The king let out a big woosh of air and ran a hand through his hair in a stressful gesture. “Great. Good.” Then, after a moment’s thought. “So why are you here?”

Draco tried not to frown at the question. It had come out more than a bit dismissive and while it probably wasn’t personal it sure felt like it. Once again, Draco did not look at Percy. He trusted that Percy came to Draco because Percy genuinely believed Draco was the one who held sway here, and Draco didn’t want to ruin it by undermining his own case.

“I have a very urgent matter to discuss.” Draco flickered his eyes to the secretary then added, “Privately.”

“What could you possibly need to talk to me about?” That was unquestionably personal. Then the king glanced to Draco’s side and said even more doubtfully, “and why is Percy here?”

Draco couldn’t help but scowl. Perhaps the appropriate thing would be to earnestly plead his case to the king so that the king would allow Percy a few moments of his time. Draco was imposing, and he should be respectful about it. It’s just that the king had come out to greet him, but only because he thought Draco so heartless as to bring horrible news in the worst possible way. So Draco didn’t plead. He crossed his arms and glared at the king. “I know you’re very important and very busy,” Draco had crossed far over into condescending by now, “but if you could spare a moment for us lowly supplicants then it would be my honor to tell you everything.”

The king rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I don’t have time for your games right now. I’m in the middle of a meeting with the ambassador to Beauxbatons.”

That did sound important. Intimidatingly so. Only, Draco did trust Percy and he really wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.

“And I made my way all the way here knowing you’d only greet me because of Teddy, which by the way is still exceptionally rude, but I did it anyway because this is important and maybe you could take me seriously now when you have the chance so you don’t have to come back apologizing later.”

Percy actually took a step away from Draco at his outburst. He clutched his papers tighter and chimed in. “I’m so sorry, we’ll just go.”

This time Draco did look at him, only it was a glare. “Don’t do that, Percy. We’ve already gone through so much trouble.”

Percy’s eyes were twitching between Draco and King Harry. “You yelled at the king!” he hissed. “We can’t yell at the king.”

“No, it’s fine, I yell at him all the time,” Draco said back, not keeping his voice low enough.

“For the record, I do not think it’s fine,” King Harry said. Percy and Draco both looked up at him, Percy more afraid than Draco but even Draco had the foresight to be nervous. Only, the king wasn’t looking angry so much as perplexed. The king put his hands on his hips and stared at the two men uncertainly. Then he relaxed his posture and took a deep breath. “Dennis, would you set these two up in a room and cancel my next meeting? I need to just pop in and excuse myself to Madam Maxine.”

Percy gasped and Draco elbowed him to keep him quiet.

“You yelled at the king!” Percy said again, once they were alone again after being shoved resentfully into a small reception room.

Draco wished he’d let it go. “It’s fine, Percy, he didn’t mind.”

“He said he minded!” said Percy.

“He also agreed to let us stay,” Draco reminded him.

“Maybe just to punish us!” Percy was really spiraling.

“The king isn’t going to punish us just because I yelled at him in front of his secretary,” said Draco, conveniently leaving out how the king had lost his temper with Draco at his birthday party. He had apologized for that, though, so Draco was willing to bet King Harry at least intellectually knew he shouldn't be repeating the behavior.

“King Voldermort murdered people for less!” If you looked at it that way, it was a reasonable fear.

Draco nudged Percy, trying to offer some comfort. “I think the point of the war was to get a new king who wouldn’t murder people for petty reasons. And if King Harry tries to, I’ll scold him again and he’ll feel too guilty to follow through.”

Percy’s eyes grew wide. “You’re joking, how can you joke?”

Draco cracked a smile, feeling exceptionally fond of his friend. “Percy, we did an honest to good scheme today, and it worked. George would be proud of you! Is there any chance that what you’ve got isn’t going to pay off and I should actually be worried?”

That steadied him. Percy was able to take a deep breath and sit tall. It was his version of relaxing, only it was exceptionally stiff and formal. “We have nothing to be worried about,” he said with conviction. “I brought proof that Slughorn is stealing a quarter of the king’s taxes.”

Chapter Text

“Hold up. What?” Draco couldn’t wrap his mind around what Percy just said. Percy began pulling papers out of his bundle as if he needed them to explain. Draco forcefully shook his head. “No, Percy, stop. I’m not going to read those. I just need you to go back and explain why you didn’t open this whole thing with ‘I’ve discovered a treasonous amount of theft’.”

Since Draco’s luck was complete shit, that was the exact moment the king opened the door to their room. The words “treasonous amount of theft” hung in the air between the three of them. King Harry turned around and Draco caught a glimpse of the secretary standing behind him. “Dennis, I think you better clear my afternoon,” said the king. Then the king glanced back at the two men in the reception room. “And perhaps send someone to find Hermione.”

Percy was bowing again as the king entered the room and closed the door behind him. Draco was holding up a hand, silently asking for just a minute more to finish his conversation. He stepped close to Percy and whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Percy stood rigidly, his eyes darting from Draco to the king and back again. He gulped, uncertain of how to proceed. The king was frowning at both of them, but perhaps it was because he didn’t look angry that Percy leaned over and whispered back. “I would have shown you the reports, but you agreed without looking at them. I figured I should keep it secret in case the king didn’t see us after all.”

Draco gaped. “I wouldn’t have told anyone!”

Percy had the good sense to drop his eyes and look bashful. “I know that. But the best way to keep a secret is to tell no one and I had to be sure.”

“Gentlemen,” the king piped in over their conversation. “You’re treading dangerously right now. I expect it of you,” he actually pointed to Draco. “But, Percy?” Percy’s eyes got all panicky and he grabbed his paperwork and began laying it out over the table, moving in quick, deliberate jerks that lined up everything exactly so.

Draco wished his hair was long enough to pull. He had to grab his head and scratch at it instead. He shoved his hands to his hips and sought a way to buy time. “Your majesty, the evidence you need is right here,” Draco pointed at the meticulously laid out documents. “Take just one minute to review, while my associate and I,” Draco actually grabbed Percy’s arm, “have a word over here.” Draco used the element of surprise to drag Percy back a few steps, hopefully out of ear shot.

“What are you doing?” asked Percy, not lowering his voice at all.

Draco had to take a deep calming breath. He looked up at the ceiling, focusing on the smooth lines of paint above them until his mind calmed. He waited as long as he dared then looked back at his friend. “I just… Is there anything else you should have told me? This could go very badly and clearly we need to have a conversation about which facts are critical to communicate with one another.”

Percy’s eyebrows narrowed and he leveled Draco with a stern expression Draco rarely saw, and never directed at Draco. “You said it didn’t matter and I believed you.” His annunciation was especially clipped.

“If it’s not interrupting,” the king said, clearly interrupting, “someone should come tell me what I’m looking at.” Draco shot him a scathing glare before turning back to Percy.

Draco grabbed Percy by the arms so he couldn’t go. “It doesn’t matter to me, Percy, I wasn’t lying. I just… would have handled this differently if I knew it was something so dire.”

Percy’s stern look darkened. “Why else would I need to see the king?”

That was when Draco actually stopped and considered what it would take for Percy to overcome his neuroses, go around the chain of command, and approach his sovereign monarch. Percy wasn’t like Draco, who might do all that on a lark because he was feeling testy. Percy was so very much more noble than that.

“Bugger,” Draco muttered. He couldn’t meet Percy’s hard eyes and looked instead at the king. King Harry wasn’t bothering to examine the papers at all. He was staring skeptically at Draco, possibly having overheard everything. Draco was desperate to salvage what he could of this situation and his pride. “Your majesty, Percy here will now explain to you how Horace Slughorn has stolen one third of the kingdom’s revenue.”

“Property tax revenue!” Percy yelped, pulling out of Draco’s grasp and trying to adopt an air of authority even if he just came across as high strung. “As you know, there’s funding from trade, agriculture, various fees, and more specialized taxes covering a range of services. Property taxes only make up one fourth of the budget.”

Draco stared at the ceiling again as Percy talked until he had the chance to cut him off with a swift, “Percy here will now explain to you how Horace Slughorn has stolen… eight percent of the kingdom’s revenue. Ish.”

“Well actually, he’s lended most of it back to the kingdom to make up for the budget gap created by his majesty’s new social programs. So mostly he’s profiting from the interest, but he has structured it to pay dividends over decades.”

Draco pursed his lips, struggling not to snap about how no one cared about the technicalities. Especially since the king looked highly interested and probably did. “Percy here will now explain how Horace Slughorn stole approximately eight percent of the kingdom’s revenue, and I’m guessing is now using that money to gain political favors while conning you for decades of interest payments.” Draco took a deep breath. “Percy, would you please just show him the reports?” Percy had been dying to show someone the reports. He rushed forward and dove straight into a highly technical explanation of accounts.

The king and Percy sat at the table with the paper and Draco slumped into a chair across from them. It was his nightmare. Not only was he trapped in a room having to listen to people discuss math, but Percy was actually damn good at it and Draco was starting to understand the complex money laundering Horace Slughorn used to cheat the system. The furrow on the king’s brow kept furrowing further, until his forehead was a mound of wrinkles and his lips were pinched thin in anger. His questions started out thoughtful when Percy initially explained what had happened. They’d grown terse once full realization set in and there was nothing left but to identify incriminating evidence. Draco could tell the king was angry at the situation, not Percy, but Percy would flinch whenever a question was especially harsh.

“I’m parched. You must be parched. Your majesty, would you be a dear and call for tea?” As excuses went it was weak, but Draco hoped a brief respite might clear the air and give Percy a chance to recenter.

“No. We’re busy,” the king said, not even looking up from the report he was studying.

Draco gulped but didn’t let it go. “Percy, you could do with a spot of tea, couldn’t you?”

Percy was hunched over with his fingers clenching the side of the table, just waiting for the king’s next pointed question. “I’m working, Draco,” he answered.

Something tightened in Draco’s chest. “You work too hard, it’s not good for you. I remember how the castle had wonderful tea, I bet they still do. And we could ask for something to munch on. Salted nuts, or maybe even chocolate.”

The king slammed the report down on the table. “Can’t you stop being self centered for one moment?” His eyes blazed furiously.

Draco’s mouth went dry. He tried to remember the king was angry at the situation and it wasn’t personal, but he better understood what it was to be in Percy’s shoes taking the brunt of it. Draco forced himself to sit still, not folding under the pressure of the king’s fury. He bit out, “A break would do us all some good, your majesty.”

The king’s eyes narrowed. “You’re welcome to leave. You don’t serve any purpose here.”

Ah, there it was. Proof this was personal. Draco struggled to appear unaffected but he could see in the king’s smug expression that he had failed. It sparked the all too familiar anger in Draco. “You’re welcome to stop being an asshole to your friend, who came here at great personal risk to himself to make sure you knew your own Overseer of Finance is playing you for a fool.”

“Draco!” Percy gasped in shock.

The king slammed his chair back as he got to his feet, looming over the table and seething at Draco.

Draco answered Percy without taking his eyes off the king. “It’s fine, Percy. In a minute the king will realize I’m right, he was being an asshole, and instead of being exceptionally petty and punishing us he’ll likely just apologize and send for the bloody tea.”

King Harry scowled. His eyes blazed and his nostrils flared. His hands were in fists that looked ready to swing if Draco wasn’t just out of reach. He looked like he might climb over the table and take a swing anyway. Draco wasn’t afraid. He’d seen what the king looked like out of control and this was not it.

True to form, King Harry burst out a frustrated growl then whirled to stomp across the room, giving himself distance between himself and Draco. He flexed his hands, as if considering punching something after all, but instead he just rubbed his hands through his hair, pulling it into a sloppy mess. “Why do you always do this?” King Harry nearly yelled, his back still to Draco.

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but Percy lurched over the table and grabbed his hand. Draco looked at Percy instead, to see Percy shaking his head frantically, his eyes begging Draco to let it go. Draco frowned but for Percy’s sake he answered, “My apologies, your majesty, I was out of line.”

That got the king to turn around. He caught instantly Percy’s influence on the situation and it didn’t soothe his temper. He looked as if he were about to shout again, but this time Draco’s luck saved him. Dennis the secretary opened the door with Hermione in tow.

Brilliant, clever Hermione took one look at the riled up king, and one look at the men at the table, and pursed her lips in a shrewd way Draco didn’t trust. Apparently, neither did the king. He didn’t look remotely relieved to see her.

He did force himself to take a deep breath and calm enough to say evenly. “Thank goodness you’re here. Percy brought troubling news. Dennis, would you call for tea to be set out in the Hogsmeade Chamber? And some food. Whatever you normally do. Percy, can you take everything there with Hermione and walk her through the basics?” Percy stared at the seemingly calm king as if he’d grown a second head. He turned his wide-eyed gaze to Draco, who nodded at him to go. Only then did Percy begin gathering the papers back together.

Draco got to his feet with Percy and walked together with him towards the door.

“Stay, Draco,” the king ordered.

Draco froze, staring straight ahead at the open door. He could make a run for it, what would the king really do to stop him?

“Do you need me to stay with you?” Percy leaned over to whisper. Draco blinked in surprise and pulled his attention away from the door and to his friend. Percy looked twitchy and nervous, but his steady gaze wasn’t second guessing his offer to directly contradict the king if Draco only wished it. It warmed Draco from the inside out. Sure, they definitely needed to have a conversation about all this, but there was no doubt that when it came down to it Percy was on his side. That was enough to hold Draco steady.

“Go ahead,” Draco reassured. “I’ll be behind you in just a moment.”

So Percy left, with Hermione right behind him, but only after she sent an indecipherable look to the king.

Draco stayed calm right up until the door clicked shut behind them. He stayed there, only a meter from the exit, and wondered if there was still time to make a run for it after all. No. He was braver than that. He knew the king wouldn’t actually murder him while his secretary laid out tea a room over. Draco needed to act like it. So, he squared his shoulders and turned around to see what the king had to say.

King Harry was just staring. It was like he’d been waiting for Draco to get the nerve to turn around and face him, but he’d never doubted that Draco would find the nerve eventually. The king no longer looked angry. Just tired. He tried to shove his hands into pockets but once again discovered that the fancy suit pockets were insufficient and he grimaced and flung himself to lean back against a table instead. His hands gripped the table behind him.

“You need to stop doing this, Draco,” the king’s voice was suspiciously calm.

Draco held still under the king’s intense gaze. “Doing what?”

The king raised a hand to gesture at Draco as if that clarified the situation. “It’s one thing, at Grimmauld Place. No one there cares and there’s no doubt Andromeda has a hold on her house. Here at the castle, though, you can’t behave this way.”

“Precisely which way?” asked Draco, although he suspected he knew.

“Entitled. Pushy. Demanding,” The king looked like he could keep listing things out.

“I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about me but you seem to be describing yourself.”

The king’s eye twitched. Draco could see the king’s hand straining as it squeezed the table behind him. Draco watched King Harry force himself to relax before speaking again. “You’re clever, I grant you.” The words caught Draco off guard. Something in the king’s gaze shifted, looking Draco over from head to toe. Draco didn’t understand what it meant. “But you’re not a child anymore. It’s not enough to be clever to impress all your little friends while you hide behind your father’s money and title. You have to grow up and think about the bigger picture.”

Draco shifted his weight, trying to balance the judgment against him that hit far too close to home. “I’m not doing anything wrong,” he insisted. He could hear how childish he sounded as he said it. The king didn’t even need to frown disapprovingly. He just stared, unimpressed, and Draco squirmed.

“You’re smart, Draco. What do you think everyone would think if they heard what you did today?” the king asked sharply. “You stormed into my castle, made outlandish demands of my staff, and scolded me repeatedly without any consequence.”

Draco hadn’t thought about what anyone would think. “Percy said it was important. He wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t true,” Draco said earnestly. “Aren’t you thankful we came all this way?”

The king raised an eyebrow in a way that clearly said “you know that’s not what I mean.” His actual words were more surprising. “In the exceptionally unlikely event that one of your little friends discovers treason, at least lie better when you bring it to my staff’s attention.”

Draco’s mind was caught in a loop jumping between every part of that sentence. Emotion swelled up in him and he decided to tackle what he saw as the important part first. “Don’t be such a condescending dick about it. Percy isn’t one of my “little friends”, he’s an exceptionally dedicated and brilliant public servant who just did you a huge favor.”

His majesty’s official portrait should be of the unimpressed face he kept showing Draco. “Why don’t you practice responding differently. I’ll say something to offend you, like, I don’t know, you’re stubborn as a pig. Then you can say something gracious and I’ll know I can trust you to be seen in public.”

Draco seethed. The king wasn’t being fair. “Thank you, your majesty,” he growled out, the opposite of graceful. “Seeing how you’re the epitome of pig-headedness, it’s kind of you to compare me so favorably to yourself.”

The king threw up his hands before breaking down in laughter. “This is a lost cause. You can’t be helped.”

Draco rolled his eyes before snapping. “If you were trying to help you’d simply not be a dick about everything. All I did was ask for some fucking tea and you tried to throw me out of the room. You don’t treat anyone else like that.”

The king eased back against the table and sighed. There was no anger left in his body. He stared down at his feet. “I treat plenty of people like that. You’re just the only one who won’t let it go.”

Something unexpected caught in Draco’s throat. It felt alarmingly like pity. “That’s really shitty. Mostly you, you’re a dick. But I guess it would suck if I drove all my friends away with my dickishness and I had no one in my life that cared if I was a decent person.”

The king looked up at him, completely exasperated. “You can’t say things like that, Draco.”

“Somebody should,” said Draco. The king’s eyes had that look again. The one that Draco couldn’t identify but made Draco’s skin prickle. Draco rubbed at his arms, trying to make the feeling go away.

The king watched his hands move over his arms, then his eyes flickered back to Draco’s face. “It can’t be you.”

Draco was at a loss. “Why not?”

The king couldn’t meet his gaze, choosing to stare instead over his shoulder. Draco could see the king working his jaw as he considered his answer. “You are,” the king started, his gaze flickering briefly to Draco. “An exceptionally attractive man.” he looked away hard. “And when you’re overly familiar, people assume I find it charming.”

Heat rushed up Draco’s face and he wished there was some way to hide his blush. “They think we’re flirting,” he realized.

“Yes,” the king said, still not looking at Draco. He held himself uncomfortably stiff.

“They think you’re attracted to me,” Draco realized further. The king’s lips pursed as he nodded. Draco swore he could see a slight blush on the king’s cheeks as well. Draco opened his mouth, but he held back the next thought that came to mind.

For months, the king had been stealing peculiar glances at Draco. He was ill-tempered and tetchy, but also had begun letting Draco in past his gruff exterior. He thought Draco was clever, and a rumor had started just because Draco could make him laugh.

Draco knew exactly how it felt to have the king run his strong hands down Draco’s body and how the king couldn’t get enough of his skin to taste. Draco had done everything in his power to hide himself in fashion so spectacularly un-Malfoy like so no one would mistake the equinox ball persona for Malfoy himself - but underneath it was the same body, and the king unquestionably wanted it.

“Fuck,” Draco said. The king answered with a rumbling, desperate laugh. They looked at each other for just a moment, and in that moment the king didn’t hide his lust. However, it was only lust. The sort of thing the king felt for any one of what George would call the king’s pretty boys. It wasn’t personal. It held none of the sentiment that lead the king to promise Draco anything he wanted.

Draco felt cold all the way down to his bones.

“You best figure out how to be a decent person,” he said to the king. “Because there won’t be any solutions to this problem from me.”

Chapter Text

It became abundantly clear to Draco that he definitely should have left when the king gave him the chance. Staying meant sitting in the cavernous Hogsmeade Chamber, crammed with three others at the end of a table big enough for twenty, while the three others hunched over documents while saying increasingly technical things, and Draco had only his cold cup of tea to hold onto.

Draco wouldn’t look at them, because when he tried he found his eyes drawn to King Harry. The king had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. It made him look all approachable and showed off the muscles of his forearms. He’d jerked his eyes away before the king could catch him watching, only to meet Hermione’s eyes instead. Draco knew she was smarter than King Harry. Her contemplative expression was terrifying.

So Draco looked down at his tea cup, with the untouched biscuits on the plate next to it, and wondered what he was even doing there. He wasn’t smart like these three. Percy, especially, was coming across excessively competent. Draco couldn’t measure up. Yet, he was the one the king had been willing to see. It made Draco suspect he knew exactly what he was doing here. What Percy could see even if Draco hadn’t been able to. The king was attracted to him, enough to make time for him and put up with his nonsense because… why? Did he expect to get something out of it?

Draco gripped his tea cup. He had no interest in finding out what sort of hate sex, or worse, apathetic sex, the king would be interested in with Draco. Certainly it would feature the king’s strong, chiseled body giving and seeking pleasure, but when the pleasure was over Draco imagined the king would just leave. Not in the masquerade Draco way, where Draco panicked over making a giant mistake and being found out and ruined. Just because, once finished, the king’s curiosity would be satisfied and Draco could be just another of his past lovers. Like Charlie or Colton. People who wanted more from the king than the king wanted in return.

It’s just, even knowing that, Draco had the intense wish that he had experience with literally anyone else so he could tell himself that sleeping with the king wasn’t special. As it was, Draco was distinctly aware of the all consuming feeling of King Harry desiring him. When the king couldn’t keep his hands or mouth off Draco’s body. When the king caught and held Draco’s gaze while they fucked and wouldn’t let Draco look away. Draco recalled it being mind bendingly spectacular. Like, possibly the sort of thing experience he couldn’t get from anyone else.

So now, when everyone was hard at work seeking a way to take down Slughorn, while reclaiming the stolen money, and saving face with the public, a blush was running up Draco’s neck because he realized that if he tried he could definitely get the king down on his knees again to suck on Draco’s cock.

It was madness, because Draco didn’t want it. The king treated Draco horribly. He didn’t even like Draco. And Draco didn’t want to be intimate with someone he couldn’t trust. But he was desperate to know if there was any way the king would be as tentative and gentle with Draco when the king knew who he was. Draco’s mind was buzzing at the notion some part of what he’d experienced could have been real.

Draco couldn’t help but look at him. The king was all strong jaw and broody features, the sort of look that would make a man wonder what deep thoughts the king was thinking, except Draco knew he was just frustrated he couldn’t bring in more people to help without tipping off the enemy. He worried that Percy and Draco hadn’t been careful enough when they arrived so someone might already have seen. He’d gone on and on about political dynamics that left Draco a bit batty when he tried to follow the complex weaving of court alliances. He rambled about fears that fiscal incompetence would be the death knell for his reform programs. The king was in a mood, but he wasn’t being a dick about it. Draco suspected it was because King Harry had wised up and eaten his snack and drank his tea and with reasonable blood sugar levels he was once again able to regulate his emotions.

The king still ran a frustrated hand through his hair, leaving it messier than ever, but not so messy as Draco would manage if he let himself have a go of it. The king had unbuttoned the top of his shirt, likely just wishing he could change into less formal attire, but with the side effect of showing off the sharp line of his neck and collar bone.

Draco tore his gaze away, only to be caught out again by the king’s friend. Hermione was staring. She had one of those serious little wrinkles on her forehead that people get when they’re thinking very, very hard. Draco panicked.

“Just propose to Colton or something.” the words burst out of him unbidden. “It’ll distract everyone and you’ll have the time you need to implement an actual plan.”

Horrified silence fell.

Percy squawked, “But he’s horrible!” While Hermione even looked aghast and said, “you couldn’t do that!”

Draco looked at the king, who suddenly had a sickly tint to his complexion as he considered it. “Didn’t you tell Luna he was on your short list? People wouldn’t think it out of the blue.”

“Harry, you didn’t!” Hermione gasped. More importantly, she didn’t seem to be thinking about Draco at all anymore.

Harry was staring at Draco like the younger man had personally betrayed him. “It was a moment of weakness,” he explained. “I was just… upset.”

“Honestly, Harry, what could have upset you enough to consider him?” said Hermione. Her scathing tone brought Draco an uncharitable amount of joy.

King Harry sighed and looked at her. She stared right on back. The king lifted his eyebrows and did a sideways nodding thing. The sort that might say, “Please let’s not discuss it in front of these two strangers.” Hermione quirked an eyebrow and pursed her lips. The sort of thing that might say, “You’re not getting out of this so easily.” Harry narrowed his eyes and scowled. The sort of thing that might say, “I’m about to be a royal dick and say something I’ll regret later.”

As bad as it was for the king to yell at Draco, he was absolutely against the idea of watching the king yell at someone else and doing nothing about it. So Draco panicked, again. He picked up a biscuit and chucked it at the king’s face.

Even Draco would have admitted he was being an immature twat, but that would mean backing down. The king slowly turned his scowl in Draco’s direction and Draco knew he wouldn’t back down.

Draco narrowed his own eyes and leaned forward. “Don’t. Be. A. Dick.” He made each word its own sentence.

The king’s eyes flashed with anger, then the oddest thing happened. He pursed his lips and let it go.

King Harry turned back to Hermione and said, calm as a daisy. “I ran into Luna the morning after the ball. She asked if I found anyone to marry.” He grimaced unhappily. “I just threw out the name of the scavenger hunt winner. I was being bitter that it was the only name I had.”

Draco couldn’t tell if Hermione looked more shocked that the king answered her question almost directly, or that he completely moved past Draco throwing food at him. Her wide eyes swiveled back and forth between the two men. Draco could almost see the cogs moving in her too-brilliant head. Worrying about it was enough to keep Draco’s mind off of what the king had just said, almost.

“Did you tell anyone else?” Draco tried to refocus the conversation.

The king shrugged. “We were in a hallway. There may have been people around, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“If so, they’d think you were serious. There would be rumors.” Finally, Hermione got what Draco was suggesting. “Are there rumors?”

Out of nowhere, the most unexpected person answered. It was Percy who said, “Yes.”

Draco grinned wickedly. “Percy, do you have gossip?”

Because it was Percy, he looked embarrassed. But Percy was always one to put duty first. The flood gates opened and he told the group everything.

It still took another hour to come up with a plan, and an hour more to sort out the details. Draco had courteously asked Dennis the secretary for more tea and some light provisions. He did his best to be respectful in order to make up for being so pretentious earlier. Dennis was unamused, but delivered. This time Draco relaxed and Drank his tea while everyone else was hard at work.

“We can’t all leave at once. It’s too suspicious,” Hermione said, when all the work was done. They were convinced there were spies everywhere watching them and Draco honestly couldn’t tell if the drama of it all was real or in their heads. Had his father been this dramatic about court dealings? In either case, the question launched a new round of deliberation since too many people had seen Draco and Percy come in together. It would be quite suspicious that they spent the entire day with the king. It had somehow gotten very late and Draco yawned over their worries.

“Are we boring you?” the king asked drily.

Draco nodded. “Quite a lot, actually. Plus I’m starving. Surely you have a secret passage we can use to sneak out or something. Let’s just do that.”

The king stared at Draco flatly. “I do not have a secret passage.”

“Really? I always thought this castle must have one,” Draco admitted.

“It did.” Hermione affirmed. “We closed them up.”

Draco frowned in an exaggerated fashion. “That was short sighted of you.”

The king rolled his eyes. “Just go home, Draco, I’ll figure it out tomorrow,” he said dismissively. He was already getting to his feet and making to leave.

Draco was reminded of how the king could spot him in a crowd at the equinox ball and then wouldn’t look away. It was exceptionally petulant, but Draco resented knowing that the king was seriously interested in shagging him, but not in the same way. Draco lurched into one of his stupid choices without thinking it through enough to talk himself out of it. “What if just Hermione and Percy leave? It would be less noticeable, and if Percy is ever questioned about it he can just say I talked him into coming so I’d have an excuse to visit.”

There was another one of those exceptionally awkward pauses. Hermione looked ruffled. Percy looked concerned. The king looked suspicious, but willing to hear more.

Percy cleared his throat before speaking. He looked exceptionally uncomfortable. “It would be dishonorable.”

That drew out a laugh. Draco couldn’t help himself, he wrapped an arm around Percy and gave him half a hug. “You’re so sweet. Think about it, though, no one thinks of a Malfoy as honorable.”

“You’re exceptionally honorable,” Percy insisted.

Draco’s eyes softened and he hugged his friend again. “It’s nice of you to say. You should get home, though. Mother and Aunt Andromeda were to meet us there. You should go catch them up on everything.” Percy was looking flustered and like he would commit to arguing over saving Draco’s virtue, so Draco hugged him a final time and said. “Remember when I trusted you unconditionally? This is one of those times you need to do that for me.”

Hermione was giving one of her unreadable looks to King Harry. “Are you certain about this? It’s quite unorthodox.”

The king didn’t look certain. He glanced at Draco, looking him up and down from head to toe. There was a flash of something heated before the king pulled himself back and put on a pleasant face. “They gossip either way, ‘Mione. Let’s put it to use for a change.”

Neither Hermione or Percy liked it, but Draco and King Harry were far more stubborn.

“You are alarmingly good at coming up with lies,” Hermione said to Draco on the way out the door.

It was intended to be pointed, but Draco grinned cheekily and winked at the king. “She thinks I’m good at lying,” he said smugly.

The king looked as unimpressed as ever. “Try it. Right now. Tell her two truths and one lie and see if she can tell.”

Draco could blinked in astonishment at having been put on the spot. The king was gazing at him steadily, daring him to do it. It was the most the king had looked at him since the two had walked in together and sat down on opposite sides of their friends.

“Um,” Draco said, uncertain but committed to trying. “Um.” He glanced at Hermione, then to a very interested looking Percy. He tried to think of anything to say other than how he had danced with a feathered Hermione a year ago, or stole Percy’s spring invitation, or repeatedly slept with the King.

“My first dog was named Princess.” he paused. “I spent two months shoveling horse shit out of the stable.” he tried not to pause too long. “My socks today don’t match.”

There was a brief pause, and then Hermione and Percy said together, “Socks.”

Draco’s jaw dropped even as the king roared with laughter. The king’s entire face lit up with the sort of lighthearted levity Draco wasn’t used to seeing in real life. It reminded Draco of what the king had said - that when Draco acted difficult they thought the king found it charming.

Still, Draco argued. “I can lie just fine. I’ve lied to all of you.” he regretted it, of course, because Hermione gave him another terrifying look that Draco swore saw through him to his core.

The king paid her no mind. He smirked at Draco, his point made. He gestured for the other two to leave the room first, before he stepped up to Draco and led him out, one hand resting on Draco’s lower back.

Which is how Draco ended up on the most déjà vu walk of his life. The king removed his hand from Draco once they reached the hallway. Still, Draco followed King Harry down the castle corridor until they reached the king’s private chamber. Today the room was bright, lanterns lit and glaring at Draco as he entered. It tugged and shifted Draco’s memories, turning the space he recalled as romantic into a sparsely decorated utilitarian chamber. The sort of place a gloomy man who could have anything he wanted would choose to live in. The tapestries were old and uninspired. The rugs were well worn and faded. The desk held only the most basic necessities of paper and pen. There was a long, hardwood table where the king likely took his meals. It was bare, save for a few haphazard items at the end. The king had begun talking but Draco didn’t hear it. His entire world narrowed down to the few items out on display.

A couple books. A few folded papers. A wolf necklace. A muddy pair of golden shoes. A black handkerchief with constellations embroidered onto it in silver.

Chapter Text

When Draco was about twelve he and his father walked in on King Voldermort cutting the skin off a man’s back, which is the experience Draco used his entire life to put every other surprise into perspective. King Harry might accuse Draco of not being able to lie convincingly, but that was because he didn’t know how Draco had been trained to witness nightmares without reaction. What were a few tokens of the king’s fascination with a made-up character that Draco pretended to be for a few evenings? It wasn’t the looming specter of death that his father had never quite been able to explain away with stories of disobedience and justice. “Be his majesty’s obedient servant and nothing bad would ever happen.” That was the lie Draco’s life was built upon.

Obviously, Draco couldn’t react to the collection of lost and found items that summed up Draco’s foolhardy decisions. He could, and did, mentally berate himself for what he was: impulsive, self-indulgent, headstrong. Draco recognized how he flitted from one idea to the next, always striving for something better but never planning a strategy that would work out. How else did he end up here, alone with the king, where the only signs of life in a dreary room were items he couldn’t discuss without his heartache showing clear as day on his face?

He had to react to something. His silence dragged, and if it lingered too long it would give him away. The urgency of the situation clawed at him, driving him to words he once again didn’t think out. “You put all that energy into taking over the kingdom and couldn’t be bothered to redecorate?”

The king’s lips quirked upwards as he watched Draco scrutinize his space. “I did redecorate. This room was trashed when I moved in.”

Draco’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. The king had come to his aid after all and created the perfect distraction. “But this is hideous. It’s like someone gloomy died and their soul is haunting you.”

King Harry raised a hand to his chin as he pondered. “I suppose I can see it.” He shrugged. “But there’s no reason to fuss over a room. I just had them grab stuff out of wherever was closest.”

Draco raised both hands to his face and mouthed the word “Wow.” The rapid beat of his pulse was slowly calming as the king proved open to his banter. Draco looked at the uninspired wall tapestries and suggested, “At least bring in something better than that. It’d be no trouble.”

“Nah, it would feel selfish. The art is out so people can see it, I wouldn’t want to hide it up here.” God help him, the king looked bashful over it. Like perhaps he truly was the sort of bloke who’d nobly live in the saddest room ever so that everyone else could have the nice things.

It was bollocks, naturally. This wasn’t an either/or situation. Draco narrowed his eyes and glared haughty at the older man. “Your lack of ingenuity is troubling. Fortunately for you, I am very clever and will save you.” He crossed his arms and jutted out his chin, daring the king to reject his offer.

“Sounds like trouble.” The king managed to hold back a smile but his eyes were twinkling.

Draco sniffed. “Hardly. Save your thanks for when I return in October.” He held on to his confidence above all else, knowing that it alone could carry him forward until he made it home and could collapse in on himself.

“Alright,” the king said agreeably. He slowly let his smile out until it curled good naturedly across his face. It lit up his face and instantly King Harry looked younger and carefree. More like the man Draco met at the balls. Watching the king open up eased a knot in Draco he hadn’t realized was pulled too tight. It awed Draco. The king’s smile wanted nothing but to show Draco that he’d been right to be confident. King Harry was happy. He trusted Draco would deliver. Draco couldn’t make himself look away.

King Harry caught Draco staring and the smile shifted just enough that it became a smirk. The subtle shift extended to his eyes, which notched up the twinkle into a heated blaze that flooded Draco with a warm sensation that caught his breath and left him feeling tingly. He stood mesmerized, watching the king slowly lift a hand, grazing it over his stomach and up his chest, before using it to pop open a button towards the top of his shirt, revealing an even larger expanse of skin. Draco’s cheeks flared pink but he still didn’t look away. A rumbling chuckle came low and sultry from the king, who finally broke eye contact and strode towards the side of the room. “I’m sure I’ll think of a proper way to show my appreciation. Take a seat, they’ll be bringing supper up any moment now.” The king stepped behind a folding privacy screen, leaving Draco to stand there, half hard, listening to the king undress.

What the fuck was happening.

Draco collapsed into a chair at the table. Foolishly, he sat within reach of the items, leaving the hope of reclaiming his handkerchief alive even if it would never be in reach. He couldn’t take it without being caught, and he couldn’t get caught without having to explain… maybe everything. Still, his hands felt twitchy and he didn’t trust himself not to go for it. All his feelings of fear and desperation were jumbled up with arousal and longing - longing for who knows exactly what. He lurched forward instead to grab what looked innocuous. Just something to distract his hands and his mind before dinner arrived or the king returned. A few papers to snoop over because Draco was nosy and not a good person. He unfolded them and stared, recognizing what he found immediately but hoping it wasn’t true.

Page after page contained lists of names. Each list was titled Observatory page 1, Observatory page 2, all the way up to page five. There must have been over a hundred names all told. Maybe as many as a hundred fifty. One portion of all the eligible gentlemen invited to the ball, conveniently whittled down to a targeted group by Draco himself when he revealed his invitation to the king. There was Draco, listed on page 4. Far away from where the crossed out names ended on page 2, but who knows how eagerly the king would search as it got closer to the end of the year. Fuck.

The doorknob rattled and Draco hastily put the papers back, hopefully in a way where his meddling would escape notice. Then there were servants with the supper. They were too skilled to react to Draco huddling at the table, nearly having a fit because his entire life had gone off the rails and he didn’t know what could be done about it.

When King Harry came back he had changed into one of his casual outfits that was more suitable for an off duty soldier than the ruler of a kingdom. He took in Draco, befuddled and slouched in his chair. The king served two bowls of stew, each with a hunk of bread beside it. He pushed one bowl over to Draco. “Eat something, you’re looking a bit peaky.”

Draco looked first at the bowl, then to the king. The king was smirking. He looked pleased at something, probably himself and how he’d finally managed to put Draco back on his heels after all the times Draco got the better of him.

“Of fuck off,” Draco grumbled.

The king laughed, loud and open. He tore off a hunk of his own bread and soaked it in broth before eating it. The king kept his eyes on Draco as he ate. It made Draco feel warm and twitchy. Draco reached for his own bread and began tearing it into shreds to keep his hands busy.

The king set down his food and leaned back. “What had you planned next?”

Draco scoffed self-deprecatingly. “I don’t plan. I just do, to hell with the consequences.”

“Hmm,” the king murmured. “What did you want to do next?” His tone was deep and playful. Draco couldn’t stop himself from looking back up at King Harry’s smirk. Draco could feel his face heat once again at the implication. What madness was this that had the king flirting? The king chuckled again at Draco’s reaction before popping another bite into his mouth and chewing. He made the action look unbearably smug.

It was clear the king was calling out Draco on his bluff. An hour ago Draco had been petulant and needy and flung himself unsupervised towards King Harry’s chambers because… well… he was feeling useless and unappreciated. Only Draco and the king knew that the king had just admitted deeper, or perhaps shallower, feelings towards Draco. Draco had wanted to force the issue. To use his cleverness to force his way into a space where he wasn’t wanted because once here maybe he wouldn’t be ignored or dismissed.

The king had certainly not ignored or dismissed him. He’d opened the door for Draco to what was expected when you invited yourself back to another man’s room for the night. Or for Draco to refuse, and for the king to chuckle again in his deep and alluring way before tossing Draco aside. It was entirely in Draco’s hands.

“Why the fuck do you have muddy shoes on the table?” Draco’s croaked. He cursed his dry throat and cracked voice but was proud nonetheless that he’d said anything, even if it was a desperate shot in the dark to divert attention away from the question he couldn’t answer.

Only the question rattled the king. He sat up at attention, all playfulness gone. Draco watched the king pick up his spoon and eat the stew properly. He’d closed himself off the way he did any time Draco asked a question that went too far. “I’ve been meaning to get them fixed.”

Draco glanced at the shoes, then peaked under the table at the king’s feet. “Bit small for you,” Draco said as he pulled himself back up to seated.

The king shrugged. “They’re a friend’s.”

“You planning to give them back?” asked Draco, failing to keep his voice light.

“I’d like to.” The king’s voice was strained. He was staring at the shoes.

They were more than muddy. They were cracked with holes rubbed into them. Draco had bled on them where they rubbed welts into his feet. “These are done for. You should probably just get him a new pair.”

That startled another burst of laughter from the king. “Sure, I’ll get on that.” He sounded actually forlorn.

“Wow,” Draco said for real this time. Then, because he hated himself. “You really like this guy, huh.”

The king managed a wry smile. “No. I don’t know him at all.”

Chapter Text

“Draco, you absolute strumpet!”

“Jesus, George, not in front of the kids.” Draco stumbled out of the drawing room, wiping paint off his hands and chin with a towel. He shoved George ahead of him, not minding if he stained George’s suit jacket as he did. Draco closed the drawing room doors, muffling children’s giggles at his expense, then put his hands on his hips and cocked an eyebrow at his guest. “What’s this about, then?”

“You’re sleeping with Harry!” George did not keep his voice down.

Down at the end of the hall Angie paused her step. Draco grimaced at having witnesses. He spoke to her instead of George, “I’m not sleeping with the king.” Angie stared at Draco flatly.

“You are too! Percy told me,” George retorted.

Angie’s flat expression got thinner. The look she threw Draco left him shaking his head and motioning in denial. She had grown into her role and was above things like eyeroles or quizzical expressions, and instead held her head high and kept walking. Draco felt judged to the core.

Draco turned and scowled at George. “There’s no way Percy told you that.”

Only George wasn’t listening. “I can’t believe I had to find out from Percy,” he whined.

Draco shoved at George again, pushing him out of the main hall and into the dining room where his trouble could be contained. “You know damn well Percy would never say that. Tell me what he actually said.”

George waved his hands around theatrically. “He said enough. You talked him into visiting the king and then stayed with the king… all night.” George did an eyebrow wiggle before making a lude gesture.

Draco whacked him over the head. “Cut it out. This is unbecoming, even for you.”

George snickered before holding up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. You know I thought it was all nonsense, until I heard it from Percy. Seriously, though, it’s all over court.” He paused to lean against the dining table. “So, what really happened?”

Draco opened his mouth to explain. It stayed hanging open.

What had really happened?

Draco closed his mouth and licked his lips, looking away.

“Oh my god you slept with him,” all the teasing was gone from George’s voice.

Draco stretched out his fingers before tightening them into fists. He could recall each moment King Harry had opened the door for it to happen, and all the ways Draco had put distance between them until his efforts hit their mark and it was the king who shut things down. After dinner, King Harry didn’t so much as hint at other activities. He provided Draco a change of clothes, let him know where he could tend to hygiene, and pointed out which sofa folded out to a bed. Then he left Draco alone in the king’s chamber and didn’t come back until after breakfast was served.

King Harry showed Draco out with the parting words. “They’ll think we had sex. Don’t correct them.”

Which left Draco here, unsure of what to do. His uncertainty was to the king’s favor, because the longer he said nothing the larger George’s eyes got.

George ran a hand nervously through his hair. “You really did it. Wow. I wasn’t expecting that,” he said, his voice still too serious, like when he told Draco his dad had died. George looked Draco over, perplexed. “And did he…” he struggled to find his question. “Figure it out?”

The entire world slowed down as Draco processed that question. His skin itched under the weight of George’s gaze.

“Figure what out?” Draco asked. A cop out of a question.

George’s eyes narrowed nearly imperceptibly. He suddenly looked taller, having shed his easy going slouch due to the gravity of the conversation. “We’re seriously going to do this?” he asked.

Draco stood stiffly under George’s scrutiny. Draco could hear his heart beat in his ears.That was it, then. George knew. It wasn’t such a shocking revelation. George had probably known all along. At least since spring. Likely since the moment Draco thoughtlessly answered him in the kitchen when George went looking for liquor. He knew, and he hadn’t said anything. Not to anybody. He’d just… made excuses to spend time with Draco and play what amounted to social games at the king’s expense. As if…

Now was an exceptionally bad time to consider what it was as if. Somehow, everything had gotten more complicated since the balls. What had been guiding him, driving him, for more than a year was to keep his secret no matter what. He knew in his soul that he wouldn’t be forgiven if anyone - especially the king - found out what Draco had done. Only, George had found out, and he didn’t care that it had been the disgraced Malfoy heir trudging through the mud with him. He maybe even was fine with it. That should have been plenty, more than plenty, for Draco to finally confide in someone like he had desperately wished he could. Draco had accidently left so many breadcrumb trails to be followed it was just a matter of time before he was caught, and why not let it be now, with someone holding out an olive branch for Draco to take? Draco’s chest was so tight he feared he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

Percy hadn’t told George, though, that the story about King Harry and Draco was a lie. Percy had encouraged George to think the same lie the king wanted Draco to spread, that Draco and the king were having an affair. Neither man saw George as their inner circle. Even if Draco wanted to open up to George, which he could admit to himself deep down that he did, every other person he trusted repeatedly told him they didn’t trust George. What was it Percy said, the best way to keep a secret is to tell no one? If Draco admitted George was right, he’d have to explain that the king didn’t recognize him, which would only have been possible if he hadn’t slept with the king, which would only make sense if something else was going on, which even if Draco didn’t explain would open enough doors George’s natural curiosity could wander down and cause mayhem in.

Draco, usually so clever when put on the spot, couldn’t work out what he was supposed to do in this moment.

Oh, fuck, he was going to lie. He was going to lie to the one person who saw through his mask and went out of their way to build a friendship with him in the real world as if he was a person who mattered.

But it was Draco, and if he wanted to lie successfully he had to do it by telling the truth.

“He doesn’t know we’ve been joking around about finding him a better husband,” Draco tried to say it light-hearted but it fell flat. Clearly that wouldn’t be enough to quell George’s questions. Draco continued. “Which is just as well, because he’s clearly obsessed over someone.”

George’s clenched jaw hardly moved as he drawled, “You don’t say.”

Draco nodded along, willing his body to ease up and relax as he spoke until he looked and sounded natural and unforced. “Have you been in his room? He keeps, like, these momentos out on his table. It’s somewhere between romantic and creepy.”

“Let’s say creepy,” George pipped in, unable to stop himself from being pulled into Draco’s story.

“Sure, let’s say,” Draco rolled with it. “In any case, you know how he is. Basically a brick wall whenever anything personal comes up. But we got to talking.”

“Talking.” George said, only when he said it the word sounded like “having sex.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, breathy and uncomfortable. He didn’t insist it was just talking. He didn't identify timelines for different pieces of the conversations. He just kept rambling. “We were talking, and he explained why he told Luna he was either going to marry Colton or Prince Krum.”

“What the fuck.”

Draco ignored the interruption, “And he told me, ya know, before, that he didn’t want to marry Prince Krum. He said he was boring.”

George made a distressed noise. He was well and truly sidetracked now.

“And he said Colton, because he got the king’s attention when Colton won a contest at the equinox ball.”

George made an even bigger distressed noise. “He cheated!” George all but yelled. “Charley told me all about it, Colton is such an ass.”

Draco shrugged helplessly, not disagreeing but knowing he couldn’t take George’s side without abandoning his purpose. “Anyway, he’s all obsessed, and he talked a lot about Colton, and, like, he has these golden shoes on his table from a past ball,” why did Draco need to throw in that detail? It had been weeks and he still couldn’t get it out of his head. “And I think he’s going to propose.”

The noise George made this time was nothing short of a squawk. “He can’t!” he said it like Draco might be able to stop it from happening, but Draco could only shrug like the useless fool he was. “That wasn’t Colton! Colton wasn’t even on my list, he wasn’t at the spring ball.”

Draco seized on that. “That’s what I heard! The king had been looking for someone who wasn’t even on the list. Somehow… it must all be connected.” It sounded like drivel in Draco’s own head but he forced out sincerity to make the point.

George looked downright queasy. Draco realized what he was implying, that the king thought it was Colton in Draco’s place at the spring ball. Which meant, Colton who ran through the mud and befuddled everyone with the mechanical maze at George’s side. George’s mouth twisted unpleasantly as he considered the idea, and clearly he wanted to discard it but Draco could see the moment George realized he couldn’t prove it wasn’t true. In that moment, the sour expression deepened, his features sagged. He looked unbearably tired and more unbearably sad. He rubbed at his face, trying to force the feelings off of it.

Draco couldn’t bear to watch. He nervously rambled more. “So… the king… propositioned me… but it was clear how, you know, he only wanted sex… and… anyway, I hope he has a happy life with whoever he ends up marrying.” That last bit sounded bitter even to Draco. It unintentionally added more credence to everything else he said to have a clear lie to juxtapose the rest to.

“Damnit, Draco, I told you not to sleep with him,” sighed George.

If Draco recalled correctly, George had only ever said that to Draco at the ball. He shrugged since it didn’t matter either way. “It was a mistake.” Draco couldn’t help but remember what it had felt like, both times, to give in to being desired by the king.

George looked at Draco with pity, as if he didn’t believe Draco meant it. George blinked and looked away from Draco for a moment. When he looked back, he was staring at Draco like he’d never seen him before. As if Draco had convinced George to second guess his belief that it had been Draco in the maze with George all along. Draco couldn’t help but meet George’s eyes. He watched in real time as George cataloged all his memories of Draco, trying to separate out his impressions of the man in the maze from how Draco acted in the real world. George’s forehead crinkled in deep thought as he considered only the man before him.

“I should go,” George said, unusually solemn. Nothing like the George Draco knew.

“Um,” Draco said, ineloquently.

George’s smile was small. “I’ll see you around, Draco.” Only, it didn’t really sound as if he would.

Chapter Text

Draco shoved past crates, nudging things aside to leave a pathway in his wake. He peered around each stack and did his best to examine everything stored in the corners without having to move everything around. A loud, “Oof,” sounded behind him. Not for the first time. Draco was tall, but he liked to think of himself as lithe, or at the very least scrawny. It worked to his advantage when he navigated the attic. Ron, on the other hand, was big. Not big the way Vincent and Greg had been big. They had loomed even as children. Draco doubted they would fit up here. Still, Ron managed to be taller than Draco, and was all broad and sturdy about it. Like his body was meant to block dangerous things from reaching Teddy, or jam his shoulder into boxes.

“Steady on, we’re almost there,” Draco said as he peered behind a trunk, hoping that was where ‘there’ was located. It was not.

There was a grinding of metal on wood as Ron forced storage crates aside. Ron huffed out, “I’m leaving. Just send for George. He’s good at this sort of thing.”

Draco gulped. “He’s busy.”

“George is never busy,” Ron retorted. “Isn’t there a servant who can help you?”

Maybe, but Draco would have to order them and then they’d do double the work by the end of the day to catch up on all their other obligations. It felt like overstepping. So Draco said, “They’ve got jobs.”

“I have a job!” Ron exclaimed. Ron seemed like the sort who wouldn’t abandon a man mid attic, so Draco simply ignored him and continued his search. Proving Draco right, Ron just groaned and trudged along. Until he had cause to shout, “oof!” again, but by then Draco knew Ron wasn’t going anywhere.

Somewhere behind a trunk and underneath a sack that had seen far better days, Draco spotted what he’d been looking for. “I found it!” He hollered.

Hope gave Ron light feed and he was quick to reach Draco’s side. He peered, trying to see what Draco was pointing at. “A rug?” he did not sound pleased with the discovery.

Draco nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Let’s get this stuff moved so we can get to it.”

Ron acted for a full minute like he wasn’t actually going to help Draco lug things around, but deep down he was one of those noble, kind-hearted folks who couldn’t watch Draco struggle to lift trunk after trunk by himself.

“What the hell is in this thing?” Ron growled as he worked with Draco to move a crate over three feet and onto a different haphazard pile.

Draco heaved a deep breath as soon as they had it down. “Precious family heirlooms,” he wheezed.

“Mate, it ain’t precious if it’s buried up here to die.”

Draco patted the crate. “Carefully stored for posterity,” he corrected.

Ron gave in and laughed. “Okay, but what’s in it?”

Together they opened the crate and found out. They stared down at what was clearly the fanciest plates Ron had ever seen.

“This is actually the fourteenth formal dining set I’ve found up here,” Draco admitted. Ron gaped. “You should take one, give it to Hermoine for your next anniversary.”

The older man sputtered, clearly flustered. “I can’t steal from Andromeda!”

Draco spared him a smile. Ron had that same overblown sense of virtue as King Harry, which had gotten Draco into this mess. “Fine. I’ll choose something out and have Andromeda give it to you directly.” Draco ignored Ron’s protests. He recalled a lovely set with delicate roses that they could put in their daughter’s dowry package, so it wouldn't go to waste if they were too stubborn to use it. “Anyway, we’re almost there.”

Almost there wasn’t so much a lie as unrealistic expectations. It took too long to pull the rug out from under the storage heap, and when they freed it enough to roll a bit out for examination both men grimaced in sync.

Ron tried to be charitable. “Must be one of those historic designs.”

“From the rubbish part of history,” replied Draco. Ron didn’t even argue as they rolled it back up. Draco wanted to stack things back on top of it, but Ron made him pull the rug out, stack everything up, and put the rug on top so the whole lot of it wasn’t left lopsided. Only after all of that did their search continue.

Killing time, Ron asked, “What happens if one of these piles falls and traps us?”

“We’re crushed to death and die,” drawled Draco.

Surprisingly, Ron chortled. “Bad way to go,” he said. “Couldn’t we just shout for help?”

Draco half shrugged, even if Ron couldn’t see it because he was currently squeezed between a cabinet and a tall wooden box. “Unlikely anyone would hear.”

Draco couldn’t see Ron but he could tell he’d turned serious from his voice, “Huh. Didn’t think of that. We can’t be up here too long, then. I am on the job, you know.”

“Don’t you have, like, half a dozen soldiers down there standing guard?” Draco asked offhandedly. He twisted just a bit to get in further, confirming that yes, that vague shadow he saw beneath the trunk there was indeed a rug.

Ron was rambling on about something Draco didn’t quite catch until the end, “... so Dean will only leave with Hugo and Rose if I’m with Teddy.”

“Ah, of course,” Draco murmured as if he’d heard the whole thing, even though he was mostly trying to figure out how to get back up to standing when the furniture had him properly pinned. “Smart to split the kids up. Cause, you know…” Draco couldn’t quite think of a respectable way to point out that Ron would have to choose between saving his kids’ lives and the life of the heir to the throne if they were all in the same room together during an attack. He sidestepped it with, “I think I’m stuck.”

That did the trick. Ron laughed uproariously and kept insisting Draco try shouting for help to see if anyone would hear. Draco kicked out at him, landing one blow, but not hard enough to bother. Draco twisted a couple more times, leveraging one hand on the stack in front of him, and one hand on the side of the shelf he was stuck on. He pushed on both and squeezed until he was able to pull himself up. He turned to grin his accomplishment at Ron, but saw Ron to the side, having pulled on the wardrobe to loosen its hold so Draco could escape.

“This place is a death trap,” Ron said jovially.

Draco rolled his eyes before informing Ron that the death trap was in need of relocation because, once again, they had found it. Possibly the real it this time. Who was to say?

They had to move other stuff first, so they had room to move the furniture somewhere else. Then Ron insisted on stacking everything safely, which took time because they had to dismantle less safe mounds and reassemble them. Ron was really stuck on the “what if you get trapped and die?” thing. Draco imagined it must be because he had small children who had no skills in life preservation.

“I wouldn't have been so careless if I were alone,” Draco argued when Ron tried to use his own mishap against Draco's arguments to try less hard in order to save time. Ron wasn’t having it. “Don’t we have to hurry so you can get back to work?” Draco tried another tack.

Ron’s eyes narrowed at Draco even as he kept working. “We’re going to get you your stupid rug. Andromeda will hold off the assassins herself if she has to.”

Draco snickered. “With what, her sturdy and practical low heeled shoes?”

“Nah, Andromeda is wicked good with a sword.” Ron said it offhandedly, but in his serious tone that stopped Draco short.

“For real?” asked Draco.

Ron didn’t slow down at all as he answered. “Sure. She joined the resistance movement as soon as she moved north and learned there.”

Draco could feel cogs moving in his brain as they realigned his understanding of his firm and scary aunt into an even more firm and scary swordswoman. “You don’t say.”

Ron shrugged. “C’mon, let’s move the wardrobe.” Draco helped him lift the beast of furniture. They inched it along, going at Draco’s pace because he was puny compared to the buff captain of the king’s guard who probably worked out daily. Draco actually missed the days of shoveling horse shit because at least then he had some strength to speak of. Draco collapsed against the monstrosity of furniture as soon as they’d maneuvered it into a place suitable enough for Ron’s exacting standards. “Chin up, it’s out of the way now for the next bloke looking for floor coverings.” He said it as if he thought that would please Draco, too. At least the going was easier for the rest of it. Ron kept prattling on. Draco knew Ron must be tired because Ron was sweating through his outfit same as Draco, but Ron didn’t let it slow him down. Draco, meanwhile, hardly heard a word he was so tired. Another sentence trailed off before Draco bothered to make sense of it. “... so I reckon you’d be useful, push come to shove.”

Draco dropped a box he had heaved into the location Ron directed him towards. Twice as far away from a perfectly serviceable pile that wasn’t up to Ron’s safety standards. Maybe Draco should have made peace with George, since he’d clearly recruited the wrong Weasley.

“I didn’t,” pant, “hear,” pant, “any of that,” Draco panted. He breathed deep through his nose and held it a moment before releasing all of it out in one big gush.

“If we were attacked, you’d be useful, yah? Hold your own in a fight,” Ron repeated.

Bursting out into laughter took a lot of effort, seeing how Draco was still struggling to breath due to all the manual labor, but Ron’s statement got him there.

Ron looked befuddled. “What? You’re like, a marquis? You must have been formally trained at some point.”

Draco laughed so hard he knocked into the carefully planned out stack of crates that still almost tumbled over. “An earl!” he corrected, as if the title he’d been stripped of mattered in the discussion.

“I’d have thought your subsidiary title would be Marquis,” Ron said in the tone of voice you’d use if you were saying you’d thought someone preferred caramel to vanilla. Draco marveled at how perfunctory and unimportant Ron could make social hierarchy sound.

Draco managed to steady himself out and regain his control. He held himself as tall as he could in the cramped space and tried to put on his haughty son of a duke expression, but his grin revealed his teasing. “A subsidiary title improvement was on my father’s to-do list.”

“What, between tidying the kitchen and picking up groceries?” Ron asked.

“Just so,” Draco agreed. “Such is the life of a duke.”

Eventually, they did reach the rug. Turns out, it wasn’t one rug. It was a stack of them pushed into the triangle corner where the ceiling reached the floor. It made the most sense to look at the one on top of the pile. Both men held their breath expectantly as they rolled it out, just far enough to get a good look at the pattern.

It was a gray, nearly silver, with black edging and a design that ran across it that made Draco think of the ocean at night. The details were bold and beautiful, and completely out of place for what Draco was going for. Ron only grumbled a little when they put it aside and pulled out the next one.

It was blue. Midnight blue on the edges, with a tiled cerulean pattern on the inside, and small yellow accent lines throughout to liven it up.

“Yes,” Draco said at once. Ron lit up, clearly liking the rug and the fact that their work was done. Only… “let’s look at another. Just one more.” Just one more turned into three more, because the first two were green and Draco wasn’t trying to be funny. More than anything, this process was teaching Draco that Ron was a pushover. More likely that than he could sincerely tell how important this was to Draco and he was the sort of fellow who’d just lend a hand, over and over again, to make someone’s day. The next rug did make Draco’s day. It was large and lush, and so fucking heavy, but Draco looked up at Ron with wide, excited eyes, and he knew instantly Ron would give in and help carry it.

Of course, Ron made Draco put everything back neater and safer than they found it before he’d help haul the two rugs down the four flights of stairs between the attic and the ground floor. They started with the heavier one, because Ron insisted that was responsible. Draco never wanted to be responsible again in his life. He collapsed afterwards, right on top of his beautiful discovery, even as Angie yelled at him for using the front hallway for storage.

Ron wandered off to make sure none of the kids ended up assassinated during their adventure. Draco was still down for the count, blowing off Angie’s demands to move the damn rug, when Ron returned. “All’s well. We weren’t needed to defend the house afterall.”

“Thank fuck,” Draco said.

“Settle down, there’s a lady present,” Ron scolded.

Angie blushed prettily at the attention. She wasn’t formally a lady, but she liked to be treated nicely and Ron did a better job of that than Draco managed. Angie smirked playfully at Draco, as if Draco was still a castoff, unwanted relative and Ange hadn’t needed to adopt proper decorum that set the two of them so far apart. “That’s right Draco, I’m a lady,” she teased. “So show some respect and move this hunk of fabric out of my hallway.”

Draco would have laughed her off again, but Ron wouldn’t hear of it. Ron made Draco stand up and find a closet to hide the rug in so Angie would leave them alone. Then Ron wouldn’t let Draco go back to resting. No, they had to climb back up the four flights of stairs.

“I hate you,” Draco said, each time they started a new level.

Ron marched steadily on with a deranged level of stamina. “You should join us for drills tomorrow morning,” he said out of nowhere.

Draco huffed, “Why would I do that?”

“You’re with Teddy all the time, it would be good to count on you as an extra hand if needed. Only you didn’t sound confident about your skills in a fight.”

Draco was thankful Ron couldn’t see his face. He knew his voice was just as strained but hoped it could be blamed on physical exertion. “I’m afraid I lacked the natural aptitude for sword fighting. Or any fighting. My tutor eventually relented and, well, it is what it is. I haven’t held a sword since the war.”

Ron glanced back. “You know the basics, though.” He paused only a beat before confirming, “You fought in the war?” Draco appreciated Ron’s effort to make the question sound normal.

They’d reached the landing to the servants’ floor and Draco stopped there. He focused on breathing deep, which was a good excuse because he needed the air, but also he hoped that with enough deep breaths his racing heart would slow down and he’d be able to do half as well as Ron at sounding normal.

The hell with it. None of this was normal. “You’ll be pleased to know, I really didn’t,” said Draco, all high pitched and overly casual because he was nervous and it was the best he could manage. “Never had to draw a sword until the end, but that wasn’t so much a fight as my complete humiliation and defeat.” He forced what might be mistaken for a chipper smile. “And that’s where I’d like to leave it. I wasn’t meant for warfare, I was meant for sewing and interior design. On with it, then, only one rug left.” Draco stomped forward with renewed vigor, not meeting Ron’s eyes so he wouldn’t need to see either confusion or pity.

The next morning welcomed Draco with deep aches. Someone was pounding on his door. Which was ridiculous. No one ever came to his door. A glance at the window confirmed the sun wasn’t fully up yet. Bleary eyed, he all but fell out of bed. He didn’t think to grab clothes to cover himself before he answered.

It was Ron at the door. The wanker was smiling. “Time for drills.”

Draco was too out of it to even respond in swears. Instead he tried to shut the door in Ron’s face. Impossible, since Ron was all big and buff and fully awake with actual reflexes that made it easy to stop Draco’s half assed attempt. Ron pushed the door all the way back open, still smiling.

Ron said, “It’s a beautiful day,” it wasn’t, “So put some clothes on and let’s get going,” Draco didn’t plan on it. Ron could tell, so he added pointedly, “because someday someone might come at Teddy with a sword, and if all that,” he pointed to Draco’s brutally scarred abdomen, “is going to happen to someone, it better be you rather than Teddy. Or you can let me teach you how to do it to the other guy.”

Draco was just now realizing he didn’t have a shirt on and the only thing he could think of to say was, “The other guy was King Harry.”

There was a moment where Ron might have flinched but he covered it before Draco’s sleep-addled mind could fully perceive it and what Draco saw instead was an even bigger grin. “Brilliant. I can take down Harry. No better time than now for you to learn.”

Draco didn’t learn that morning, or the next. He was just reminded how useless he was at fighting while he got progressively achier. He told himself every night that he was going to quit, but for some reason he kept showing up. Draco couldn’t have told you why. He was never going to actually be needed to fight, but he supposed sometimes you put in the work so all the boxes are steady and, should you ever need to, you’ll be able to walk through the room without everything falling down on your head.

Chapter Text

The problems started when they tried to get Teddy into a carriage. He simply didn’t want to go. Draco cajoled him until everyone else was packed up and then bribed Teddy with a sweet. Draco hated to do it, a bribed Teddy wasn’t actually a satisfied Teddy, but Draco wouldn’t start such a large journey strong arming a screaming toddler into a traveling box. Thankfully the carriage took off before the sweet could fully be consumed so it would be hard for Teddy to have thrown himself out of it. About three hours in, Teddy tried to prove it was not impossible, forcing Draco and company to get creative with their distractions. Teddy was meant to be napping but that was meaningless.

They arrived to one of those receiving lines people do for important guests. The king stood in the position of honor, although he looked like someone shoved him last minute into a formal suit coat, but failed to talk him into the proper breeches. So, not that different from Teddy.

The moment the stage coach opened the door, Teddy shot out of the carriage like a lighting bolt roaring at full volume. Draco and Andromeda left him to it, but the nursemaid was a saint and found the energy to hurry after her charge. Draco groaned out his suffering but pulled himself to his feet so the maid wouldn’t be left on her own. Andromeda’s chuckle followed Draco out the carriage door.

Draco’s mother and Andromeda’s lady’s maid were already out of the second carriage, and Ron was down off his horse, which gave Teddy plenty of people to run circles around while avoiding all the strangers and the big imposing castle. The nursemaid was chasing after him, calling out, “Your grace!” over and over, as if Teddy knew that meant him or wasn't smart enough to know she’d just trap him again somewhere else.

Draco waited until she chased Teddy round once more then he stepped out and nabbed the three year old. Teddy squirmed and shouted and flailed, whacking Draco solidly on his head twice.

Strong arms reached out for Teddy, pulling him off Draco before Teddy could whack him again. “Shhh, it’s alright, I’ve got you,” said King Harry as he bounced Teddy and patted his back.

Teddy buried his face into the king’s jacket. The tears and snot he smeared over it wouldn’t cause any hardship. “I want to go home!” Teddy wailed.

The king smiled down at the little boy, charmed by his tantrum. He nudged Teddy’s nose with his own. “Yeah, I don’t like it here that much myself. But you and me? We can take on anything,” Teddy sniffled a little as he tilted his big round eyes up to look at the king. The king’s answering smile may have been small but it held a warmth that radiated across the king’s face and lit up his eyes. Teddy hiccuped once before burying himself into the king’s chest in silent acceptance. Draco watched the king close his eyes and lean down to kiss the little boy’s head, squeezing him just a bit more as he did so.

The king opened his eyes and realized everyone was watching him. His smile faded and his affection melted away into an expression Draco could now recognize as the mask King Harry wore with the public. The king lifted Teddy a bit higher into his arms, still cradling the boy gently, even if he took a moment to regally say, “Welcome to the castle,” which is all he could be bothered with for a formal greeting. No one waited for him to put in further effort.

The king spared only enough time to kiss Andromeda hello before he walked towards the castle. Teddy peaked over his shoulder and shouted, “DracoDracoDRACO!” until the king stopped to turn back as well.

“You coming?” King Harry called out.

Draco supposed he was. He paused only to ask Ron a favor before walking after the king.

Of course, Andromeda and Teddy were once again staying in the grand guest suite. King Harry released Teddy as soon as they arrived and Teddy once again took off in a mad dash to stretch his legs. He ran into the room he’d used last time and climbed up onto the canopy bed so he could jump up and down on the mattress. Draco kicked off his shoes so he could climb up after him. Teddy almost ran off, afraid Draco would stop his play, but then Draco tried out bouncing on his knees a couple times until Teddy burst into giggles. Teddy jumped even harder then, seeing how high he could go.

“Careful, you’re going to break the bed,” the king cautioned without really meaning they should stop.

Draco looked back just so he could be seen rolling his eyes. To Teddy he said, “Edward, darling, you jump highest when you’re barefoot. Let’s take off your shoes and socks.” Teddy went along with it, so if they did break the mattress at least they wouldn’t get the bedding dirty.

Teddy didn’t stop with his shoes and socks. The nursemaid had wrangled Teddy into a little buttoned up vest over a buttoned up shirt so he’d look good and proper at the castle. Teddy tore it all off. Draco pocketed a button that escaped in the process so he could have it reattached later. “Off! Off! Off!” Teddy began chanting. When he was bare from the waist up he yanked at Draco’s own coat until Draco let him pull his coat sleeve loose. Teddy insisted Draco finish taking the rest of it off. Teddy kicked it to the floor and crowed to freedom. Then he was off running again in no time, leaving Draco to pick up the loose clothing items and lay them out on a nearby dresser. Draco slumped on the side of the bed afterwards, exhausted.

“Hanging in there?” King Harry asked from across the room.

Draco pulled a face that might have been a reassuring smile, but also possibly a defeated grimace. “Couldn’t be better.” They both heard Teddy run by the hall outside again, on his way to explore whatever lay in the other direction. “I spent all day with the most perfect child in the world.”

The king shared his warm, affectionate smile with Draco. “He is perfect,” King Harry said it like he was confiding a secret. It gave Draco pause, to see the king so openly happy.

Draco waved as if it shoo him from the room. “Stop being mushy. It’s weird. Makes it hard not to dislike you when you act like that.”

The king blinked in surprise, his face half torn between confusion and closing off his emotions again. “Wait - are you trying to dislike me?” he asked.

Draco tilted his head and smirked. In this moment of exhausted comradery he felt comfortable enough to tease. “I don’t have to try, your majesty. Disliking you comes as easy as breathing. Due to you being… well, I’m probably not allowed to call a king an asshole. So definitely not that.” The king might have taken it as an insult, but Draco would never know. A crash in the other room cut the king’s flustered retort off before he could get started. Both men got to their feet at once to check in on Teddy, who wasn’t hurt or anything, just very good at causing trouble.

King Harry scooped Teddy up again, promising him crackers in the main room until dinner. All three trooped out. Draco sat at the table and let the king hand off Teddy so he could gather snacks. While Teddy munched, the king pulled off his own formal add ons before he sat at the table, much more comfortable and looking more himself.

“I’m not an asshole,” the king felt the need to insist even though the conversation had passed and Draco had moved on.

Draco didn’t so much ignore him as respond in a sideways fashion. He tickled Teddy to get his attention. “Emotion game, Edward! Let’s see who can make a better King Harry grumpy face!” Teddy loved practicing how to identify emotions, and at once both he and Draco did their best grouchy king impression. Draco managed a believable scowl, but Teddy was very good at furrowing his bushy brows. The king glared at both of them, merging the scowl and the brows so perfectly that Teddy and Draco couldn’t their uproarious laughs.

“Another! Another!” Teddy said.

“Snobby Draco,” the king commanded.

Teddy had to think. “What’s snobby?” he asked.

King Harry shot Draco a smirk before getting his revenge. “Like this,” he said, then did a truly horrible impression of Draco sticking his nose in the air and pinching his lips primly.

Teddy laughed again and tried it himself. Honestly, he did a better job. He must have known the face himself even if Draco would swear he never made it when Teddy was watching.

“That’s not nice, Edward. We don’t tease. It makes people sad. Let’s do a sad face.” All three adopted the most exaggerated frowns, any one of them could have been mistaken for a court gesture. Teddy laughed again and snuggled back into Draco’s chest, finally relaxed and happy.

People came, followed by dinner, followed by the king offering to put Teddy to bed himself and everyone else feeling blessed they need not get up again. The servants left for the night, one leaving with Narcissa to show her to her room, and Andromeda excused herself as well. So it was only Draco still there, nursing a warm mug of tea, when the king returned.

Draco had supposed the king would see himself out, but he didn’t. Instead he collapsed into the chair closest to him, which happened to immediately be to Draco’s right. “I don’t know where that boy gets so much energy,” King Harry said, all affection.

Draco acknowledged his remarks with a, “Mmhmmm.” He sipped his tea and enjoyed the moment of mutual understanding. “I imagine you must have been like that, when you were his age.”

The king snorted. His face drew tight just a little, frowning along the edges. He didn’t shut down, though. “No. I was a very quiet child.”

It was a struggle to imagine it. “Quiet and well behaved?” Draco said it like a joke.

The king’s eyes pinched a bit more and he offered up a grim smile. “Very well behaved.” It wasn’t the same as closing off completely, but clearly he didn’t want more questions. For once, Draco let it go, sipping his tea instead of prying. Perhaps it was offering the space the king needed that let King Harry relax again into the conversation. “Were you like that? A well behaved child?”

Draco snorted into his tea. “Heavens no. I was a brat.”

The king chuckled warmly. “Ah. A trait you never grew out of.”

“Hey!” Draco squawked in faux outrage.

The king chuckled again, shaking his head at Draco’s protest. The king didn’t need to prove his point, because, really, it’s not like Draco didn’t know it was true. King Harry glanced at him with a mischievous smile that dared Draco to argue anyway. Draco probably would have, but he got caught up staring.

King Harry was so at ease, in a playful sort of way that once again pulled Draco back to magical nights where he let himself be talked into all sorts of mischief. Something stirred in Draco, a warm gooey feeling that surprised him. He licked his lips, wondering.

It was King Harry that yanked his gaze away. His own cheeks blushed red and he’d tensed up all over again. “It’s late, I should go.” he looked at the wall as he said it.

It was like a cold bucket of water dropped on Draco’s head. He flinched down into his chair, hiding behind his mug of tea. Where had that feeling come from?

“Yeah, I’m tired myself. We should… go,” Draco agreed awkwardly.

Both men got to their feet.

The king said, “Wait, where are you going?”

Draco quirked a brow as he set his mug aside to be collected later. “Somewhere else. There are only two beds here, remember?”

“Oh, right.” He clearly hadn’t remembered. “Where’s your room?” the king tried to ask casually but something in the tone was off, a bit husky and suggestive.

It was all it took for the moment to come back. Draco’s eyes jumped up to meet the king’s gaze once more and something charged ran between them. It took a moment for Draco to remember the question and answer. “I don’t actually know.”

The king glanced from Draco’s eyes to his lips, then back up again. “You could…” the statement trailed off as the king considered exactly what he was saying. This wasn’t a braggadocious proposal like last time, or the sudden flirtation Draco saw him do with other men he decided to take home. Draco didn’t know what was happening, but it felt different. More real.

That thought terrified him.

“I could just call a servant, yeah,” Draco said, regretting the rasp in his voice but not taking it back. The king blinked and frowned at his words, but Draco looked away before he could see any emotion. It was only two steps to reach and pull the cord that would summon help and Draco didn’t dare dawdle. He heaved in deep breaths as he pulled the cord, winded as if he’d just finished an hour of drills with the soldiers. He turned and forced a smile for King Harry. “There we go, right as rain.”

Disappointment lined the king’s face, but without hostility His smile was genuine when he said, “I had a good evening, Draco. I’m glad you could come.”

Draco didn’t know how to handle the warmth directed towards him. He shuffled his feet and dropped his head bashfully. He felt the sudden need to justify the king’s affection. “Don’t worry about it. Teddy’s a handful, but I promise I’ll help calm him down tomorrow.”

King Harry took a step towards Draco, then another. “You’re not here to be a babysitter,” he reminded.

Draco shrugged. “But you needed me to show up and be helpful.”

The king took the final step and was close enough to reach out and touch the back of Draco’s hand. “No. I’m just glad you came.”

Draco’s breath caught. In that moment he could have been back at the first ball, outside on the steps, where the lion king asked him for one sweet kiss. Draco’s skin prickled just the same where the king touched his hands and his eyes lingered on Draco’s face. The air charged between them, ready for anything to happen, just as soon as Draco reciprocated.

Only, this wasn’t a fairy tale. There was no magic. Any pain that happened here was real and forever.

Draco stepped away. His eyes were on the king’s hand as the contact between them broke, leaving Draco cold everywhere. He glanced up to the king in time to catch a brief moment of hurt cast across his face. Then Draco blinked, and when he looked again the king’s face was nothing. Just a blank wall void of emotion erected between them.

“Um,” stumbled Draco. “Lots to do tomorrow,” he should stop talking but the king wouldn’t stop looking at him, cold and closed off. “You’ll have to, um, tell me about your and Percy’s plan for, um, Slughorn.”

King Harry’s smile was unbelievably thin. “Certainly.” One word, crisp and formal, leaving only silence in its wake. Draco bit his tongue to stop himself anxiously filling it. Still, Draco ached as King Harry made the next move. He dipped his head and said, “I’ll take my leave. Good evening.” He left without looking back.

Chapter Text

This time when Draco heard knocking on his door there wasn’t a hint of sunlight. Miserably he crawled to his feet and stumbled to the door, and was distraught at the sight of Ron’s smiling face.

“No! I’m unavailable. I’m here to work. I’m the babysitter.” Draco was willing to stoop to great lows to get back into bed and sleep.

Ron tsked at him. “Mate, I am absolutely not to treat you like a babysitter. King’s orders.” Ron’s smile should have been illegal this early in the morning. “Get dressed and let’s get to it.”

Perhaps if Draco’s brain had been working a little bit better he would have slammed the door in Ron’s face and gone back to sleep anyway. As it was, with frazzled nerves and a sleep-addled mind, he managed to swap out his sleep clothes for something approaching respectability so he could follow Ron to morning drills.

It was worse, here at the castle. Back at Grimmauld Place everyone knew Draco by the time Ron had dragged him out to train. He got funny looks, but not funny treatment. Here at the castle, there were too many unknown faces waiting for him in the training courtyard. Draco stood out in his noble clothes with his platinum Malfoy hair. It was hard to directly be mean to the fellow Ron brought in, but clever folk would figure it out given enough time. Thankfully, Ron assigned Draco to Dean Thomas, who was well versed in kicking Draco’s ass, but being nice about it.

With the sun came a currier, with an urgent message for Ron. He read it and called a halt to the training. It couldn't have come too soon, since rain was starting and all the soldiers were respectably worn. Comparatively, Draco was drenched with sweat and ready to slump over. Draco ignored the snickers directed his way and focused on Dean’s sincere, “Good work today.”

Draco tried to catch Ron to ask what the plan was for the day, but Draco was caught in the crowd and couldn’t reach Ron before he was out of sight.

It was uncomfortable to be left to his own devices. Everyone else was retreating to the barracks for a shower, but Draco had to slump off elsewhere to ready himself for the day. He avoided anything remotely communal and eventually gave up and just returned to Andromeda’s to quickly bath there. It all worked out alright in the end, since by the time he dressed and stepped out to the main room Andromeda and Narcissa were sitting down to breakfast.

Being back at the castle had breathed life back into Draco’s mother. Her dress may be simpler than what she wore in the past, but it was fine silk expertly assembled. Draco’s mother had embroidered it herself, to stretch the budget Andromeda provided out far enough so Narcissa could have a different dress for each day of their stay. The budget had been meant for the two of them, but Andromeda didn’t fight with Draco when he passed and gave it all to his mother. Perhaps Andromeda knew, too, how much it would mean to Narcissa to be able to maintain her pride for this visit. Looking at her now, at the same breakfast table they ate at so frequently throughout Draco’s childhood, it might be as if nothing had changed beyond age making her frame thin and her hair gray.

Draco listened to the two sisters chat over their meal with an ease they’d never managed in their childhood home. There was a lightness to it, an ability to let the war lie and simply be two sisters meeting on an equal playing field. Somehow, the castle didn’t carry the weight of all the things the two women had lost during the war.

Andromeda hadn’t yet received word from the king of the day’s activities, so instead they made morning plans to visit the gallery and walk through the garden if the rain let up.

“Will you join us, Draco?” his mother asked.

Draco considered but shook his head. “I’m quite tired, I think I’ll have a lie down.”

Andromeda tutted. “When you’ve just woken up?”

Draco switched tacts and made the case that he should be around in case Teddy needed anything. Only, Andromeda insisted on reminding him he wasn’t to be treated as a babysitter. King’s orders.

All these orders felt like premeditated revenge on the king’s part.

The rain didn’t let up, but umbrella’s appeared and Draco was forced to do a brief turn about the yard. No one was wearing practical enough shoes for it, but Andromeda was made of strong stuff and charged onwards, knowing her family would follow. The rain didn’t stop his mother from lingering to point out all the plants she remembered fondly. Draco might have sighed a lot, but he would stand in whatever puddle was required of him to see his mother happy. He lifted his eyes up to consider the castle, dull and gray under duller and grayer clouds. He’d have to find a way to get his mother invited back in the summer, when the flowers were at bloom. His stomach swooped at the idea of that conversation with King Harry. He’d find a way, though. If his mother could laugh this lightheartedly in the rain, bringing her here in sunshine would be worth nearly anything.

Once inside, Draco toed off his muddy shoes and peeled off his wet socks.

“Draco! You can’t walk around barefoot, it’s undignified,” his mother chided.

Draco tucked the socks inside the shoes while answering, “What’s undignified is getting blisters that hurt so bad I can’t move fast enough to stop Dean Thomas from knocking me on my ass.”

“Don’t swear at your mother,” the chiding was from Andromeda this time. Honestly, it was easier when they weren’t getting along.

No. No, it wasn’t. Seeing the two sisters side by side sharing stern, if amused, expressions made it easy for Draco to wave an apology to them both and promise to be better. Draco did walk barefoot, though, unrepentant.

There was still no word from the king when they returned to their rooms. Draco would have thought nothing of it, but he could see frown lines framing Andromeda’s eyes and her occasional glance towards the door. Draco began to pick up more and more of the conversation to cover for Andromeda’s wandering thoughts.

Word didn’t come until servants were gathering the last of their lunch dishes away, and it came in the form of Hermione instead of the king. Her dress was sturdy instead of fashionable, and her boots were designed to keep her feet dry no matter how much she tromped about in mud. Her hair was pulled back in a bushy bun that mostly kept the curls out of her tense and serious face. Clearly, it wasn’t a social call.

It was only because Draco was looking for it that he saw Hermione subtly examine the room, taking in the servants’ presence as well as Draco’s mother. He saw her decide to put on an almost natural looking smile and announce, “Percy and his family will be here soon.”

“Percy?” Draco asked, bewildered. “And his family?”

It must have been some code since Andromeda adopted her steely expression even while not missing a beat, “How delightful. Didn’t you say you were hoping they would be here for your visit, Draco?”

“Um, yes,” Draco tried to be as smooth in responding as they were but it wasn’t working quite right. He could feel the servants’ funny looks and wondered at the king’s past fear of gossip.

His mother saved him, perhaps not even aware she was doing it. “It will be so lovely to see Percy and Audrey. We come to town so rarely, and I know it’s hard for them to get away to the country.”

“Yes,” Draco said again. “I suppose so.” He looked at Hermione. “When did you say they were coming?”

“Any minute now. I was just coming to bring you along to receive them. Typically Harry would do it, but he’s in his meeting so I’ll be standing in,” Hermione explained it like it should make sense but several things weren’t adding up.

Andromeda frowned and murmured, “What meeting was that?” At the same time Draco frowned and said, “But it’s Thursday.”

Hermione decided to respond to Andromeda. “The small council was summoned this morning. I hardly know what about.” She said it lightly but Draco saw the two women exchange sharp glances. He also saw the servants watching. A reminder someone was always watching.

Draco licked his lips and spoke up again, trying to refocus the conversation while also doing his best to make the information Hermione came to relay seem as unimportant as possible. “It’s so unlike them to travel on a weekday. I wouldn’t want to interrupt their schedule, maybe we can cancel and my mother and I can go visit them for dinner.”

That pulled Hermione’s attention back to Draco, her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I thought you told Harry that he should invite your friends to visit for the trip. Percy and Audrey were planning to stay for the entire week.”

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise, both at remembering that yes, he had said that actually, and also in shock that the king had remotely listened. Draco had been lashing out, not actually suggesting the king invite Percy’s whole family to the castle. “Wouldn’t they be more comfortable with a shorter trip? Maybe just on Saturday.”

Andromeda was frowning at him now. “I’m quite surprised with you, Draco. I thought you liked Percy, and the king went to all the trouble of inviting him here.” There was an unexpected hard edge to her tone. She stared hard at Draco until he realized there might be reasons for Percy to be here that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the secret project to reclaim all of the kingdom’s money. Draco was just a helpful excuse.

It left him relieved, in a way, to know the king hadn’t gone above and beyond again just for Draco. It also brought its own stress, since Draco realized he likely couldn’t talk them out of it. Percy had agreed to uproot his entire family for a week in service to this project and Draco could only imagine the strain it would place on them.

“You know I love Percy, I’m just worried about the girls. It’s such a big break from routine,” Draco tried to explain.

“But imagine, they’ll have an entire week at the castle!” his mother said, beaming. Clearly she loved it here, and while there were a million amazing things to do and see it was hard to explain to his mother how much Molly and Lucy would prefer sitting in their living room reading books on northern European mammals.

Draco tried to muster a smile while internally he worried.

“Anyway, Bill and Fleur will be here on Saturday with their kids, and we’ll be able to have all the grandkids together when Molly comes to stay…” Hermione was explaining.

Draco couldn’t hide his squeak. “I thought this was supposed to be a quiet visit!”

Andromeda chuckled at his dismay. “Consider it a right of passage. You’re not a part of the family until you’ve been overrun by Weasleys. I should know.”

“That’s true, it can be a lot to take in,” Hermione agreed, having her own understanding as someone who married into the Weasley clan. “We tried to keep it small, of course, but once George was invited Molly wouldn’t be left behind, and it just spiraled from there.”

Just when Draco was beginning to comprehend what was happening he was thrown for another loop. “When was George invited?” he asked.

Hermione shrugged as if it was the least important detail. “I don’t know, a few weeks ago. You told Harry to invite your friends.”

Seeing as how the king made it clear he hadn’t wanted to invite George, Draco simply couldn’t explain this one away. He could feel a twitch in his eyebrow but worried if he tried to rub it out it would only draw more attention to the mild panic he felt at the idea that the king had gone further than inviting his mother. It didn’t make any sense.

Except, Draco had made those demands before the king admitted his attraction to Draco, and before he’d propositioned Draco the previous evening. It made a lot more sense if Draco considered in the context that the king might be trying to endear himself to Draco. A mad idea Draco didn’t want to contemplate.

Then something even stranger happened. His mother gently reached out to touch Andromeda’s shoulder and was bold enough to make her own request, “If we’re gathering family, would it be alright if I invited cousin Xeno?” While the question was for Andromeda, obviously any such request could only be approved with the king’s blessing. Yet Andromeda didn’t hesitate at all before encouraging Narcissa to write the invitation. It wasn’t until just then that Draco realized he just might actually truly have been welcomed into a family.

The servants had left by then, with plenty of gossip about soon to visit guests that would far outshadow any conversation of small council meetings. It was almost nothing at all when Andromeda excused herself to, “Just go check on Harry,” even if she was leaving with her set shoulders and stern gaze that told Draco she would find her way into that meeting come hell or high water.

Hermione and Draco found themselves at the front of the castle in a much smaller receiving line than what had greeted Draco’s own party on arrival. Percy greeted Draco with a handshake and Hermione with the most awkwardly polite kiss to the cheek, then spent the next five minutes fretting as the servants unloaded all the luggage and took it away to parts unknown. Audrey was calmer, just. First she hugged Hermione, then she hugged Draco just a bit tighter. She spared him a genuine smile that briefly relaxed her tired features. Molly and Lucy followed their parents out of the carriage and lowered into the most perfect courtesies Draco had ever seen while reciting, “Hello Aunt Hermione.”

Hermione greeted both girls warmly and would probably have launched into a game of twenty questions or some well meaning attempt to learn about their lives but Draco carefully stepped in and offered to show everyone to their suite.

Along the way Draco led the small talk, asking what lessons the girls had been on that week and letting Audrey explain math Draco didn’t understand, followed by this week’s list of spelling and vocabulary words that Draco supposed he could probably get right if forced, and the review of formal royal etiquette in preparation for this trip, which Draco realized he did know entirely. The girls were quiet as they walked, but they giggled while Draco quizzed Hermione on their lessons, and after acing the math and the vocabulary she gave up in a huff over the proper spoon to use for chilled soup.

Audrey hugged Draco again after he left them in their rooms with a promise to return once they were settled. Percy wrapped both his hands around Draco when he shook his hand goodbye.

Outside the room, Hermione stared at Draco most peculiarly. “I thought you were being rude,” she said bluntly, “but that went better than I expected.”

Draco wasn’t certain if he should glare or not. He settled for deflection. “I don’t know what you’re going on about.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows disbelievingly. “I’ve just never seen them settle into the burrow so smoothly. Usually Percy gets into a fight with someone before they make it to their rooms.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Percy is the sweetest person.” Draco couldn’t help but get defensive.

“If you say so,” Hermione allowed, clearly not seeing what Draco did. “But he is a bit odd.”

Draco felt childish stamping his foot but did it anyway. “He most certainly is not.”

Hermione shook her head with a bemused smile. “I’m not being as clear as I meant to. I’m trying to say I thought you were rude, but I think you were rather being kind. It’s nice.”

What was there to say to that? Draco was tired through and through just considering. He tensed when he realized what he wanted to say, but despite the risk he said it anyway. “I’m not being kind to him. Percy isn’t someone you need to condescend to.”

“Oh dear, I’m sorry I’m not saying what I mean,” Hermione tried to back track.

Draco closed his eyes and considered biting his tongue and accepting the apology. It was likely the wise choice. One day he might learn to be wise. Today he said, “I think you said exactly what you meant to, Hermione. You think Percy is odd, and his family is odd, and I bet around other folks you’d be so honest as to say their family might even be a bit difficult.”

Hermione sputtered. “No, that’s not it at all,” but she was blushing as she said it so Draco figured he’d gotten it right.

“Percy said he’d asked his family for help with…” Draco glanced around at the empty hall but still didn’t want to speak aloud about the kingdom’s finances… “he asked his family for help. He said his family told him no. Was that you?” Draco wanted to know only slightly more than he didn’t.

Hermione was still blushing. “He sent letters to several of us, but they were vague, and you must understand that he has an unsavory history with these matters.”

The thing is, Draco did understand. He knew exactly what it was like to see someone who behaved a little different and judge them for it. He knew what it was like to lord a mistake someone made over them for as long as possible. He knew the choices he made that hurt other people when his family had been in power. Deliberate, awful choices. He also knew the choices everyone made about him after he’d fallen from grace.

He also knew what an impossible thing trust was. It was something he had once taken for granted, but now he could hardly say if there was a single person he trusted completely. The closest out of anyone might be Percy, because in the end Percy didn’t care about the games or social status.He saw no need to look down on Draco or anyone else. He just wanted to do his work well and do right by those he loved. It was the least odd sentiment Draco could imagine.

Draco smiled not unkindly at Hermione. “You might consider, in this case, you’re the difficult one,” he stated. “And let Percy and his family be.”

Chapter Text

“Over here’s the blue room. It’s like the yellow room we just saw, except not hideous,” said Draco while the Weasleys trailed after him.

“I quite liked the yellow room,” Percy remarked.

Draco paused outside the blue room so both girls could poke their head into it and look around at the classic furnishings and tasteful powder blue wallpaper. “Careful, Percy. I’ve stuck up for your aesthetic choices when needed, but that is a step too far.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Audrey reminded while admiring a tin-glazed blue and white lamp that really was quite pretty.

Percy smiled wryly. “Somehow I don’t think Draco sees it that way.”

Draco could only shrug, because, while Percy was right, it wasn’t the sort of thing nice people admitted. After a few minutes the party continued on the tour, with helpful commentary provided by Draco as they went.

“What I love about the emerald room is that it’s just green, but someone thought it should sound fancy. That plus it’s haunted.”

Molly squealed and refused to go in.

“Draco, stop lying. It’s not haunted,” Percy scolded.

“I’m not lying. Look at this lady here. This is my own ancestor, Walburga Black,” Draco explained as he pointed to a portrait of a woman in a black dress with impressive emeralds sewn throughout it. She was the real reason for the room’s name. “On new moon nights you can hear her wailing. She’s the bad sort, so she’ll say nasty things little girls won’t want to hear. That’s why you need to go to bed on time and not wander about.”

Lucy giggled and walked up to the painting to get a better look. “Can you make me a dress like that, Draco? It’s pretty.”

“The Black family does have impeccable style,” Draco agreed. “Come along, we can discuss what present I’ll make you over dinner.”

They continued like that, visiting all seven of the color themed rooms on their way to a small dining room they’d been instructed to meet at for the evening meal. There were enough people now that someone had decided it warranted formality. The Weasleys were tired from the trip and settling in, but Audrey had suggested it would be a good practice run before more family arrived that weekend and the girls were eager to test out their etiquette lessons.

“We’ve reached the dull interlude, where his royal highness takes all his stuffy business meetings during the day,” Draco explained as they strolled past the small reception room the king’s secretary had shoved them in what felt like a year ago.

Percy might have whimpered. “You know they believe you when you say things like that,” he complained.

Draco paused in front of the large entrance to the Hogsmeade Chamber. There was a guard stationed outside the doors, but she looked bored and paid Draco and his guests no mind. “Well there’s nothing of interest going on so what would you have me say about it?”

Percy fluffed up a bit like a bird trying to impress. “These are the grand rooms where his majesty performs important business in service to the kingdom. It’s an honor to visit them.”

Well that did sound nice, and Draco supposed he’d understand why Percy would want to talk up public service. Still, he pouted. “But we’re not allowed to go in, even though nothing is happening.”

“Something important could be happening. The king works long hours. You never know,” Percy insisted.

Draco was about to say something about how he was pretty sure the king was waiting for them at dinner, since Draco’s silly interludes had definitely made his party late, but before he could the doors to the Hogsmeade Chamber actually opened. The five of them all turned in unison to see what was happening. Which meant all five of them saw Overseer Umbridge, Overseer Slughorn, and an older woman he recognized as Minerva McGonagall - who Draco saw wearing the pendant denoting her as Overseer of Transportation. They were walking together out of the room, with only Overseer Umbridge looking pleased. More people were still milling in the room behind them that Draco couldn’t see.

Turns out something very important had been happening inside.

Draco gulped and leaned down to the girls to whisper. “This is a good lesson that your father is probably right should he and I ever disagree. Except about ghosts. I would never lie to you about a room being haunted.” The girls looked at Draco with wide and serious eyes, taking his words to heart like it was the gospel truth.

“Why, if it isn’t Mr. Malfoy back at the castle,” came the sickly sweet tone of Dolores Umbridge.

Draco withheld his grimace, trying to tidy his features before he looked up at the vile woman approaching him. The two other overseers trailed not far behind. Draco bowed politely, hoping formality would allow his party to move on quicker than snark. “Lady Umbridge, so lovely to see you.” He bit out.

Unfortunately, Dolores could hear the discomfort in his voice and clearly it gave her a sense of satisfaction. Her beady eyes trailed over the Weasley family for a moment. “Who are your guests?”

“Not my guests,” Draco hastily corrected. “His majesty has invited dear family friends to the castle for the week. This is Mr. Percy Weasley, Mrs. Audrey Weasley, and their children.” The entire family dipped appropriately, the perfect picture of etiquette.

“What well behaved children,” Dolores said as she examined the two girls. Her tone was not pleased. Draco felt the sudden need to move along immediately, before something horrible would happen.

“So well behaved,” agreed Darco. “But as you know, I am a poor role model. I’m afraid I’ve made them late and we must be going.”

“Going? You just arrived,” Dolores stared at the girls a moment longer before pulling her gaze away to examine her parents. “Where have they received their education?” she sweetly inquired.

Draco couldn’t cut in before Audrey answered, “We home school, my lady.”

“Tut tut. That won’t do. Are you a formally-trained educational expert, Mrs. Weasley?” Dolores eyes were shining with a malicious glee.

Audrey glanced at Percy before answering. “Well, no, but-”

Dolores didn’t let her finish. “Well then, I’m afraid you are not qualified to decide what the best instructional opportunities are for young ladies. Educators much older and cleverer than you have devised an exceptional program of study, and I would love to share with you what proper educational opportunities are available for your children.”

“Lady Umbridge, I don’t think that approach-” Percy tried to reply.

Dolores cut him off as well, piercing Percy with her gaze. “Don’t you wish your daughters to have a proper education?”

One look at Percy was enough to know how Dolores’ words terrified him. There was nothing Percy wanted more than the best possible future for his daughters. Draco grabbed Percy’s arm before he could say anything in reply.

It was Horace Slughorn’s jolly laugh that cut off the unwanted woman. “No need to proselytize, Dolores. These are the king’s family friends.” The old man turned to the younger guests, trying to relax the mood with what was meant to be a warm smile. It was a bit sharp around the edges, the eyes too calculating. “We’ll all be family friends, soon enough,” he promised. Slughorn continued his walk down the hall, stopping first to pat Draco’s shoulder with a, “Good to see you, my boy,” then he even patted Percy’s with a, “Enjoy your time off, we have it covered back in the office.” Begrudgingly, Dolores followed at his heels.

McGonnagal stayed behind to look the group over. It felt like her sharp, bespeckled eyes captured everything before she offered a thin, no-nonsense smile. “You’d best be off before anyone else tries to take a bite out of you.”

Draco glanced over her shoulder, curiosity getting the better of his senses. The largest man Draco had ever seen, with long tangles of bushy black hair and beard that hid most of his face, was wearing layers of leather and leaning down to exchange words with Andromeda. Ron wore his full regalia, standing next to a stoutly, well-dressed older man who was generically attractive and managed his warm smile much better than Slughorn had been able to. Still, King Harry stood next to him and received whatever the older man had to say with a grimness that didn’t match the man’s outer appearance. Draco felt the Weasleys moving behind him. Audrey’s hand grabbed Draco’s arm and tugged. It would be wise to go, but Draco was fascinated imagining what conversations these important people might be in the midst of.

The movement must have drawn the king’s attention, because King Harry looked up and saw Draco watching. For just a moment the grimness eased away. Draco felt a tightness in his chest and finally took McGonagal’s advice and ran off with his friends to find their supper.

They were late. Which would have been forgivable, but another large portion of their party was later still in the Hogsmeade Chamber. In fact, the only ones on time were Hermione and Narcissa. They’d had to sit together for twenty minutes, exchanging pleasantries over a bowl of bread. Draco didn’t dare dwell on that experience.

Quickly, Draco took the seat to his mother’s right, with the Weasley’s situating themselves on either side of the far end of the table to Draco’s right. It left awkward space around Hermione across from Draco, but Draco was certain someone would be there soon to fill it and tried not to think too hard about whether Hermione minded. The adults forced out the necessary greetings, but the girls had fallen into silence. Percy only managed the barest hello before sitting stiffly himself, gripping the table edge.

Oh hell. This wasn’t going well at all. All of Draco’s efforts to restore the day had fallen apart and he didn’t dare follow through on his plans to be silly over cutlery. The silence dragged between them.

Strangely, it was Hermione who found a path forward. “I was just asking Narcissa about her talents in needlepoint. I wanted to make Rose a nice gift this winter but I have no talent at all for it. Audrey, didn’t you do that beautiful shawl for Molly, I mean your mother, for her birthday last year?” It was a modest topic, but Hermione persisted through awkward silences. She glanced at Percy and the girls on occasion, but instead of peppering them with questions she turned each moment back to Audrey or Narcissa, letting them share their knowledge until both ladies were deep in conversation with each other about technical stitching.

The heavy gloom around the guests slowly lifted. It felt impossible to be upset when Audrey recounted lovingly how she shared her passion for embroidery with her daughters and how proud she was of their work. By silent agreement, no one engaged the girls in the discussion, but Draco could see their shy contentment and knew they felt loved.

Dinner was nearly through the main course by the time the others arrived.

Ron came first, straight to his wife to kiss her hello and apologize for being gone all day without a word. Ron did his best at domestic greetings to his brother’s family, but clearly despite Ron’s good natured attempt they weren’t close.

The king sank into the chair on the other side of Hermione, immediately dropping his head into his hands. “Tell me there’s wine,” he pleaded.

Andromeda sat at the same time, across from him and next to Narcissa. “You’d do best to manage a modicum of decorum,” she said without sympathy.

Surprisingly, the giant of a man had come back with them. He shifted the chair next to the king so it was almost at the head of the table. It gave him more space when he sat down so he could fit in with everyone else. “Why don’ we all pour ou’selves a drink so we can ‘ave a proper toast,” said the larger man.

Ron bellowed at a laugh. “Why not. I can’t say I understand your choices, Harry, but if you’re set on it then we should celebrate.”

“I’m set on that glass of wine,” the king mumbled. “Maybe a whole bottle.”

“What are we celebrating?” Audrey asked, trying to parse through the comments and determine if this was actually a moment for good cheer.

Ron laughed again. “Harry is going to get married!”

Chapter Text

Instead of sleep, Draco’s mind whirled, repeatedly replaying each excruciating moment of the dinner over and over until when Draco slept he dreamt of it. Half the room offering genuine congratulations to King Harry while the other half stiltedly tried to minimize the news. The king drinking each time anyone spoke like it was a game he was determined to lose. Somewhere in it all, maybe between Audrey gushing over how beautiful marriage was and King Harry throwing Draco a desperate look begging for him to make it stop, Draco drank too much himself. When he woke up he wasn’t sure if it was his head or the door that was pounding.

Both. Definitely both.

Draco dragged open the door because he was stupid. “No.” he said to Ron and his shit eating grin.

“Don’t you look terrible,” was Ron’s jolly retort.

“I’m not coming,” Draco tried again.

Ron’s ability to hold a smile this long was clearly a sign he was evil. “Hermione said you told her off yesterday.” Ron’s answer was not what Draco was expecting.

“I absolutely did not,” Draco lied.

Ron nodded good naturedly. “As you say. Why don’t we go for a walk so you can explain.” Finally, there was a glint to Ron’s eye. It was quite troubling. Draco gulped and tried to shut the door on Ron’s face.

Twenty minutes later they were back in the training yard, with Ron swearing up and down he forgave Draco for the misunderstanding with his wife, before knocking Draco on his ass with nothing but a wooden sword and his impenetrable good cheer.

“I hate you,” Draco whined after the third time, even as Ron held out his hand to help Draco to his feet.

“Work harder, fall down less,” Ron answered as if it were just easy. He led Draco through the drill again. “Hermione says you’re smart, you just need to put the effort in.”

Draco tripped up and let Ron hit him hard again in the shoulder. “Ow,” he muttered, rubbing his arm. He got back into position and tried not to think about what Ron had meant by that. He failed, of course. Curiosity always got the better of Draco’s wisdom. He had to ask, “What did Hermione say about me being smart?”

Ron actually chuckled and shook his head. He lightened up a bit on the next round. “She said you make a horrible tutor,” he said instead of an actual explanation.

“Oi! I tutored Molly and Lucy for weeks. I taught them French,” Draco retorted. He actually put some effort into his strikes and Ron had to move quickly to block. Draco kept at it, and a few rounds later even Ron was breathing hard.

Ron leaned back for a quick break, eyeing Draco up and down. “You mean to tell me all I had to do to get you to work hard at this is insult your pride?”

Draco was already flushed from exertion so embarrassment couldn’t make it much worse. Still, he scowled at Ron for catching him out. “If you want me to work hard, don’t schedule these trainings when I’m meant to be asleep.”

“Uh-huh.” Said Ron, blowing him off. Drills were almost over anyway, so Ron put his practice sword back on the rack near him and motioned for Draco to do the same. Ron stepped right up next to Draco after he did so.

They were about the same height, but Ron’s presence was larger and he made sure Draco felt every bit of it. Ron leaned in close. “I know a thing or two about being stubborn, Draco. I learned the hard way how stubbornness can hurt you more than it hurts all the folks around you. So do yourself a favor and learn to let some things go.”

Draco bristled and dug in his heels. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he seethed.

Ron’s raised eyebrows were the visual equivalent of another uh-huh. Ron looked Draco up and down, taking in the measurement of him. “You’re prickly. Hermione’s prickly, too. But she’s smart. Give it a day or so and you’re going to see her come apologize. Do yourself a favor and don’t be a right bastard about it when it happens.”

That caught Draco off, he couldn’t stop his wide eyed surprise from showing. “I… I wouldn’t.” But he didn’t sound sure.

Ron wasn’t smiling one bit anymore as he stared Draco down. “Well, she says you’re smart. So I guess we’ll see.”

Ron left Draco there to consider his lessons for the day. Draco’s flush didn’t recede, even after the effects of the exercise wore off. Draco suddenly, desperately, needed something to do.

Last night, plans were discreetly made for those in the know about Slughorn’s theft to meet and go over the proposed wedding contract that the Small Council had spent an entire day negotiating. Well, when Draco said those in the know, he meant those in the know who were useful. So not Draco. There was always time with Teddy. However, Ron, who Draco was avoiding, would be with the kids. So Draco decided to keep away from Teddy until later that evening to give himself a chance to calm down. After yesterday’s disaster of an introduction to the castle, Draco decided to give Percy and his family space so they could settle in at their own speed. Percy, the most useful of people, would be in the top secret meeting with the king anyways, and Audrey would want to anchor her girls in their lessons.

This left Draco with no demands on his time, which meant today might just be the perfect moment for his self-appointed special project. Which was perfect, because Draco felt like he was spiraling into panic and there was nothing better for that than a good project.

Draco didn’t give himself time to second guess himself before marching back into the castle. He didn’t bother with a full shower, just scrubbed the worst of the morning from his hands and face and put on a fresh cotton outfit. The sort he’d wear to do chores around the house. He should have known it would stand out more in the halls of the castle than if he wore a formal suit, but Draco didn’t care to conform to the castle’s dress code today. He imagined the itching for comfort and freedom might be what drove the king to cast off his own dress clothes in favor of his soldiers clothes every time he got the chance.

In the end it felt too easy to reach his destination. Sure, Draco was technically a guest of the king. Plus, he walked around with confidence and with complete knowledge of where he was going. Still, someone might have stopped and questioned why the oddly dressed former enemy of the king strolled right into the king’s private chambers.

Draco wondered if it should have been locked. Then again, what was there to steal? The king kept nothing here, except a wardrobe filled with casual clothing, a bowl of fruit, and the same momentos from the ball as last time laid out on the table. Draco wondered if the king worried about assassins or other attackers cornering him in his bedchambers, but supposed those concerns weren’t top of mind. Idly, Draco picked up the list of names on the table. He felt some satisfaction that the king had barely managed to start on page 3 of the list. The affairs of the kingdom must be keeping him far too busy to put Draco in danger of being found out. Draco tossed the papers back on the table. He paused briefly, his hand lingering over the handkerchief. No, that must stay. He balled his fingers into a fist and marched away.

Predictably, the door to the adjoining room was also unlocked. It was stiff from disuse, but Draco shoved it open. In doing so he gained access to what might be called the queen’s chamber. Draco supposed the king would have to update the formal title after his wedding. In the present, the room was dark and dusty. The only signs of life were two rolled up rugs propped against the bed and an awkward stack of wrapped canvasses upon a desk. Draco smiled, thankful that Ron had managed the favor he requested when they’d first arrived at the castle. Draco rolled up his sleeves to get to work.

This was a new endeavor, but for the sake of beauty one often had to go slow to go fast. So Draco started with the unpleasant manual labor of moving everything about. He heaved the king’s furniture about the large room, slowly shoving everything out of the way. Draco couldn’t manage the heaviest items, but he was able to tilt them enough that he could pull any rugs out from under them. Draco rolled the faded gray plats of depression up and dragged them into hiding in the soon to be same-sex-spouse’s chamber. All the bending and tugging made Draco’s back ache, but his effort paid off when all the floors were clear and Draco could see they at least could be beautiful. Once they were clean. Draco would need to clean.

He was finally discovered while on his knees scrubbing the floor.

“Who the hell are you?” asked none other than Ginevra Weasley. Her red bushy hair waved around her face like a fiery mane and her vexed expression conjured all the fierceness of her once-adopted god of war persona.

Draco plonked the old shirt he was using as a rag down into the trash bin he was using as a bucket. “Servant. Hence the scrubbing.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes and put both hands on her hips. “Liar. I know Harry’s servants.” Her pinched eyes examined Draco until realization struck. “Oh my god you're that Malfoy,” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”

Draco picked the rag back up and squeezed the excess water from it. “Scrubbing.” he wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Or impersonating a servant while I hide my identity as a secret assassin.” That probably was the wrong joke to make to a Weasley who didn’t remember meeting or likely Draco under other circumstances. Ginny did not take it well. Turns out she had a sword as if she were herself a guard and she drew it to threaten Draco. Draco sighed at her antics and returned to scrubbing. “You can’t seriously attack me for cleaning a room.”

Ginny looked like she might. “Get out of here at once! Or I’ll call for the palace guard.”

“If you’re calling for help, why not bring in a maid. My back hurts and I’m only halfway done.”

It was hard to keep threatening someone scrubbing the floor, and even Ginny hesitated. “Why are you scrubbing?” she finally thought to ask.

Draco motioned around the room, still mostly gray in decoration and design. “It’s very sad in here, isn’t it? His majesty has this misplaced sense of, well, I don’t know what, but he seems to think it would be selfish to be surrounded by things one actually likes. It baffles the mind. But, not an insurmountable problem to overcome.”

Ginny let the edge of her sword fall to the ground so she could lean on it like a walking stick. She furrowed her brows and looked again at Draco, taking in the sweat on the brow and his continued manual labor despite her hostility. “You’re here… to redecorate.”

Draco beamed at her. “Precisely.”

“You’re barmy.”

“You mean visionary,” Draco corrected.

“Completely mad,” insisted Ginny.

“Compassionate to the core,” Draco redirected.

“My god, you’re the bloke he’s gone off and engaged himself to.”

Draco dropped the rag again and sat up straight. “Absolutely not.”

Ginny was looking him over again with fresh eyes, even more judgmental than before. “First I’m strong-armed into this ‘family weekend’ nonsense, and then I show up and learn it’s now an engagement celebration, and no one will say who the mystery man is. If not you, how did you ever get into the bed chambers to begin with?”

“The door was unlocked,” deadpanned Draco.

Ginny grunted in frustration, taking a step further into the room, nearly lifting the sword again. “Why did Harry bring you to begin with?”

Draco rolled his eyes to the ceiling, uncertain how this is the argument he got trapped in. He knew of one easy way out. “For sex, obviously.”

There was a loud and scandalized gasp. “You didn’t!”

Draco wasn’t certain how to take her horrified reaction. Clearly it was an insult, but also he was able to easily reply. “No, of course I didn’t. I’m not looking for casual sex with someone who’d tell me how unsuitable I am in the same breath as asking me to get into bed.”

This gasp was more scandalized still. “He didn’t!” said Ginny with bright shining eyes that clearly lived for the gossip.

This was a mistake, but in a way it was the first chance he had to actually talk with anyone about it and Draco decided it couldn’t make things any worse. “No, he didn’t. It just felt like he would. And anyway, I don’t want to sleep with him so it doesn’t matter.”

“Seriously? You’re redecorating his bedchamber because you don’t want to sleep with him?” Ginny’s voice held every bit of skepticism known to mankind.

Draco felt his face heat up and he renewed his scrubbing with more enthusiasm. “Bugger off and die,” he growled.

Ginny threw her head back and laughed before finally putting her sword away. She strolled into the room and pulled a chair down from off the table where Draco previously shoved it so she had a place to perch and watch him. She plucked an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it with gusto.

Draco scrubbed harder, trying to ignore her. It was no use. “What are you even doing in the king’s bed chambers?” he demanded to know.

Ginny spoke with her mouth full. “Heard a rumor Harry actually got himself engaged to that jackass Colton and I was going to murder him.”

That tore a laugh out of Draco. He dropped his forehead to the clean floor in front of him to let himself fall into giggles. “You were,” he paused to laugh, “you were worried I was going to,” giggles over took him, “oh no the bad Malfoy scrubbing the floor is so scary, while girl Weasley showed up with a sword to kill the king.”

Ginny sulked. “Go back to scrubbing.”

Draco did, but he didn’t mind as much Ginny watching.

Once she’d finished her apple Ginny actually got up. She took off her own jacket, then her shoes and stockings. She laid all of it on the table before walking over to Draco and asked if there was another rag. Draco paused only a moment before he pointed to the king’s wardrobe and instructed her to grab whatever the king should have thrown out ages ago. She smirked at Draco’s gall and took her pick. The floor was clean in no time with two people working.

While the floor dried, Draco took great glee in pulling the ugly tapestries down while Ginny tackled the mud-colored curtains. If there was more time Draco might have paused to scrub the walls, if only because they clearly weren’t tended to. Perhaps they’d started off blue but they’d since faded to what Draco would artly term a shade of melancholy. Draco pursed his lips and wondered how he might trick the staff into repainting without the king knowing until it was too late. No, that would be overstepping. Even Draco knew there were limits.

They tossed everything old into the spouse’s chamber and together dragged out the first of the rugs. It was the blue one. It fit perfectly, right there in front of the window with the light shining in. The blueness of its color breathed fresh life into the dreary paint on the wall, reminding the room of the splendor it must once have been. It was perfect.

Less perfect was moving all the furniture back to its proper place, which they must have mussed up a bit but they banked on the king not caring that much about the space and letting that minor detail go in the grand scheme of their grander audacity.

The second rug rolled out lush and brilliant in the middle of the room. Ginny sunk her toes into its coziness.

“We need a third,” she decided before they could move on.

Draco hesitated. “I only brought two.”

Ginny shrugged. “We need it. We’ll just steal from the other room. Colton can have the ugly gray ones.”

Well. If you looked at it that way.

Ginny rang for a servant to beat the dust out of her rug of choice. Draco didn’t want to bother anyone, but he had to admit the rug needed tending and Ginny shrugged it off while saying, “In for a penny…”

Then Draco hauled in the next stage of the project. He carefully pulled the parchment paper off each framed canvas and laid each piece on King Harry’s bed before deciding where they would all go.

Ginny stood next to him with a thoughtful expression. “You’re a weird one,” she said, but it sounded like affection.

The paintings were up, the final rug was laid, and candles across the room were lit. The two sood next to the table and admired their efforts.

Draco’s eyes flickered to Ginny, who looked tired but happy. “Why did you…” he started wondering but cut himself off.

Ginny blinked then glanced up at Draco next to her. She tilted her head in consideration. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t like you,” she said plainly. “But you’re right, Harry doesn’t need to live the rest of his life surrounded by dreary things just because it’s technically better than no longer being trapped in a cupboard.”

Draco frowned in confusion. “What?”

Ginny didn’t have a chance to explain, because just then King Harry himself walked in.

Chapter Text

The first time Draco met King Harry he wasn’t yet king. He was hardly a lord. He’d arrived at court in a black military uniform, technically the colors of King Voldermort, but that was the day the war started and King Harry would never wear that uniform again. In his youth, King Harry had the same height and stature as he did now, but with a more open face that endeared him to the masses seeking a righteous leader.

He’d been introduced as Harry Evans, a name he’d spent his life hiding behind because there could be no peace if King Voldermort learned the truth. Harry Evans had come to petition the king on behalf of the north, where the people were over taxed despite suffering from famine, and needed food in their stores before the long winter. No relief was granted. King Voldermort had ordered the arrest of Harry Evans, despite, or perhaps because of, the young soldier’s renown from all of the generic heroics he’d accomplished despite his young age. King Harry had smiled then, his face lifted to capture the light so that he glowed like an angel or a beacon of hope in the otherwise frightful hall. Draco remembered thinking he was beautiful, and being terrified someone might know and find it treasonous.

Later, the castle learned Harry Evans had always anticipated arrest. He had, in fact, prearranged to escape into the night. The next King Voldermort had heard of the offender was that the young man had raised an army and was marching against the king. It wasn’t just due to taxes, or famine, but also included the deeper rift dividing the north and the south. Class and blood status, the power of being an old family versus a new. King Voldermort’s willingness to butcher anyone born between the two. People like King Harry, born from a disinherited lord and a commoner, and all his friends who risked death itself to be true to their own heart in life and love.

General Harry marched, not as Harry Evans but as Harry Potter. Son of James Potter, the secret child of Fleamont Potter, second and only remaining son to Henry Potter, the son of the first and only King Hardwin Potter, who had cast out his only male heir when he advocated to end blood purity rule in the kingdom. Hardwin had ended over four hundred years of his own bloodline on the throne, cast the Potter family off the sacred list of ancient noble households, and paved the way for Lucius to one day raise up King Voldermort, all to maintain his bigotry. Which in the end was for naught, since King Harry eventually took the throne.

Draco thought of all of this, for some reason, when an older and far more tired man walked into the room. True to form, he was dressed down in simple trousers and a plane waistcoat over his cotton shirt. Simple clothing couldn’t hide King Harry’s exceptionalism. He was still tall, broad, and heroic. Perhaps his beauty had faded a little, behind two day old stubble and a rats nest of hair in need of brushing. Weariness hung on him like potential had six years before when he first walked into the throne room. Now he had scars telling the story of everything he endured. He carried so much on his shoulders, and a frown so deep Draco knew King Harry was not here to welcome anything more

King Harry paused at the threshold to the room, his eyes locking on Draco. He sighed heavily, as if he thought Draco’s meddling inevitable and he only wished he’d found a way to ward it off. He hardly bothered to ask, “Why are you in my room?” His voice was deep gravel, worn out from long meetings.

Draco had planned out exactly what he would say to King Harry when this moment came. He had thought to be funny and clever, perhaps even charming. Yet when he opened his mouth none of those carefully rehearsed lines appeared. He just stood awkwardly, his mouth half open, wilting under the king’s weary indifference.

Ginny had no such qualms. She stepped forward, surprising the king with her presence since he had not bothered to look past Draco. “Harry James Potter,” no good comes with stating full names, “Tell me right now you’re not seriously going to marry Colton Slughorn.”

The king sighed again, his shoulders slumping. He glanced from Ginny to Draco, with the look leveled at Draco asking too many questions that Draco couldn’t understand. Instead of explaining, the king trod into the room. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a beaker of liquor and one glass. He all but threw both on the table before yanking out a chair across from where his unwanted guests stood and took a seat. He poured himself a generous serving and gulped half of it down in one go, grimacing from the burn. Only then did he reply, “I don’t answer to you.”

Ginny huffed. She stepped closer so she could lean over the table, doing her best attempt to loom menacingly at the older man. “Don’t start on that high and mighty crap. I knew you when you lived in a gutter, you’re not too good to talk to me.”

The king slumped down further. One hand lifted to rub his temple. “It’s been a very long day, Gin. Can we not do this now?”

“Oh? Not now? Let’s just wait until the engagement party, shall we?” Ginny was getting louder as she spoke. “Mum’s sent out word we’re all to be there. Charlie is going to be there. Is that when you want us to find out?”

There are moments when you realize you’re not meant to be part of a conversation and this was definitely one of those for Draco. He tried to edge away from the pair, painstakingly slow in the hopes neither would notice he’d even gone.

It wasn’t hard to hide from King Harry, what with his hand blocking his eyes as he rubbed stress from his temples. “I’m not being obstinate. I just happen to be king and this is a confidential matter of state.”

Ginny’s laugh was disbelieving. “Confidential matter of state?” she repeated. “Just listen to yourself.”

“I don’t want to listen to myself,” said King Harry. “I just want to sit here in silence for a few hours…” he trailed off because right then he’d actually put his hand down and looked up at his room for the first time. The king’s brown crinkled as he noticed the changes. King Harry sat back up and looked round until he found Draco, almost having slunk all the way out through the door to the spouse’s room. “What did you do this time?”

Draco froze in his tracks, forcing out a smile that he couldn’t hold for long in this combative atmosphere. Draco did a nervous flourish with his hands. “Surprise!” he announced ineloquently, his thoughtful words long dead.

The king didn’t look upset, just flummoxed. “You surprised me with framed splotches of color?”

There was enough disdain in the king’s tone that Draco had the sudden realization that maybe his whole plan had been, well, bad. Draco pulled his hands in under his arms, clenching them into fists to prevent himself from nervously fidgeting. The king was still staring at the painting directly to Draco’s right, right next to the door Draco hoped to escape through. Draco could see every second of the king’s skepticism before he ultimately frowned his disapproval.

It had been a stupid idea. A mistake.

A mistake that Ginny didn’t give a damn about in her reckless pursuit for answers. “At least tell me why! Why would you marry someone like Colton? You know what type of person he is.”

Her shouting drew the king’s attention away from Draco, who had fully intended to use the moment to escape. Only, the king actually chose to answer this one and Draco couldn’t help but listen.

“Well, he’s very rich,” the king said scornfully. “He’s rich, and my kingdom is poor, because apparently I like to spend more than I have. It’s either convince the Slughorns to open up their coffers, or put an end to my efforts for accessible medicine, education, housing, you name it. All the reasons I’m in this god forsaken castle to begin with.” The king did throw down his glass then, hard enough it bounced on the table and sloshed out what liquid was left.

If Ginny weren’t here Draco might have had something to say. Perhaps reminding the king that it was Horace Slughorn’s job to manage his finances and help the king responsibly prioritize his programs, and instead Slughorn had stolen funds. Draco would have said the king was putting too much on his own shoulders when he claimed so much fault as his own.

Ginny was here and she approached it differently. “Bollocks. You’re the one who told me there’s always another way, you just aren’t looking for a different marriage.”

It was only because Draco knew to look that he saw the king’s eyes shift momentarily to the papers at the other end of the table. The ones with the list of names. King Harry smiled grimly to himself. He diverted the conversation to something else. “Cornelius Fudge reminded me just yesterday that it’s not too late to come to my senses and marry a noblewoman. To make a natural born heir. He went so far even to suggest you and I make a handsome couple.”

Ginny actually recoiled. “That utter wanker.”

The king shrugged it off as just another indignity he had to bear. “Apparently it’s just the way things are done. Ask Draco, he suggested the same thing months ago.”

That riled Draco. “Leave me out of this!” No one bothered to hear him.

“Your choices aren’t just bigots or social climbers.” Ginny admonished. “There’s a whole world of people out there, some of which genuinely like you for you, despite what a prick you’ve been these last few years.” The king rolled his eyes but it only served to inflame Ginny further. She lashed out. “When’s the last time you tried to get to know a bloke before getting into bed with him? Or bothered to get to know him afterwards? Even Draco here-”

“Leave me out of this!” Draco yelled, louder as not to be ignored.

It didn’t stop her. “-knows what a complete slag you are and says he turned you down because you’re such a jackass.”

Somebody gasped and Draco realized only after it was him. He couldn’t believe she’d actually said that. Draco had talked with her about King Harry because he had assumed… well, he had remembered what it had been like to be the navigator, partnered up with Mars, having each other’s back. In the game, Mars wouldn’t have used Draco as a cheap shot like this. For some reason he’d forgotten that the game wasn’t real life and he couldn’t count on strangers to have his back when he was only Draco Malfoy.

Draco forced himself to look at the king. King Harry’s lips were pursed tight as he stared down at the table. He took a moment to process what Ginny said before growling, “Get out.” Ginny would have argued, but the king did look at her then. He met her gaze with cold emerald anger. Through clenched teeth he repeated, “Get. Out.”

Ginny was all red faced, flaming haired anger herself, but she held her tongue. She allowed herself to sneer down at the king before obeying and stomping towards the door.

It seemed like a good moment to flee, so Draco tried to follow after her.

“Draco, wait,” the king commanded.

Draco stopped in his tracks. Ginny had just opened the door and spared a moment to glance back at Draco. It was hard to tell in her bitter expression, but maybe there was also the slightest bit of guilt. Draco closed his eyes and blocked it out. He breathed in deeply, praying it would steady his nerves, then turned to face the king.

Frown lines and exhaustion creased the king’s face. He didn’t look at Draco, instead looking over his shoulder at the same painting he’d taken offense with earlier. The lack of eye contact put distance between them. It made the king’s words more cold. “You can’t keep doing this sort of thing.” It wasn’t so different than what’d he’d said before, only this time the king’s words were lifeless and depleted.

Draco long ago learned how to quell his nerves and hold still but he only mustered the effort when truly worried. Like right now. He simply acquiesced with a brief, “alright.”

It must not have been enough for King Harry because he ran a hand through his hair the way he did when frustrated. The other hand gestured to the painting, then vaguely to the others he hadn’t yet examined, before only then realizing that something was off with the floor and getting to his feet so he could have a better look at the new rugs laid out before him. He ran both hands through his hair. “What were you even thinking?”

Draco gulped. Upon reflection, it was possible he hadn’t done enough thinking. Not when he’d goaded the king into inviting Draco back to the king’s chambers, nor when he latched onto the hideous gloom of the room, and definitely not when he’d promised the king saving from his interior design. Afterwards, Draco hadn’t seen a need to think through his choices. It had felt natural to devise clever solutions to the puzzle the king had presented him. The king didn’t care about his space, he didn’t want to take anything that might be of better use elsewhere, and he didn’t want to put anyone out with extra work or effort. It had thrilled Draco to solve it. As if this was another game he was playing at one of the silly balls he went to where everyone was behind a mask and none of the stakes were real.

The man in front of him was alarmingly real. While Draco played his silly games, the king had been doing the serious work of trying to rescue his kingdom. Draco felt silly indeed for acting like he was still in a land of make believe.

Draco gulped again. “I’m sorry. I overstepped.”

“You think?” King Harry snapped. Draco supposed his scorn hurt so much because Draco had actually cared. Caring was just another mistake Draco had made today.

The king kept talking without noticing Draco’s reactions to his words. He circled around the table towards Draco as he spoke. “I’m on a knife edge right now. We are this close,” he pinched his fingers together, “to the Slughorns handing over everything they stole, with interest, before a contract is ever signed. And this close,” his fingers squeezed closer, “to a contract with enough loopholes that, even if I have to sign it, it’ll become void as soon as I prove Slughorn’s treason. The only thing stopping us from pulling this off is Colton’s suspicion that I’m not committed,” he bit out that word like it hurt to say it, “to this marriage. And he questions my commitment,” again, such scorn, “because the entire court won’t stop talking about our supposed relationship.”

The king was standing in front of Draco now, his blazing eyes radiating anger while they focused solely on the younger man. Behind the anger the king struggled with another emotion Draco couldn’t name. Whatever it was, Draco was surprised when the king cleared his throat awkwardly then said, “I understand I have been inconsiderate in my advances. My position and authority affords me certain advantages that you lack, and it is unkind for me to pressure you as I have. I won’t do it again.” Draco’s eyes widened but he wasn’t given time to understand or inquire what King harry meant. The king kept talking. “But I also need you to stop. Stop with these mixed signals. Stop acting overfamiliar. Stop-” the king glanced again at the painting on the wall, looking for words to describe it now that he was up close and could take it all in. The words didn’t come, only another wrinkle in his forehead as he peered at the blue and red splotches.

Draco’s heart was beating too fast. It hurt to stand and take so much anger, but also to stand and listen to the king implore him to… well, it sounded like the king thought Draco was leading him on. Draco burned with shame at the idea. On the one hand, he was just being himself and treating King Harry the way he’d treat anyone. On the other hand, he had invited himself to the king’s bedchamber for a night and spent the entire day taking over the space. The king had warned him how everyone interpreted his actions and had already asked him to stop acting like he had special favor from the king. Draco hadn’t listened.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said again, not knowing what else he could do.

The king didn’t even hear. He was still peering at the painting and took a step closer to it. He reached out a hand to touch the canvas. “Is this a handprint?” he asked. His finger trailed over what was indeed a print of a tiny hand.

“Um. Yes,” said Draco. Then again, “I’m sorry. I’ll take them all back.”

“What is this?” The king asked, indicating the painting as a whole.

Draco couldn’t help but shrug. “It’s nothing. Just something I helped Teddy with. It’ll be gone tomorrow.”

The king looked across the room to all the paintings. “Teddy did all these?”

“I mean, no. Some of them. Rose and Hugo helped. I mean, Hugo was there. He’s too little and wasn’t much help. And, um. Lucy and Molly did the lions. They’re not right but they tried their best to be scientifically accurate. They like animals.” Draco knew he was rambling and it was bad and he should stop only the more he talked the more panicked he got and the more words came out. “I know it’s all very silly. I’m very silly. I’m not like you-” only Draco distinctly remembered the king being silly, grinning in his dandelion mask “-I’m not serious. Please stop looking at them. I’ll take them away.”

“They made all these for me?” the king now sounded only perplexed. He was walking across the room to look at the paintings hanging there. “Where did the rugs come from?” he asked as he stepped over them.

“Oh, you can find anything in an old attic,” Draco said in an effort to downplay them.

The king paused and glanced back at Draco, the wrinkle on his forehead again. “You spend a lot of time in attics?”

“Ha ha no,” said Draco unconvincingly. He panicked and added. “Ron found them.”

The king blinked. “Ron?”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll get rid of them, too. Everything will be back as it was and you can forget I ever was here.”

The king looked from Draco, to the paintings, to the rugs, then back at Draco. He pointed at the heavy lush room he’d just walked over in the middle of the room. “It’s gold and green. Potter and Malfoy. Like you’re plastering the message we’re together to my bedroom floor.”

“Ha ha,” Draco said again, aware it was coming out a bit deranged. He had been aware, which is why everywhere else in the room he had avoided green. He wanted no sign anywhere that he was staking the Malfoy claim. This was for King Harry, not Draco. Only, he’d seen the rug, and it was beautiful and perfect. Draco should apologize once more but instead he said, “It’s just so soft. The sort of rug you can curl your toes into..”

The king couldn’t stop looking at Draco. “Why do you always have to take everything too far?”

A prickle of frustration ate at Draco and he had to bite it back, making his words sharp. “I said I will fix it.”

This time the king looked to the ceiling. He rubbed his face again. He looked pained as he thought, long and hard and angrily. Right up until he said, “Don’t.”

“What? Don’t what?”

“Leave it as it is,” The king huffed out begrudgingly.

“The room? But you’re right. I overstepped and you don’t like it and-”

The king cut him off. “I like it. God help me, but I like all of it. I’m half afraid you’re a menace and will be the death of me, but this is…” he looked at a painting of lopsided flowers that Draco had done his best to keep the children on track with while still letting it be their artistic vision. “This is lovely.”

After all this, the last thing Draco had been prepared for was the king’s approval. He swayed on his feet under the weight of it. His mind was still reeling down spirals of self recrimination. He hated himself for his fear, brought on by opening himself up too much to someone who assumed the worst first, second, and third, before stumbling upon the idea Draco might have done something good. Draco was so afraid that even now he had made a mistake. “Won’t it… won’t it ruin things, with Colton, and your plan to get the money back.”

The king threw up his hands to signal that he didn’t care. “There’s always another way,” he quoted Ginny. Dismissively he added, “If Colton finds out I’ll just say this was your last hurrah. Your play to change my mind about the marriage. My chance to, I don’t know, get you out of my system.” He sounded so exceptionally jaded.

The casualness of the suggestion put Draco on edge. Even if it was for a greater cause, he didn’t like the idea of the king talking about him like that. It made Draco feel dirty.

“Don’t say that,” Draco asked.

The king huffed. “Which part?”

Draco licked his lips nervously. “Any of it. Don’t talk about me like that.”

“It doesn’t matter. Everyone who matters will know the truth,” the king argued.

Draco shook his head. His nerves were frayed and he hadn’t yet processed what had happened that evening, but he knew where he stood on this. Draco breathed deep and found the steel in his spine that he used to stand up to anyone, even the king. “If there’s always another way, find the other way. Don’t talk about me like I’m someone you’d just sleep with once to get out of your system.”

The king looked at Draco then. He looked hard up and down Draco’s body in admiration, but also appraisal. When he met Draco’s eyes again Draco knew. The king was attracted to him, but he thought one fuck might be enough. One seduction and he would know Draco inside and out and his misguided fascination would have run its course. He saw Draco as one in a string of men, who he did not seek to get to know before sex and did not care to learn anything about after.

Draco, on the other hand, still dreamed of what it felt like to be inside King Harry. He woke up burning for it to happen again. He knew, in a fantasy world, the king longed for him just as much. The king’s own masked Wolf, who the king still searched for.

Here, in reality, the king had already moved on. “Fine, if it means that much to you,” he said dismissively, like he was doing Draco a favor.

That was it, the thing that went too far for Draco. All day Draco had tried to do something good. When confronted, he was willing to bend, to admit he may be misguided. His good intentions meant nothing if what he did was in practice unkind. He was willing to accept that he needed to better control himself and be considerate in his behavior. Draco was willing to do so much.

He was not willing to be treated like this. Like someone who wasn’t worthy of real affection. Like someone who’s mind and body couldn’t hold the interest of another man, even if that man was the king. His outrage made him bold. It made him dangerous.

Draco was dirt-smeared, his hair matted down by sweat, in servant clothes rumpled from hours of manual labor. Still, when he stood up tall it was with an innate authority that did not rely on exterior trappings. Draco caught King Harry’s gaze in a forceful glare and held it steady. He kept his head high with each careful stride towards the king.

“How do you imagine bedding me, your majesty?” Draco asked, his voice deep velvet and wicked. The king snapped taunt at the words. “Do you take your pretty boys sweetly or with passion?”

Draco was close enough to touch now, and he could see the king’s fingers twitch in their desire to reach out. “However you like,” the king’s voice was husky.

“Hmmmm,” Draco said, leaning in so he could whisper. “Were I to take you, I would start with my teeth. I’d leave marks to be found. You’d try to get us to the bed, but you wouldn’t make it. I’d wrestle you to the ground, here, on this soft, luxurious carpet and take you apart with my fingers and my tongue, until I was ready to fuck you. I’d fuck you into this rug so hard and you’d thank me for finding something so nice to bend you over. You wouldn’t be able to sit down tomorrow without feeling what I did to you. You wouldn’t be able to talk to Colton without remembering how much better I make you feel. Each time you walk across the room you’ll remember how hard you came when I held you down and pounded your sweet ass.”

He said it all looking directly into the King’s heated eyes. Draco watched the flush run up the king’s face. He spoke and saw the king’s hand twitch, desperate to reach out, until finally the king couldn’t take it anymore and with a growl he did reach, grabbing for Draco and pulling him forward until their lips crashed together, more teeth than tongue. Draco’s hands grabbed back, pawing at the king’s chest, then wrapping round to run through his messy black hair until Draco gripped both hands in the king’s hair and pulled. The king groaned as he was yanked back, and Draco sank down onto his neck and sucked at the pulse point above the cut of his shirt. Somewhere blatant. Somewhere obvious. Somewhere as visible as the king had marked him when he’d wanted Draco to be found out.

The king groaned again, rocking his hips against Draco’s, letting Draco feel the hard line of the king’s arousal grind against Draco’s own. Draco moaned from it. He let one hand fall from the king’s hair to grab at his hip, then slide down further to squeeze a fistfull of perfect ass. Draco shuddered, wanting it so badly. The king nipped at his jaw, kissed up to his mouth, licked the tip of his tongue over Draco’s until Draco’s mind went deliciously blank.

For a moment. Only a moment. Then Draco clawed his way back into control of himself, putting both hands between him and King Harry to make space enough to think.

“Colton,” Draco rasped. “You’ve got to be able to trick Colton.”

The king growled. “Forget Colton.”

Draco wanted to. He could feel King Harry’s pounding heartbeat under his fingers. He couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch the king this way. He wanted more. But he also knew he’d never forgive himself if the king’s scheme fell apart. “You don’t mean that,” Draco insisted.

The king growled out his frustration again, leaning forward so he could touch his forehead to Dracos. “I definitely mean it.” The king’s hands found their way to Draco’s hips. Draco could feel the press of each finger against him. The king used his leverage to rock Draco forward, rubbing their erections together again. Draco’s hands turned to claws, grasping at the king, needing something to cling to.

“Later,” Draco gasped. “After.”

The king was kissing up Draco’s jaw again, this time to his ear. He bit the lobe, hard enough to mark. “After?” he asked once he’d let Draco’s ear go.

“Mmhmm. Once you end things with Colton we’ll have plenty of time,” Draco promised.

Only when the king stilled it didn’t feel like he was agreeing. “Draco…” The king sounded gentle. The way you’d talk to a child. Or someone you were trying to let down easy.

Draco jumped backwards, suddenly desperate for space. He got a good look at the king. Kiss swollen lips. Shagged out hair. Love bites marring his neck unrepentantly.

And his eyes, now more cautious than heated.

How on earth had Draco let himself do that? What point could possibly be worth making that would lead him down this road? The king rejecting a room full of paintings had hurt. Draco was terrified of what pain was in store for him next.

He faced it head on. He needed to know.

“What about after.” Draco said, more demand than question.

The king’s eyes lingered over Draco for a moment. It felt like one last look. Then the king looked away. “Hermione has arranged a marriage contract with Prince Krum. We’ll be announcing it in the next few days. Just as soon as we’ve handled the Slughorn situation.”

The words rolled over Draco, leaving him silent and empty. The silence stretched long enough to hurt, but Draco wasn’t feeling anything, just then.

“I didn’t mean to… this got out of hand,” said a flustered King Harry.

Draco didn’t even look at him. He thought instead to the list of names on the table and how the king had hardly made any progress on it. At some point he’d stopped trying. The king didn’t even want the fantasy Draco anymore.

“I’m sorry, Draco.”

Draco shook his head. His voice was hollow. “Prince Krum will be a good match for you.”

The king made a deep noise in the back of his throat. He stepped forward, as if to reach for Draco, but Draco shook his head again and the king’s hand fell short.

“It’s fine,” Draco said. He was staring down at the floor. At the carpet he wouldn’t get the chance to fuck the king on. “I know the difference between reality and fantasy. Today was just a mistake. I wish I could take it all back. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” the king insisted.

There was nothing to do with that but laugh. Draco laughed loud and hard. Draco was terribly, achingly sorry he had ever let the king tempt him with a kiss, all those months ago, and for everything that came after.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t that Draco meant to spend all night in a dusty old chair in the library. Only that he meant to flee the king’s room and hide from everyone until he stopped feeling this unyielding misery and shame. Leaving King Harry wasn’t like walking out in the middle of the night after one of the balls, with the king bidding him to stay. This time, King Harry practically turned his back to Draco, one fist balled up to cover his mouth, holding back… whatever.

The absolute worst thing that could have happened right then would be to run into literally anyone. The king teased Draco for not lying well, which wasn’t so much true as the fact Draco couldn’t hold back his emotions. On good days, fear or anger would drown out everything else and he could hide behind his sneer or submission and it would be what was expected of him so he’d be allowed to carry on. This was the sort of epicly bad day where Draco’s eyes were welling up and he had to do this continuous flexing of his brows and flaring of his nose, all while biting his tongue, anything to distract his face from giving in and letting tears fall. If someone saw, they would know, and their knowing would tilt Draco over the edge of sobbing and then whoever it was would want to know why. Draco was so shattered that he might do something stupid like tell them.

It wasn’t about the king. Fuck the king. King Harry was just an extremely powerful and physically attractive man. This might push what once was the majority of Draco’s buttons, he had been attracted to the incredibly rich and physically attractive Colton, but it had nothing on a newer dream so tiny and rarely examined that it was hardly a dream at all. Draco couldn’t even put words to it because even though he’d lived his new life for years, most of those years he hadn’t dared to imagine it a life he could enjoy. However, at some point, an inkling of an idea did slip in. It was more of a feeling, really. Fleeting and ephemeral, impossible to capture in words. A dream of a life he might create for himself in the absence of everything he had been meant to be. A life only possible if he admitted he no longer wanted what he’d had, before.

Part of it spiked adrenaline and excitement. He felt it in bursts of memory. Running through mud in a childish competition. Wrestling toddlers covered in paint until everyone is tangled in primary colored limbs. Donning outdated costumes made magnificent by his willingness to go over the top. Undignified things that thrilled and brought joy.

The other part of this feeling was a world apart. It felt like snuggling up with his mother to savor Honeydukes chocolate. It was the soft turn of a page during reading time with the Weasleys. That moment he pushed back Teddy’s hair and kissed his forehead goodnight. These moments soothed him in a way he hadn’t ever known to crave in his life before.

Draco wished more of him had changed. Just enough that wanting what he did would be easy, or at least easier. He could learn that diplomatic way of talking, where you said what you needed to but without anyone feeling told off. He could try out humility. He wouldn’t run headfirst into every competition needing to win, wouldn’t end every conversation wanting the last word. He could try to be modest. Why must he thrive on the admiration of others, instead of just being satisfied knowing he was talented and clever without anything to prove?

That was the joke of it all. Draco had been born to be a duke, with every advantage laid at his feet. What had he ever been trying to prove? Not that he deserved it. Draco had never questioned that he deserved everything he had and more. He hadn’t questioned his entitlement when he was conquered and every possession was stripped away. He had only ever questioned himself when he sat at the loving feet of his loving parents who would give everything they had and more for him, and knew in his heart he still did not measure up to their dreams. Draco was brilliant, clever, beautiful, but he was not the son his father had wanted. For Draco’s entire childhood he had known his father wanted someone well… Lucious would have settled for someone like Percy, who was good at maths and could make a fortune multiply itself through cunning investment. Or, someone like Hermione, who manipulated politics and would rise to the top of the Small Council in due time. Perhaps most of all, someone like King Harry, ruthless in battle and able to conquer the throne for himself. King Draco Malfoy, Lucius would have loved to be able to say.

Draco was only Draco. He was proud of who he was. Even if part of that was terrified he could never measure up. Even if he was so desperate for approval that he would step into a fantasy world where it was safe to be seen, and then refused to admit it to anyone because he couldn’t bear for their affection to be torn away once they learned the truth. Even if it gave him a dream too big for someone like him to ever realize. Not for the king, but for someone to want him the way the king had when King Harry hadn’t even known who Draco was.

So Draco had run off and hid in the same place he’d found comfort as a child. The library was the same as it had been then, with the barest touches of time being seen here and there. A typewriter at a desk. The equinox sign carved into a shelf. Draco took Our Vast Universe off the shelf. He felt kinship rereading it. Feeling lost, lonely, and starving since he’d skipped lunch and dinner. Occasionally, Draco paused to wallow in self pity. He hoped it would be cathartic, but settled for soul crushing.

Draco stayed curled up the next day, in a state of melancholic half sleep interrupted by pangs of hunger. His eyes had dried, but he didn’t feel ready to face the world.

It was for the best, the world came to him.

It came in red-headed form, as these things were wont to do whenever Draco was around. It wasn’t one of the nicer Weasleys, so it came as a literal kick to the behind Draco had sticking out the side of the chair as he curled.

Draco yelped. Then Draco fell. Then in an undignified heap, Draco looked up at George.

George had put on a serious face, which had stern lines and frowny eyebrows, but looked a bit insincere. Like a small child doing an old person impression but not yet having learned to be dour. Maybe laying-in-a-heap Draco wasn’t serious enough for him, but he felt obligated to try anyway. So, George roughly said, “What’re you doing hiding here in the library, you’ve got everyone upset.”

The reasonable response would be to hobble back into a dignified position and make an excuse for his actions. Draco was too worn out and couldn’t be bothered. The only energy he could muster was the self destructive kind. The kind that had him snapping, “How’d you even find me?”

George scoffed, nudging Draco again with his foot. “By looking, you nitwit. You think this was the first place I checked? I bloody well should have known it would be, though, seeing how you’re a dweeb with dweeb friends like Percy. Who’s worried, by the way, so no thank you for that headache." The words were mean, and he said them harshly, but it was like the serious face that wasn’t. Unconvincing. It didn’t sound like scolding. It sounded like… care.

Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation, or the hunger. Some lapse of judgment led Draco down a strange path. Draco was lonely and worried he’d always be lonely. He was desperate for someone to care. So, still heaped on the floor staring up at George, he wondered aloud a question he couldn’t bear to ask under any other situation.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone when you recognized me?”

George did look a little miffed now. He narrowed his eyes and went full hands on hips, which was a bit intimidating when Draco wasn’t standing right up next to him where they were equal height. “Oh, you’ll talk about that now?” George mocked. “Someone alert the presses, Draco Malfoy wants to have an honest conversation.”

Maybe Draco deserved that, after his last conversation with George, but he was in no mood to stomach it. So, foolishly, he made use of those damned early mornings he’d spent training and kicked out at George with precise aim. He caught George at the back of his knees, knocking his legs out from under him so he, too, fell down to the ground. Draco rolled up after so he could shove at George again. Only, George was expecting it now and a far better wrestler than Draco, so he just knocked Draco back down on his ass. “Oof!” Said Draco.

George shoved at Draco again so he’d stay down. He said, “I’ve got five brothers. You pull that again and you’ll regret it.”

Draco was too prideful to admit his surrender, but the lesson was learned. He pushed up to lean on his elbows, resentfully glaring at George. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he demanded again.

George looked at him like the question was stupider than picking a fight had been. “This about your fight with Harry?”

“Fuck Harry,” Draco yelled, not even remembering to call him king. In retrospect, it didn’t make the case he wasn’t upset. “You knew, all this time, and you didn’t say anything.”

“You knew all this time and thought you’d gotten one over on me. I’d say that makes us even,” retorted George.

That was enough to get Draco on his feet. Not to pick a fight, but so that he could storm around angrily and make wild hand gestures when his emotions peaked. Which they did. A lot. The storm Draco felt last night came back with a vengeance, and someone it could target without the mixed feelings Draco had about everyone else. “You knew!” he said again, unequivocally. “You knew that I was… You knew who I was and you didn’t treat me any different!” Something about admitting it left Draco feeling raw.

George was back on his feet as well, but keeping his distance from Draco’s emotional hurricane. He looked worried, not angry, but he was George and still answered. “You berk, of course I treated you differently.”

“No! You were… You were nice to me.” Draco felt the water welling again in his eyes. He turned so George couldn't see the facial gymnastics it took to make them go away.

“Draco. The first time I met you Bill and Ginny had to hold me back from murdering you. Me being a bit nice is different.” The weight of that hit Draco like a sledgehammer. He stared at George nearly uncomprehending. George stared back, all gruff edges and a serious expression that finally looked his own. The truth of it hovered between them. The acknowledgment that the time in the maze had mattered to them both. But, because this was George, he added, “Besides, I was mostly fucking with you cause you shagged Harry and I thought it’d be funny.”

Timidly, Draco’s lips quirked into a smile. It was just like George, to find tormenting a friend funny. Strangely, the truth of it left Draco feeling warm. Because it was Draco, he had to push, “You still should have said something.”

George shrugged. “You didn’t want to talk about it.” It was the truth, simply delivered, and it pulled the wind from Draco’s billowing sails. His legs felt shaking so he sat down. George sighed and pulled over a side table nearby in lieu of a chair. “Draco, I’ve got my share of questions for you, but let’s just start with you telling me why you’re hiding in the library.”

That was not something Draco wanted to explain. “I’m not hiding in the library.”

“Yeah. Let’s try that again. I say, ‘Draco, why are you hiding in the library?’ And you say, ‘George, I’m so glad you asked. Let me tell you everything.’” George waited but Draco only sat glumly in silence, uncertain of what to say. George heaved a sigh. “Draco. Is this about your fight with Harry?”

Draco buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t fight with the king.”

“Ginny says you did.”

“Ginny doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

George smirked. “Well, that I believe. But if you didn’t fight, tell me what happened.”

The thing is, Draco wanted to. He glanced out from behind his hands and saw George staring back, earnest and judgment free. It left Draco feeling raw in a new way. Draco wasn’t alone anymore. He had Percy, and Luna, his mother, his aunt, and of course Teddy. At some point he’d grown accustomed to loving and being loved. At no point had he grown accustomed to trust.

It didn’t seem wise, trusting. Not even for a man who’d kept a secret for no other reason than because Draco didn’t want it to be known. Not even for a man who already took what he wanted from Draco, in the form of companionship for his silly games. Not for a man who was lonely, and just as desperate for a friend.

Draco had changed so much, but in so many ways he was exactly the same. A foolish boy, who never chose to be wise.

Draco licked his lips nervously, but decided to be brave.

“George,” he said. “I’m so glad you asked. Let me tell you everything.”

Chapter Text

Draco didn’t actually tell George everything. Mostly, he told him just enough. Like, yes, alright, Draco had intentionally disguised himself at the spring equinox ball. And the fall equinox ball. And the other fall equinox ball. And, by the way George, it wasn’t very nice when you called Draco a drunk just because Draco had gotten himself too drunk to use machinery and also cheated at King Harry’s puzzle game just a little. Which led to a brief rabbit hole where George demanded to know how Draco got two invitations anyway. Followed by George thinking Draco had told Percy his secret first, which for some reason George was offended by, but not as offended as Draco’s instance Percy wouldn’t remotely care if he had known.

Draco didn’t actually tell George everything about the king. He hardly said anything. Somehow he summed the whole experience up with a glib statement. “I wasn’t actually going to sleep with him, but then he was rather keen on me.” Draco wanted it to come out haughty and aloof, but probably it just sounded dejected.

George gave that some thought. “He is rather keen on you,” he agreed.

Draco barked out a laugh. “No. He’s not.”

George spared Draco a raised brow. “Harry was still nagging me about the guest list at the garden party, because he was obsessed with his mystery man.”

Draco sighed and shook his head. Draco felt squishy inside when he thought of the king searching for - well, not Draco. As George said, the king’s mystery man. That fantasy creature who’d ensnared him. That made-up celestial being. “He used the balls to play make believe just as much as I did. That person he met is a construct. He is obsessed with someone who isn’t real.”

“The guy I met in the maze seemed pretty real to me,” George drawled. “You ever think you’re not giving folks a chance?”

That flared up all the angst and heartache Draco had wrestled with the previous evening. Suddenly it was too hard to try to put any feeling into words. It felt so exceptionally trite to say no, absolutely not, since Draco was hiding and lying just as George said. But also, maybe Draco didn’t want to have to come out and say the truth. It felt like begging everyone to see him, finally, exactly as he was meant to be. Someone worthy of affection and desire and a million other amazing things. Begging opened up the door for them saying no, denying Draco. How could Draco give them a chance to do that?

Hadn’t Draco given King Harry that chance? Not in words as clear as George would say them. But in actions. The same sort of actions the king had liked when Draco was a beautiful stranger. They hadn’t been the same, when it was only Draco doing it.

What Draco managed to say was, “The king’s marrying someone else.” He sounded raw and pitiful, and despite all his intentions Draco had opened himself up in front of George. A man he hadn’t dared to trust when he should have.

George frowned, but it wasn’t at Draco. “It’s a monumental mistake, even for Harry. He doesn’t even like Colton!”

Draco opened his mouth. He felt out the words once before actually saying them. Practicing making the shapes. He knew it was breaking his friends’ confidence to say the words at all. But secrets were lonely, and it was George who was here with Draco now, making sure he wasn’t alone. So Draco said, “King Harry’s not marrying Colton.”

George’s expression remained resentful. “Sure he is. The whole Slughorn family is spending the day with us so they can announce it at dinner.”

Draco smiled then, small and meaningful. He did actually tell George everything about that.

Talking had not magically solved all of Draco’s problems. He just felt more exhausted than ever, with the added bonus of being frayed around the edges so he’d be extra prickly if anyone approached him.

George made him shower. George made him eat. Then, because George was a heartless maniac who agreed to do Draco a huge favor, George made Draco stomp down all by himself to one of the big fancy reception rooms the castle had. Apparently that was where the family get together was happening. George assured Draco he’d be able to gather enough dignity to greet a dozen Weasleys and, perhaps, a king.

There were definitely a lot of Weasleys.

There were the standard Weasleys, like Ron and his offspring and his far too eager looking wife. Draco dared not get too close to Hermione, in case she followed through on Ron’s threat of an apology and Draco would be called upon to not be a right bastard about it. Of course Percy and Audrey were there, with Molly and Lucy sitting properly on a settee instead of playing with the other children. Normally it would be a relief to greet them, and maybe hide behind them, but Draco was coming in high strung and worried he’d emote so heavily at them they’d just be even less comfortable.

Then there were the distant Weasleys. Bill and Fleur, with three darling children far too graceful to be accused of causing mischief, even if they were. Ginny Weasley, who alternated between staring guiltily at Draco and avoiding eye contact at all costs. Charlie Weasley, who didn’t recognize Draco one bit and couldn’t be cared to.

Finally, the terrifying Weasley. The matriarch herself. Molly Weasley. A short, slightly plump, tremendously kind looking woman who was situated on a sofa in the middle of the room. All the better to look upon her horde of children and grandchildren, and lull unsuspecting adversaries into thinking her a gentle woman. Draco knew underestimating her was a grave mistake.

Also, there were those who were there technically as guests of the king. Only, with the king nowhere to be found, and Molly clearly reigned. This was no matter to Andromeda, who displayed the same grandmotherly affection as she watched Teddy frolic with the other littles. That big fellow was there as well. What was his name, Hagrid? He was a perpetually jolly man who welcomed the lively company. Perhaps it put strain on Narcissa, who was pale as a sheet and embracing proprietary to a degree that would make Percy proud.

The only people in the room truly out of place were the two who showed up to a family afternoon dressed in finery more fit for a ball. They should have recognized it and felt awkward, but no. The senior Slughorn couldn’t hide his smugness, and the junior Slughorn couldn’t hide his pomposity. Two men who thought they were better than everyone in front of them, who did not see these people as family. It was off putting to, well, everyone.

That, Draco supposed, was reason to enter the fray.

Draco started with his mother. Perhaps he should have deferred to one of the more powerful women in the room, but for Draco his mother would always come first. Draco greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. Her smile was restrained, but her eyes were still shining. Perhaps it wasn’t so strange for her to be here in the castle, surrounded by potential enemies. Still, she reprimanded Draco with a gentle, “You weren’t at dinner last night.”

Draco tried not to look too sheepish. “Found a project. You know how I get distracted.”

“Mmhmm,” was what his mother said, while her sharp gaze and thin smile promised he’d provide her a proper answer later.

He kissed his aunt in greeting next. She patted him affectionately on the cheek and let him go.

Then there was nothing to do but greet Molly. They’d met before, but so long ago in what felt like such a different world that Draco wasn’t sure it counted. Draco couldn’t remember what sort of snobbery he displayed when forced to dine with people he once thought so beneath him. There wasn’t exactly protocol to fall back on that told Draco how to show enough respect to make up for his past transgressions. Molly was Lady Weasley, technically a dowager viscountess. Draco was technically next to nothing. Technicalities didn’t mean much, anymore. Draco looked at Molly and didn’t consider titles. He considered the brave, dedicated, occasionally wild children she raised. Many of which Draco was thankful to call friends. When he bowed to her he bowed too deeply. Only, it didn’t feel that way. It felt like giving her the proper respect.

Molly got squinty in suspicion, but Draco wasn’t given time to see if the suspicion would grow to tension. Percy had walked over to say hello.

Probably being in front of Percy’s family made him uncomfortable, so he did one of those manly backslap greetings instead of a hug. “Draco! You weren’t at dinner yesterday.” Naricssa had been scolding, but Percy was all concern.

Draco did his best impression of a reassuring smile. “How’d the girls do? Did they know all the proper spoons?” He realized when Molly glared at him for saying it that it might sound like mockery.

Only, Percy didn’t take it that way at all. He was beaming. “They did perfect. Audrey’s quite proud.”

Draco carried on, keeping focus on Percy. “I never doubted it. Say, you should have them tutor Hermione!”

“I heard that,” said Ron, who suddenly was at Draco’s side. His tone was rough, but he smiled wryly. Draco mistakenly relaxed. It was like Ron had been waiting for Draco to let his guard down before saying with a toothy grin, “You weren’t at drills this morning.”

Draco tensed up again and scowled. “You know I don’t ever have to go to drills.”

Ron’s grin never waivered. He gave Draco a back slap not too dissimilar from Percy’s greeting. “But you’ll be there tomorrow to make up for your absenteeism.” That was more than vaguely threatening, but also sort of okay? At least, Molly’s squint had changed its flavor to something more confused than suspicious. She didn’t know what to make of Draco having her sons’ approval.

Unthinkingly, Draco chose that moment to glance up at everything else, and in that moment he matched eyes with Colton. All of Colton’s aloof snobbery had dissolved into something harsh. His eyes narrowed and his chin jutted up and out, trying to rise up further in superiority. Even though Draco was clearly on higher footing in this family that had literally welcomed him with open arms.

Which was when the best arms of all wrapped around Draco’s knees.

“Draco!” squealed Teddy. The boy had pulled himself away from the littles for his favorite Cousin. Draco squatted down to pick up the child, feeling light for the first time in days as he cuddled him.

How had it been days since they’d played? Draco never went a day without time with Teddy, unless he was visiting Percy in the city. Being at the castle felt like a trip, in a way. This new space offered new diversions. New conflicts. Draco had thought he’d only been invited to tend to his cousin, but clearly his cousin was happy and well tended to. Draco’s presence was only needed because, well, they loved each other. And that was what family was for. Like, maybe, he hadn’t been invited as a babysitter afterall. Draco squeezed Teddy tighter, aching a bit inside at the sense of belonging and the even greater sense of not belonging at all. He couldn’t wait to get home and have family time be something safe and happy, and not at all associated with a king who was about to be engaged to someone else.

Teddy wrinkled out of Draco’s arms. “We’re playing knights and dragons!” he announced gleefully, tugging on Draco’s arm to join in. Draco’s heart soared.

Then Colton cleared his throat. Draco could hear the sneer in Colton’s words even without looking. “Children’s games, Draco?”

Draco tried to smile through a tense jaw and thin lips. How had the king ever considered Colton seriously? Thankfully, that was off the table. Only, while Draco thought Prince Viktor a lovely man, Draco couldn’t imagine the prince rolling around in the grass with the children. Would the prince indulge King Harry’s own passion for childish games with Teddy? Would he roll his eyes at the king’s lack of decorum? Did King Harry even know? It wasn’t for Draco to care, either way.

What Draco did care about was Teddy, and that made the here and now very simple. Draco was able to lock eyes with Colton once more and offer up what probably passed for a polite smile. “I make a very good dragon.”

And Draco did, on hands and knees, crawling after Teddy and all the Weasley cousins, until the army of knights tickled him into submission.

Chapter Text

Eventually, the kids were carted off for supper, bathtime and bed. Even Bill and Fleur’s eldest, Victoire, as well as Molly and Lucy were sent off to do whatever proper young ladies do when not allowed to join the adults for dinner.

The adults were led off to yet another room. The unfortunate yellow one Draco was not partial to. The wallpaper featured a repeat pattern of sunflowers, the shade somehow too bright and off putting. The furniture strived for classic elegance but always reminded Draco of an overripe banana.

It did have a key redeeming feature: the mustard painted table was holding quite an array of beverages. Draco beelined for it. One other person had the same idea.

“Hand me that one, would you?” Charlie Weasley asked. Draco glanced over and got caught looking at Charlie’s freckles. Without a mask they were even more stark. Dark red dots making Charlie look younger than he was. “C’mon, the one right there,” Charlie interrupted Draco’s staring.

“Right,” Draco said, grabbing the wine bottle in question. He paused to glance at the label. Charlie had a very good eye. “This is… very good.” He looked around the room, but there were no servants. “Shouldn’t someone, I don’t know, decant it?”

With a smirk, Charlie took the bottle from Draco’s hand. He picked up the corkscrew on the table and opened the bottle himself. He didn’t so much as hesitate before pouring himself a glass.

Draco couldn’t help making a small noise of protest. “That’s a rare vintage. My father-" Draco halted abruptly. He couldn't remember the last time he’d acknowledged his father.

Charlie smirked at Draco before tossing back the glass and gulping his wine. He carelessly rubbed a sleeve over his mouth after and smacked his lips, before following the action with a too-smug, “What about your father?”

That broke Draco out of his stupor. He snapped out, “It’s practically a crime that you aren’t bothering to appreciate it.”

The older man settled his hip against the table before taking a relaxed sip this time. “Is that what your father would say?” Charlie asked.

Maybe it was the amused smile Charlie sported, or how he genuinely seemed curious on the matter, but Draco chose to give up his defensiveness. Still, he huffed a little so Charlie wouldn’t think he approved of the question. “No,” Draco said resolutely. Then, almost off hand, “He’d say something intelligent about tannins and mouthfeel, followed up with a lecture on why he selected the specific vineyard for the wine, before comparing this year to at least three others.”

A deep chuckle rolled out from Charlie. “You’re telling me this is Lucius's wine?”

“Obviously,” said Draco, since it would be obvious to anyone who’d been around during King Voldermort’s reign. The King had relied on Lucius’ exceptional taste… well, exceptional taste in things, not people.

Charlie was smiling as he shook his head. He put his glass on the table so he could pick up and fill a second one, speaking as he did so. “I’m going to appreciate it when Harry’s late ass shows up and finds the bottle empty.” The glass was far too full before Charlie stopped pouring. Still, he pushed it forward into Draco’s empty hand. Draco took it before the wine could spill. Charlie picked up his own glass, and with a mischievous grin to rival George, he tapped his glass against Draco’s. “Cheers.”

Not knowing what to do, Draco drank. It was exceptional. Draco’s father had died before Lucius had the chance to teach Draco what he’d meant when he talked about tannins. Draco savored it anyway, thinking of the unsophisticated way he might describe the pleasure of drinking this particular wine to his father. Only, Charlie was gulping again. “I can’t believe I’m finally tasting the castle’s private reserves and you’re treating it like it’s from the bargain barrel.”

There was that chuckle again. “It’s Harry’s favorite,” Charlie admitted. He stared at his glass for a long moment. “Serves Harry right for getting mum to invite me to his bloody engagement party.” His words were only a little bitter.

Draco’s own lips tilted into a frown. Honestly, Draco hardly knew anything about the king and Charlie’s past relationship. Even if the king was right, and the two had never truly been a pair, Draco could still imagine the discomfort of watching someone you’d hoped to have a future with start a future with someone else. You know, hypothetically. Draco cleared his throat and said what he hoped was a comforting thought. “I don’t think his majesty planned to engage himself to anyone when the weekend was arranged. Likely, your mother was inviting you because she wanted time with her entire family.”

“You know Harry well, then?” was Charlie’s takeaway from Draco’s comments. He jumped on Draco’s implied proximity to the king just as quickly now as he had at the ball. The older man tried to look uncaring, but his shoulders were tense. Draco tried not to look awkward as he shrugged. Charlie sighed. “Lord knows why I’m even here.”

Draco shrugged again before dryly suggesting, “You were coerced to attend?”

The offhand joke lingered between them. Charlie stilled, evening pausing his efforts to get wastefully drunk. He glanced at Draco again, actually looking at him from his well worn dress shoes to his self designed top, still mirroring Percy’s preferred style but with subtle changes to modernize it and add flair. Draco was a blend of hand me downs and couture. Like no one and nothing else. “Do I know you from somewhere?” Charlie asked.

Draco’s skin prickled. His first and second instinct was to lie. He was skilled in brushing over awkward moments. He could make light of any potential recollection. That is what he did. That’s how he stayed safe.

Well, that’s how he avoided the risk of rejection.

“Draco, darling, would you mind terribly stepping aside so I can take a look at the drink offerings?” Came the most unwelcome voice of Colton Slughorn.

Draco closed his eyes and heaved in a breath in order to otherwise hold his nerves. He managed the thinnest smile that could still be deemed polite before stepping aside. “Certainly,” was his crisp answer. Colton stepped between Draco and Charlie. Charlie didn’t bother to conceal his scornful glare.

“Ooh, what is this,” Colton murmured, reaching for the private reserve. Charlie nabbed the bottle first, pulling it out of reach. Colton’s eyes narrowed. His lips twitched down. “No need to be uncivil.”

“What, like kicking someone down a flight of stairs?” asked Charlie.

Colton’s frown was a full on scowl. “Bitterness is a foul trait. I’d think twice before blaming others for your own clumsiness.”

Charlie was having none of it. He nabbed an extra glass to go with what was left of the bottle of wine. He nodded farewell to Draco and left. Not once had he acknowledged Colton in the process.

“I say,” Colton said, softly, so only Draco could hear, “what a heathen.”

Draco’s skin prickled, but in a very different way than before. More like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. Draco licked his lips, unsure of how to respond. Truth, perhaps. “I quite admire his restraint.”

“Restraint?” said Colton, aghast. “Did you see him guzzling his wine?” Colton just then seemed to notice how full Draco’s glass of wine was. “Tell me you haven’t fallen as low as to quaff along with him.”

Draco stood under the weight of Colton’s judgment for a moment. It had the familiar old blood feel that Draco knew so well from his childhood. That well known demand to do everything precisely as it ought to be done. So different from the judgment he’d carried these last few years. Draco had weathered scorn for his family’s misdeeds, his own ignorance, the way he had thoughtlessly been cruel to others.

Draco smiled to think the Weasleys must have rubbed off on him at some point. He didn’t much care anymore whether Colton, or anyone else, thought he’d fallen low. Just so much as Draco could live with his choices. Which, right now, was choosing to tip back his glass and gulp down the rare wine his father had painstakingly chosen to prove his taste was the best in the kingdom and his opinion should always be sought after. Draco drank half the cup. Afterwards, he thoughtlessly rubbed his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

Colton had to pull himself out of shock. “Are you trying to make a fool of yourself?”

“You and I will just have to disagree on what makes one foolish,” replied Draco.

Colton puffed himself up to compensate for his frustration. “There’s no need to be combative, Draco. We were friends once, weren’t we?” Colton took half a step towards Draco. He spared a glance to the rest of the room to make sure no one had approached before saying in a low tone, “Neither of us expected to be beholden to King Harry Potter,” he said the king’s name as if it were a bad word, “but there’s no reason not to make the best of it. I will soon be in a position of authority. Somehow, you have earned the good will of these… people,” again, Colton had a skill for ensuring you understood his insults. “We could work together, you and I. Towards mutual success.”

Draco tried to remember Ron’s advice about learning to let his pride go. He focused on how Charlie chose to just walk away. It proved it was possible to hold one’s tongue. Draco could feel the most cutting response ready to blurt out of his mouth but to what end? This wasn’t real. It was a scheme that he had to trust would be fulfilled and then Colton would be out of his life for good. As long as Draco let it go, now.

He growled out a curt, “No thank you.”

Disgust actually rolled over Colton’s face. “You have a better plan?” he scoffed. Colton glanced across the room towards Charlie. “Are you seriously aiming for the cast off stable boy?” his astonishment could only be outdone by his ridicule.

Draco knew he should bite his tongue. There was no winning. Nothing to say. Only there was so much he was bursting to say. “It’s hard to know exactly what part of your snobbery is worse. Charlie is not a stable boy. He manages the stables and trains horses for the entire castle and royal guard. What he does for the castle is more important than anything you could ever manage. And there’s nothing wrong with honest work. I worked in the stables, when our house needed it. I’m not ashamed to have done it. I would be ashamed to hold have the judgment you manage for those you mistakenly think are beneath you.” He kept his voice down but his hissed words couldn’t help but draw attention.

Colton was, in comparison, the picture of civility. Even if the words no one could hear were far from it. “It’s for the best you’ve set your sights on the servants. It’ll be a suitable match. For you,” he sneered.

What rankled Draco was there was no way to correct Colton without Colton reading into it an insult against Charlie. Draco wanted to say how Charlie was a fine and honorable man, but Draco couldn’t see anything between the two of them working out. He reminded himself he didn’t need to justify himself. He didn’t need to explain. In fact, now would be the time to take the high road and walk away. Wouldn’t that preserve his pride better than an immature spat with a man who meant nothing to him? Well, nothing good, in any case.

Draco’s frustration and anger was splashed across his face and Colton revealed it. Worse, it was likely he understood the source of Draco’s frustration. He’d known Draco a long, long time, and could read too much on Draco’s face. Colton smiled cruelly, knowing it would make Draco seeth. “If you’re not interested in the stable boy…” Colton chuckled as if at a joke. “I’m worried, Draco, you might still think you have a chance with the king.”

Draco actually flinched at that one. “I’m not interested in the king,” he said too forcefully.

“Hmm,” an unconvinced Colton hummed. “It doesn’t matter, in any case. You may be pretty and clever, but what does that offer a king? I, on the other hand, have what his majesty needs. Something he needs badly enough that he’ll choose to be faithful to me.”

“Did you have to pay extra for the faithful part?” asked Draco, the high road abandoned.

Rage burned in Colton’s eyes. Fierce enough to make Draco’s accusation true. Colton was having to fight his own expression to keep it neutral for their audience. “I will bury you so low that there won’t be a noble in the kingdom who’d dare marry you. You’ll have to settle for the servants. Unless your nonsensical friendship with Percy,” the most derisive tone yet, “is another clever back up plan. I suppose his daughters will be so desperate in a decade or so, one of them would settle for you.”

Draco very nearly hit him. He would have, if Ron hadn’t shown up just then. Too late to hear Colton’s words, too early for Draco to make Colton pay for them. Spilled wine at their feet.

“I say, control yourself,” Colton’s voice carried quite fine when he wanted it to. Draco did look out of control, wrestling against Ron’s grasp on his arm. “It was just an offer to mend fences, but I can see you’re not amenable.” Colton lied so smoothly and it just made Draco look even more unhinged.

Draco stopped struggling. He breathed deep and tried to remember what he had meant to do. He looked to the room and saw all the people staring back. Judging. Disappointed. Worried. All three of those might just have been Hermione, who’s wide eyes tried to catch his without her body actually moving one bit. “Calm down,” her eyes begged. “Don’t give the scheme away.”

Draco couldn’t look at her. He turned to where he knew there’d be support. Only, Percy’s eyes were frantic. He kept glancing between Draco and Colton, uncertain of whether there was any role he could play to support his friend when there was a greater purpose at stake. Draco looked away before Percy could see too much on Draco’s face and be persuaded to make a bad decision.

Draco threw himself backwards, away from Colton and out of Ron’s restraint. Ron let him go, but hovered. God, he was a fool. All the times he hadn’t minded being an idiot were made shameful by this one time he should have known better.

Worst still, the king chose that moment to arrive. Just in time to witness Draco’s shame.

Chapter Text

The king thundered into the room, already scowling. It wasn’t the mood Draco was hoping for. Still, even Draco couldn’t blame King Harry when he took in the whole picture. His clothes were beyond rumpled, they even looked slightly singed. Seriously, one sleeve was charred. The crows nest that was his hair looked as if the king had been yanking on it all day in frustration. Dark bags under his eyes showed lack of sleep. He was, well, a mess.

Adding insult to injury, George strolled in, grinning like the cat that got the canary. He had less of a right to be, seeing how he was more singed and soot covered than the king, but that didn’t bother him at all.

“Family!” George called out a jolly greeting to the room.

If looks could kill the king would smite him dead. “Have just a little shame, George.”

George put on an exaggerated pout. “I apologize. Again. Terribly sorry there was the tiniest accident.”

The king’s face remained stern. “You lit my room on fire.”

“George Gideon Weasley,” scolded the mother in question, using the tried and true tactic of full names to display her displeasure. She had gotten to her feet and was walking forward to deal with the fuss.

“I hardly lit the whole room on fire. Just a table. Some old shoes. Knickknacks, barely. Hello mum, so lovely to see you, when’s dinner?” George smooth talked, still grinning.

“What’s this about you starting a fire?” Molly demanded.

George was already shaking his head. “I didn’t start it, I just bumped into it. And it’s fine. I put it out, no harm done.”

“Harm was done,” snapped the king. “Namely, you set my room on fire.”

George gave up arguing and instead shrugged in a “what can you do” sort of way.

“My god,” the king muttered in frustration. “Molly, can you just, do something with him?” King Harry sounded desperate. Unfortunately, Molly looked extremely skeptical. That was enough for the king to lose patience with it all. He turned his glare on the room, “Surely one of you can keep him in line.”

Of course, the king’s eyes found their way to Draco’s. It was like he didn’t even try, they were just drawn there by cosmic forces that wouldn’t let Draco hide. The king’s gaze held anger and frustration, but also a tinge of desperation that actually made Draco feel bad for a moment. Unfortunately, it was a moment too long and the king spotted the guilt on his face. Emerald eyes narrowed, directing all the suspicion towards Draco. While his focus was there, he had the chance to take in what was happening around Draco. Namely, the tension strung tight through Draco’s body, and how flushed his face was from his own anger. King Harry wouldn’t have missed how Ron had positioned himself directly between Draco and Colton, indicating the conflict King Harry had just missed. Bugger.

The bright side was that Colton definitely noticed the king’s focus on Draco, and he couldn’t stand it. “Darling, I'm glad you’ve joined us.” Colton stepped forward as he spoke, gracefully crossing the room and drawing the king’s attention to himself. Next to the king, Colton didn’t quite reach out to touch the frayed edges of his clothes. “What an awful incident. Perhaps dinner would calm your nerves.”

Colton’s presence clearly caught King Harry by surprise, as if he’d momentarily forgot the Slughorns in their entirety. The king recovered well enough. He shared his politest smile with Colton. The one that made clear the king had entirely closed himself off. The one Draco dreaded being on the receiving end of. There was no sign Colton could tell it was insincere. Just as he didn’t seem to notice the stilted edge of the king’s words as he answered, “I’m so sorry I’m late. We’re meant to be finishing the contract.”

This time Colton did touch the king’s arm. He didn’t notice how still the king went at the contact. “The contract can wait, you’ve just been through a fire.”

The king took a deep, steadying breath. It may have pained him to say it, but you couldn’t tell anymore when he responded, “It was hardly anything. Certainly nothing worth putting off an engagement announcement. Let me just…” the king glanced towards the drink table. “Why don’t you get your father and we can finish up those discussions?” He left too abruptly, but couldn’t be bothered to care.

Draco thought the king was charging towards the drinks, but at the last minute he veered. King Harry stepped around Ron, to end up at Draco’s side. He unceremoniously yanked on Drank’s arms, dragging the younger man to the drink table with him, with the briefest head shake at Ron signaling him not to follow.

Which left Draco as close to alone with Harry as he could get in a room full of people pretending not to watch them.

Draco grimaced as he watched the king search the table for something specific. “Charlie took it,” he felt compelled to say.

The king forced himself to breathe in deep to control his frustration. “Of course he did,” he muttered. The king breathed in again before grabbing a bottle at random. He paused then to turn back to Draco. “What was George doing in my room?”

Draco was all wide eyes suddenly unable to look at the king. “I don’t know.”

“Draco, you’re not a good liar. Please just answer the question.”

Draco couldn’t help himself, he bristled and glared. “I’m a perfectly fine liar, your majesty.”

The king stared right back. His jaw was clenched in frustration but otherwise he hid it well. He leaned in closer to Draco so he could speak without his voice carrying. “I’m not playing games, Draco. George just scorched half my table, and that rug you were so fond of.” For just a moment, the king’s eyes glanced downwards towards Draco’s lips, as if remembering their last encounter. His heated gaze shifted slightly, to a different sort of heat. He shook himself out of it to continue, “Charlie’s stealing my wine, you’re getting into it with Colton. I just need folks to stay out of trouble for one night. You know how important this is. Help me rein everyone in, just for tonight.” He said it like he believed Draco could do it.

Draco leaned in as well, until they were truly too close. Strangely, the king didn’t pull away. He just kept his hard gaze on Draco until Draco was second guessing his choice to try to push back. Draco didn’t dare lean back himself and show the king he hadn’t meant it. Now that he was here, awkwardly close to the point where he could feel the heat radiating from the kings body, he would have to act like it had been his intention from the start. Draco tried to keep his voice steady. “You know I can’t even rein myself in when I need to. How am I supposed to help with…” instead of speaking he just sort of waved at the room.

Begrudgingly, the king smiled. Not a large smile. His lips hardly twitched upwards, but the sentiment reached his eyes. It was a stark difference from the cold politeness he’d shown Colton earlier. The king tried to hold on to a stern tone but it fell away as he spoke. “It baffles me, too, but you’re like a Weasley whisperer. Every time I turn around you’ve endeared yourself to another one of my friends.”

More than ever, Draco hated his pale complexion. He couldn’t stop himself from blushing. He tried to hide it behind bravado. “They just admire me for my dazzling intellect.”

The king huffed. He glanced at the room, where the Weasleys were studiously Not Watching, and the Slughorns blatantly didn’t take their eyes away. He looked back at Draco almost fondly. “No one will argue that you aren’t smart, we’re just not going to say that’s what matters. The Weasleys… well, you know. They only like you when you show them your heart.”

This time Draco did lean back, to stop the words from catching him too closely. He could handle it from Percy, or even perhaps a meddlesome Ron, but the king had no right to say such a thing. Draco puffed up, building barriers between himself and the king. He spouted nonsense to fill the air, “When you’re clever, you can make yourself look however you want.”

The king cocked an eyebrow at Draco’s standoffishness. “I think it’s possible you’re not as clever as you think you are.”

For some reason, Draco blushed harder. “Oh, fuck you,” he bit out, aware he sounded petulant and still not stopping himself. The king gave it the response it deserved: silence. That had Draco bristling further. He crossed both arms and glared as hard as he was able. He wanted the king’s anger back. He knew how to handle that. This… Draco had to lash out at this. “You don’t get it both ways. So what if your friends like me? So what if they think I’m a decent person. You know me. You know exactly who I am. You decided what that meant years ago, and you’ve made it perfectly clear what you think of me. I’m good enough for you to…” Draco actually couldn’t say it. He couldn’t acknowledge how willing the king was for Draco to be just another man he slept with and threw aside. The words choked in his throat and he had to swallow them down. “But I’m not good enough for anything else. I’m not good enough to be your friend, I’m not good enough to be anything. So you don't get to joke. You don’t get to do a damn thing.”

King Harry stared at him, finally without words. They might as well have been in private with how little awareness the king had for the people around them. His eyes were only on Draco.

“Stop staring,” Draco hissed. “You’re being weird. And Colton’s going to be jealous because he thinks we’re sleeping together and you’re supposed to be convincing him to marry you.”

The king did blink then, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He ran a hand through his already ruffled hair, pulling at the roots as he steadied himself. He tried to pull himself back to formality. “Let’s hope that just means he signs the contract quicker,” was the king’s retort.

Draco’s face fell at the blithe answer. “Because you’re charging extra for fidelity?”

King Harry winced. “Yes. Obviously.” only he sounded strained.

Still, obviously. Obviously what? Obviously he was using every advantage to get money out of the Slughorns, or obviously the king wouldn’t be faithful unless he was contractually obligated? Draco couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Are you charging Prince Viktor extra as well?”

That was the moment Draco pushed him too far. The king’s face snapped closed, leaving only a calm, polite expression behind him. He stood rigid in front of Draco, leaving Draco uncertain if he’d respond at all. The moment dragged. Finally, in the blandest possible tone, King Harry said, “No. We’re probably going to have to pay him.”

Draco’s laughter was sharp and loud. He took a step back to give himself space to breathe. He took no satisfaction in the king’s obvious suffering. “Fine, fine,” his words were loud, carrying to everyone. “Go do your contract. I’ll keep everyone out of trouble.” He was bitter over sounding bitter. He might have lashed out further, but in the back of his mind he knew his mother was watching. She’d seen all of this and someday soon he’d need to try to explain why it left him so upset.

Draco’s words had been a dismissal. A capitulation. He’d spoken loud so everyone could hear, and attribute their discussion to further scolding by the king, or possibly the king entreating Draco towards good behavior. He’d found a way out of their weird little huddle that would drum up all sorts of suspicion.

The king didn’t take the out.

“Draco. Please,” King Harry said, still hushed. Draco’s eyes widened. He glanced from the king to, well, everyone else who was watching. The king continued, “It’s not that I don’t like you.”

There was no way this was ending well. “What a relief,” Draco all but hissed the interruption before the king could say more. “I can go to my grave knowing you don’t completely hate me.”

The king reached out then, cupping Draco’s hand in his own. “Draco, please,” he said again. Draco’s wide eyes were glued at where their hands touched, now oblivious to everything else. The king squeezed his hand, and Draco’s eyes jumped up to meet bright green. There was something so hesitant about how King Harry looked at him. Like he might shut down at any moment and hide again behind his walls. Softly, King Harry asked, “Can’t we talk about this later? After?”

Draco glanced from their joined hands to the king. King Harry’s expression was open, emploring. Draco’s answer was stuck in his throat and he had to swallow it down in order to squeak out, “Fine. Okay. I guess.”

The king answered with a smile, small and tight and happy. “Okay,” he said. He squeezed Draco’s hand once more before letting it go. Draco’s fingers were still warm where he had touched them. The king’s lips quirked upwards. “Stay out of trouble,” he reminded.

Draco watched the king walk away. He watched King Harry apologize and reconcile with the Slughorns. Horace was perplexed, but fell swiftly to the king’s charms. Colton played the part of besotted lover whenever King Harry looked to him, but the moment the king’s gaze shifted Colton’s expression fell to suspicion and jealousy. Frequently, both were directed straight at Draco.

Draco shouldn’t have watched. It would be wiser to screw up his curiosity and look away. He couldn’t, though. Even if his face told too much. Draco knew he should look angry, or jealous, or anything that would build the king’s story that he was abandoning Draco for a lucrative marriage. That was Colton’s fantasy, but right now Draco was in the real world where he was overwhelmed by confusion and vague promises of after. He flexed the hand King Harry had held. It had been a gentle touch, like the king had given to a man in a mask he didn’t even know.

The King was leaving with a small entourage. Colton trailed, still staring back at Draco with red hot rageful eyes. Draco shouldn’t have stared back. He was too calm, too comfortable in his knowledge that this meant nothing. A swift formality of signatures, followed by whatever after had meant. A vague promise, possibly crushing, but until the heartache came Draco felt warm with hope.

He didn’t know how to keep the hope off his face, and Colton didn’t hide his suspicion and resentment.

Chapter Text

Just stay out of trouble. It should be easy. All the trouble left with the king, so it would take a special kind of talent to dredge up more. Then again, the very talented George, Ginny and Charlie were giving Draco peculiar looks. Everyone else were also staring. Draco shifted his weight and wrapped both his arms across his chest defensively.

Thankfully, it was Percy and Audrey who approached him first. “That looked intense, Draco.” Audrey gently acknowledged. “Are you alright?”

Draco hunched further and shrugged. “It’s nothing,” he tried to brush the question off. Audrey’s forehead furrowed at the brushoff. She was always careful not to show when she was hurt by others. Draco sighed out his frustration and forced himself to say more. “Truly, I’m fine. He was just upset.”

“Upset?” Audrey questioned. Her eyes were still searching Draco for something more.

Draco pursed his lips and looked away, looking for steadier support from Percy. Even the normally stoic Percy looked a bit perplexed. “He didn’t look upset,” Percy directly said.

Draco winced to hear it. The king had been upset, hadn’t he? He’d started off upset. Then Draco got upset. Then, instead of both of them exploding at each other, the king had… been kind. Draco had let him. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “It’s nothing. It’s fine. He just came over to ask me to keep everyone out of trouble tonight,” Draco insisted.

Audrey didn’t understand what he meant, but Percy grew even more serious than normal at Draco’s words. While Percy understood the need to lay low tonight, he still was stuck on what he’d seen occur. Draco watched Percy’s face contort itself for a moment before settling into a worried expression. Finally he asked, nearly hesitating, “Draco, are you… ‘getting into trouble’?” Draco could almost hear the quotation marks signaling Percy’s attempts at a euphemism.

Draco froze under his scrutiny. He was intensely aware that Percy and Audrey weren’t the only ones watching him. They weren’t the only ones who’d seen whatever his conversation with the king had been. Although, Draco had an idea what it had been. Some glimpse of intimacy they’d only ever shared before in private or when concealed behind masks. It was the fact that Draco liked it that felt like trouble. The fact that Colton could tell, and had left angry. He wanted to tell Percy that, since Colton’s mood may matter, but he didn’t want everyone else to wonder over it. So Draco stood wide eyed waiting for words to come to him that could convincingly dismiss Percy’s question when in reality his heart pounded in his chest.

It was George who saw Draco freeze and came to his rescue. He strolled up to Draco with the same carefree snark he’d used on the king and draped an arm around his friend. “Can’t believe you even asked that, Percy. Draco is the picture of innocence,” he declared.

Draco shrunk in a bit more under the weight of George’s zealousness. “Please tone it down a notch.”

“I will not! We’re two innocent men and I won’t stand for any implication otherwise.”

“Oh god,” Draco said, literally hiding his face behind a hand. “Don’t lump me in with you.”

“Did you really light his room on fire?” It was Ginny asking, suddenly nearly close enough to touch herself. Draco peeked out from behind his hand to see her grinning at her brother.

George was shaking his head, “Of course not. The fire was there, I just gave it a little bump. Purely accidental.”

“Wicked,” Ginny said just as Percy scolded, “That’s so irresponsible.”

Charlie had wandered back over as well. “What were you even doing there?”

“You know, I can’t remember,” George lied with such sincerity, but every family member rolled their eyes in contempt. George adopted another over exaggerated pout. “You see what I put up with, Draco? I don’t have one person who believes in me.” He ignored the jeers, instead patting Draco on the chest twice before releasing him all together to step forward between Draco and everyone else, presumably to snatch the not-yet-empty wine bottle from Charlie and take a direct swig. Everyone’s eyes were on George’s antics.

Except for Draco’s. Draco was looking down at his breast pocket, where George had somehow tucked in a perfectly folded handkerchief. Around him, the siblings were stirring up chaos, but Draco finally felt calm. His breath came easier and his body relaxed. The world might be wild, but he wasn’t in it alone. That gave him confidence beyond what he’d mustered up when he’d had nothing but his pride and a need to prove himself.

“Stop picking fights, George,” you could hear Draco’s smile in his voice, “just for tonight.”

George broke off his squabbles to turn his pout to Draco, but the pout faded fast into a smile to match Draco’s own. A quick sign that he was game for whatever Draco needed. For show, he raised both hands in surrender, “Alright, alright, no trouble,” he groused merrily.

“Seriously?” Ginny pushed. She looked between George and Draco. George only smirked at her. She turned her ire to Draco. “Are you ensorcering him or something?”

Draco scoffed but otherwise didn’t dignify it with an answer. Instead he said, “I’m sure we’re all capable of being responsible adults for exactly one night, if we really commit ourselves.” He stared hard at Ginny as he said it.

She glared in response. “If you think I’m going to do anything to help Harry get engaged to that know it all piece of s-”

“Oh come off it,” Draco interrupted. “A fire didn’t stop them completing the paperwork, I think they’re pretty committed to pulling that off. I’m just asking, as a personal favor, that you not make things any harder than they have to be.”

“Why would I do you a favor?” Ginny snapped right back.

Draco narrowed his gaze at her, making sure to stare long and hard until he made her sweat. When he saw her start to crack he spoke. “Don’t you think you owe me the tiniest favor?”

She scowled through her guilt. “It’s not my fault you and Harry got into a fight in his bed chamber-”

“What were you doing in the king’s bedchamber?”

Everyone froze in place. They had been so caught up in bickering with themselves they hadn’t realized just how much attention everyone else was paying to their conversation or how close everyone had come. They were surrounded. Not just Bill and Fleur, but the giant Hagrid, Molly, and of course, Draco’s own mother, who had just questioned him about his visit to another man’s room.

Draco tried not to flinch and failed miserably. “Oh, it’s not like how it sounds, mother.” His protest only made sure everyone was considering exactly how it sounded.

Narcissa was nearly at Draco’s elbow. Decades of court life had taught her to conceal her thoughts, but still her eyes were pinned on her son. Draco could see her unspoken questions in the tilt of her lips. She wouldn’t give voice to them here. Not in front of everyone else.

Molly had no such qualms. “I hadn’t realized you and Harry were quite so friendly.” She did not sound like she approved.

“Oh, we’re not,” Draco squeaked out.

“Draco was there to help me, mother,” Percy chimed in, loyally.

Ginny obviously knew Percy had lied, but she had a sibling's loyalty when concocting an alibi in front of a parent. “Right, Draco and Percy were there. They were talking about…”

“Accounts,” Percy supplied. Ginny nodded vigorously. Absolutely no one bought it, but Molly couldn’t bring herself to accuse both children of lying. “And they were fighting about… math.”

“Math.” Molly repeated skeptically.

Draco laughed at the absurdity. “I really have no interest in listening to the king and Percy talk math,” he said with enough conviction that the story instantly felt more plausible to everyone. It felt like maybe they’d sold it.

“I don’ know ‘bout yer math figh’, but I though’ Harry seemed to like yeh,” said the giant out of nowhere. Everyone looked at Draco, noticeably not agreeing but also not contradicting Hagrid. Then, all eyes shifted back to the large man, Draco’s with them, because when a crash was coming you simply couldn’t look away. Sure enough, Hagrid continued, “I don’ think he liked tha’ Colton feller. I don’ know why he’s botherin’ ter marry him.”

The silence was not comfortable. Several Weasleys looked at each other, exchanging thoughts by look alone.

It was Fleur who breezily said, “It’s the money, no?” More than one family member winced at hearing it aloud.

Hagrid grunted. “Money’s no’ a good reason ter get married.”

Again, too much silence. Draco’s awkward laugh broke it, uncaring for the attention it would draw. “It’s not much worse than being forced to marry so your godson will be legally recognized.” 

Hagrid nodded solemnly. “True. I didn’ vote for tha’.” Draco blinked in surprise, taking another look at the giant in his layers of leather, wondering exactly what vote he had.

“I can’t handle this conversation on an empty stomach,” Charlie cut in, abruptly changing topic. “Who knows where they’re serving dinner?” That was the break everyone had been waiting for. A rambling chorus went up with conflicting ideas of where the food was, with general agreement that they needed to move on and dinner was the way to do it.

Narcissa stepped up closer to Draco, taking his arm to walk with him out of the room. It brought her close enough that she could murmur in his ear. “Are you alright, Draco?”

Draco smiled thinly. “Quite alright.”

She paused a moment, then charged forward. “You and the king…”

“It’s nothing,” Draco insisted.

Draco could feel the tension in his mother’s arm. “It did not look like nothing,” she put words to what Draco wanted to pretend hadn’t happened. Narcissa watched Draco close himself off from her inquiry. She charged ahead again. “Whatever it is, you can’t continue it. Did you see Colton’s face? He could tell, Draco.”

The advice was well meant but it landed brutally. Draco struggled to keep his face passive as he answered. “Nothing is happening, Mother.” His strained voice betrayed his lie.

“Draco,” she chided.

He had to clear his throat so he could call out, “Audrey! Audrey, could you come tell mother about the girls’ lessons? She wanted to know how they were getting on with French.”

Narcissa gripped him tight. Draco didn’t meet her disappointed stare. “Be careful,” she whispered as she kissed Draco’s cheek. Then she allowed herself to be taken away by his flimsy excuse for space.

Draco stopped walking so he fell behind everyone else on their journey to dinner. He heaved in air, feeling unsteady despite his efforts. Everyone could see something had happened, and they wouldn’t let him forget it was true. Draco just didn’t know what it meant. He had no way of knowing, until the king’s vague promise of after.

After what? After Draco spent an evening insisting it was nothing? After Draco’s friends lied on his behalf? After Draco called in every favor he could to deliver on the king’s request to keep things calm and steady? It felt like so easy an ask to deliver on. Something he should be able to do, a part he could play for the greater good of a kingdom that needed his help. Draco shouldn’t be panicking over any piece of this.

The crowd turned a corner, leaving Draco out of sight. He sagged in relief of finally having solitude. He buried his face in both hands and shuddered out a strained gasp of air.

Be careful, his mother had asked. When had he ever been careful? Never, with King Harry. Not when his life was on the line, and not now when his thumping heart felt much more at risk than his life ever had.

The king promised him nothing. No, it was worse. The king promised heartache. He promised payment to a different man to take the king’s hand in marriage. The most King Harry could offer was masquerade romance and frantic, guilty kisses. Draco wanted neither. Not anymore. His heart couldn’t take wondering which friends were real. Not now, when he knew he didn’t have to settle for less than real. He wasn’t alone anymore. He didn’t need to be alone.

Only, it wasn’t Draco imagining things. Everyone who had watched had wondered. Hagrid had put words to their thoughts - the king had acted affectionate. In front of everyone. Draco feared it meant something because he didn’t know what it could mean and he didn’t want to be wrong. He hated his fear, because he didn’t think it even should have mattered. He didn’t need the king to be happy. He didn’t even know if he liked the king, beyond the physical attraction and time spent caring for Teddy.

Draco hated the king’s temper, and how he closed down when he felt vulnerable. He hated how his life had been defined by the king’s justice. He bore the king’s scars on his body, and the deeper scars that came from withstanding cruelty. Draco hated that there were too many moments to count where the king hated him back.

It hurt more how he hated how free the king had acted with him, when King Harry thought Draco didn’t know who he was. It was too close to Draco’s own unfettered anonymity. He hated how hard they both had to work to be free of the baggage holding them down.

Somehow some part of that struggle and yearning had gotten out and everyone had seen it. The king had let everyone see. Colton had seen. Draco still felt Colton’s angry glare. It rattled him.

The wise thing would be to let it go. Draco could still catch up to the crowd, join everyone for dinner. He could make up with his mother, be polite to Molly. He could reassure everyone it truly was nothing. He could wait for whatever came after.

Draco had warned the king, though, how he couldn’t even rein himself in from causing trouble. His feet knew the path before he had to think of it. He knew where they’d be, King Harry was predictable in many ways. It was easy to walk from the yellow room to the Hogsmeade Chamber.

It was just as well Draco had chosen to do so, because it brought him there at just the right time. He heard the door opening with just enough notice to duck to the side and hide, which let him stay out of the way as Colton exited. Draco peaked out from behind a large vase to watch. It let him see Colton’s serene mask fall off to reveal an underlying fury. While he could have been on a trip to the privy or to join everyone for dinner, Colton didn’t turn towards either of those things. He stormed in the opposite direction.

Draco, of course, was drawn to trouble. So he followed.

Chapter Text

Colton hadn’t taken a dozen paces before he paused to look up and down the corridor. Draco, who had never trained as a spy, found himself spotted immediately. Draco tried to look natural, at the same time he tried to think of a natural reason he would be following Colton. Colton sneered at his attempt.

“Why are you following me?” Colton was using his civil voice, even if it was wearing thin.

Draco licked his lips nervously. He had nothing. There was no reason for him to be there at all other than his suspicion things weren’t quite right. “I just wondered where you were going,” Draco admitted, because it would be more awkward to say nothing at all.

The words stripped whatever civility Colton had left away. “Did the king have you guarding the door?” he asked, livid and appalled.

Draco realized he was making whatever this was worse. He rushed to shake his head in denial. “No, he doesn’t even know I’m here.”

Colton’s sneer deepened. He heaved in a breath, preparing to growl out something scathing. Yet, he didn’t. He just held himself in that moment between anger and attack until, one micro expression at a time, he reined in his anger until there was only a hard, unforgiving stare. “Who does know you’re here?” the question was chilly. Draco actually shivered.

“Everyone!” Draco lied. A bad lie born of frayed nerves. Colton’s stare didn’t budge a bit. Draco swallowed around a dry throat and lied again. “I came ahead, but the Weasleys should be here any moment. Molly thought we might still catch you all for dinner.” Draco turned to look down the hall, as if someone might really show up at any moment.

As he turned back he caught sight of motion. Perhaps it was his mornings training with Ron, or the time spent watching a small child who would chuck toys about when angry. Some instinct guided Draco, and he twisted out of the way just in time for the dagger to only graze his shoulder instead of landing true. Draco gasped, aware of the cut but not yet feeling it.

The delay in sensation gave him the moment he needed to look up. Colton hadn’t waited for him, although Draco was confused to see him run to the wall and yank on a lamp above his head. There was a distinct clink noise, then Colton shoved on the wall and it moved. The wall was moving. Draco didn’t have time to process it, because now his arm was burning and it hurt. He had to choose whether to focus on the pain, and the sticky warmth that must be blood, or the dark passage Colton just escaped into.

The passage was closing, slow and grinding, and too fast for Draco to consider his options.

Oh hell, Draco was going to make a terrible mistake. There wasn’t time to do otherwise. Draco barely had the sense to lunge down after the knife that had cut him before falling a couple meters away. Then he was up and running back towards the nearly shut up wall. He slammed into it before it clicked back into place, his whole body jarred by the impact. He shoved the door, thankful that’s all that was needed for it to reopen.

To his credit, Draco did think twice before running into a pitch dark tunnel all alone. Not well enough to call a halt to his foolishness, but he did pause before disappearing to turn round and shout, “Harry! Harry, he’s in the passage!” the king needed to know, and in his haste Draco didn’t even realize his informality.

Then Draco charged forward. He gripped the knife in his right hand, and did his best to ignore the burning sting on his left shoulder as he trailed his left hand against the wall so that when the doorway grinded back closed he stayed steady. Too soon it was pitch black. He struggled to move fast and silent. Draco strained to hear anything beyond his labored breathing. The darkness wrecked clear sensations. Draco feared he only imagined the distant tap of footsteps. He tried to focus on the sounds so that he could place what was happening, but it only brought the rapid pounding of his heart into greater focus.

Finally, light. A soft glow emitted in the distance. An opened door framed the figure of another man. Colton was getting away.

Draco threw caution to the wind and sprinted. He knew better than to run in the dark, or with a dagger gripped in hand, but reason didn’t guide him. He saw the moment Colton jerked around, finally hearing Draco’s pounding feet giving chase. Colton didn’t wait another moment to slip out of the tunnel, leaving another door to grind shut behind him. Draco found new speed in an effort not to lose him, until finally he slammed his body into another door before it too could slide closed. He heaved at it, pushing it back open.

There was no sign, this time. No rush of wind or flick of motion. There was only Draco, remembering Colton’s fury and resentment. The smart move would have been for Colton to run before Draco could catch up, but then all Colton would do was escape into the night and a world of hiding from King Harry’s justice. A self imposed exile, rather than relying on the mercy of the king. The smart move would be to take it. Escape, gather whatever funds the Slughorns surely had squirreled away, and get out while he still could.

That wasn’t good enough for Colton, just as Draco knew it wouldn’t be. It wouldn’t have been enough, if Draco were in his shoes. So Draco knew what would happen when he flung himself beyond the door, and he was already lunging down and away when Colton’s second dagger took aim at him. It swiped above his head, allowing Draco the chance to enact a meanever Ron had forced him to practice. Fall into a roll and use the momentum to fling back up to your feet. Draco couldn’t help but laugh that it worked.

Colton scowled at his laughter. He found his balance again after his failed strike and held his dagger out in front of him, a constant threat of attack. “You won’t be laughing long,” he seethed.

Warily, Draco held his own dagger between them to counter Colton’s threat. He’d learned his lesson and didn’t take his eyes off the other man, but he didn’t need to recognize their surroundings. The tunnel had taken them out to the edge of the castle, to the place of arms Draco had recently spent so much time in. From here, it would be easy to find a path out and away. “Would have been smarter to run for it than have another go at me.”

The glint in Colton’s eyes was cruel. “You misunderstand your situation,” Colton snarled. “You’re already dead.”

It was a mistake to take a moment for confusion from his words, because in that moment Colton slashed out again. Draco was forced backwards, always dodging. Colton had not shirked combat lessons and it showed in his sure footing and assertive strikes. He didn’t give Draco an opening to fight back. Draco was forced to fall back again and again until he stumbled. He was close to the wall, nearly the same spot they’d entered from, when he reached back with his left arm to steady himself. Searing pain shot through his arm and it gave out instead of holding. He fell hard into the wall with an oomph.

Colton gloated with laughter. “Not feeling too well there, are you Draco?”

Draco shifted so he could lean his back against the wall. He risked a glance down at his injured arm. He had only been grazed. It was a nasty cut, but shouldn’t be severe. The sharp burn hadn’t eased, though. The scratch of it had even spread. He could feel sharp fire trailing down his arm. His finger tips tingled. Oh hell, this was bad.

Draco squeezed his grip on the dagger he had while he still could. Colton was leering at him, his own dagger in hand, ready for a final strike.

A grinding interrupted them. Close by, the wall was moving. Time nearly slowed as Draco watched Colton turn to the noise, his expression almost gleeful.

As children, Draco and Colton had always been the most powerful. It was through the luck of their station in life, but also they were clever and beautiful, and each in their own way had a terrible love of winning. Draco still struggled to reconcile his sense of superiority with having lost so thoroughly that he had no standing left. He was learning when to put his pride aside, if only barely. Colton hadn’t experienced those lessons. So of course he was foolish and lunged again for the figure exiting the passage doorway, an easy target less prepared than Draco had been. Colton only needed one cut, then he could have his victory and make his escape.

Draco found the strength to heave himself off the wall, throwing his body in the pathway between Colton and the door. Colton was already in motion, his arm thrusting forward with a dagger that unexpectedly collided with Draco instead of its target. Draco hardly felt it, at first. Just a strange pressure in his abdomen. All he noticed was Colton’s eyes, so close to Draco’s face, wide in surprise.

Draco forced his free arm to stumble forward and grab at Colton, trying to hold him in place. Then he slashed out himself, barely nicking Colton’s skin.

Colton yelped, yanking backwards out of Draco’s grip. One hand went to the cut in his arm, terror clear on his face. He looked back at Draco, suddenly young. Draco had been marred by war years ago. He didn’t remember what that youthful fear was like. Then Colton was running, off and away, leaving Draco to feel a bad sort of heat in his belly starting to burn. The pain was all encompassing.

Draco stumbled. His knees gave out.

Someone hard and firm caught him from behind so he didn’t tumble to the ground. Draco tilted his head back and looked up at a strong jaw and mop of black, shaggy hair. His lips twitched upwards. “Hello yo.. Your…” he stumbled over the words before settling on “Harry.”

“Draco?” The king made his name a demand, already shifting Draco’s weight. He must have seen the blood, then, because his face went pale.

Draco shook his head. “You’ve… you’ve still got time,” he stuttered. “If you go… now… you’ll catch him.”

King Harry wasn’t listening. Instead, he carefully laid Draco on the ground and tried to assess his wound. Draco’s eyes followed the king’s hands, which is when Draco realized the dagger was still sticking out of him. Seeing it made it hurt worse, the pain radiated through him and he choked down a sob.

The king carefully wrapped his hands around the wound, applying pressure. “Don’t be stupid, I’m not going anywhere.” The touch made it feel worse. Draco hissed and twisted. “Stay still, try to stay still.”

Draco couldn’t hold back the sob this time. He was pretty sure he was dying. “Ca… careful. Poison,” he managed to warn. Then he closed his eyes and focused on breathing through the pain.

He barely recognized the grind of the door opening once more and was only aware someone else must be there when he heard the king yelling, “Get a healer!”

“What happened? Where’s Colton?” It was Ron’s voice.

“Forget Colton, get a healer!”

Draco forced himself to open his eyes and look at Ron. Ron looked grimmer than Draco had ever seen. He moved with the efficiency of a man who’d stared death in the face many times and was no longer beholden to fear of it. Just as he wasn’t beholden to the fear of warding it off. Ron pulled off his cravat and crouched down to put over the wound. To soak up the blood.

Oh god, Draco was dying.

“Get my mother,” he wheezed.

The king shifted his weight, adjusting the new cloth. “You’re going to be fine, Draco. He’s going for a healer.”

Ron was nodding. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Poison,” Draco said again, causing Ron to look even more severe and the king to look all but frantic. They weren’t getting his point. His brain was fuzzy, but he tried again. “She knows… can heal poison.” He waited just long enough to see understanding dawn on Ron’s face before Draco slumped back onto the ground and let his eyes shut.

“Draco, stay with me. Stay with me Draco,” the king said urgently. A hand, warm and sticky, touched his face, caressing the curve of his chin.

Draco groaned. “‘M right here.”

The king let out a shaky breath. “Good. Great. Stay here. Stay here with me.” The king’s hand brushed over Draco’s jaw. Draco felt the king’s thumb rub over his cheek bone. Then the king pulled back, shifting his hand back to where the other was, still putting pressure on Draco’s wound. “I need something else to put on this, can you help hold pressure for a moment?”

Draco shook his head. Both hands felt tingly now. He cracked his eyes open to look at the king. “Too… late. ‘M bleeding too much,” he managed to say.

The king’s face twitched from worry to frustration. Draco watched the familiar furrow of the king’s brows. The king all but snarled. “You’re the most stubborn bastard I know. Don’t give up now.”

Draco had to crack a smile at his glare. He shifted slightly, finding strength to lift his right hand and drop it on top of the king’s.

All the anger fell from the king at Draco’s touch. King Harry sagged with the relief of it. The king shifted Draco’s hand so it rested against his own abdomen. Vaguely, Draco could feel the blood under his fingers. The king put his hand on Draco’s so he could squeeze it and hold the pressure. King Harry shifted his other hand, reaching for anything he could easily tug off either man. The king pulled off his own cravat, before shifting Draco’s suit coat around and checking for loose fabric.

Draco’s mind was too sluggish to note the precise moment the king pulled out his handkerchief. It took him eons to note the king’s recognition. Draco registered the cloth being pressed against his wound before he connected it to the gentle smile on King Harry’s face. Only vaguely could he recall how the king’s tension had fallen away, like a weight was lifted from the king’s shoulders. King Harry was staring down at Draco, his emerald eyes shining wet and bright and desperate. Draco’s hand twitched under the king’s, but the king just held it tighter.

Chapter Text

Interlude (Harry Potter).

Chapter Text

That other time had been worse in every way.

Everyone had been frantic. Servants left work undone, guards marched through the castle without so much as seeing Draco stumble to get out of their way, uncertain where to go. His mother had dragged him from the castle before daybreak in only their sleep clothes. She’d never been like that before. Never afraid. They’d brought nothing with them in the carriage as they fled.

Draco thought they must be safe at the manor. First, his mother put him in the great hall where servants also gathered. Draco had never been left with lowly servants before. He thought it must be a mistake, surely he wasn’t meant to be there with the lower class. His mother disappeared for hours without a trace. There were only small cries of terrified women and children, and then, finally, the sounds of battle.

Malfoy Manor was a stronghold, which only meant the battle sounds lasted quite a long time before the enemy broke through. They knew when it happened, because of the shrieking. The tenor changed. It got closer.

Soldiers burst into the hall and no one thought to check what emblem they wore. Everyone just began screaming and scrambled away. Draco, foolish, youthful Draco, did not scramble. He’d been sat in his father’s chair at the end of the hall as if he was Lord of the Manor already. All day Draco told himself he was just sitting in his father’s stead, until his father came back. When the soldiers came he rose up as he knew his father would and stood his ground. This was the ancient and noble house of Malfoy and Draco would live up to his name. They’d dressed Draco in the only armor he had. Ceremonial stuff. Flashy instead of battle ready. He tried to wear it well, as his father would want. Malfoys did not fall. He would be brave, until the end.

He was not brave in the end. These soldiers were his, and with them was his mother. What a boon, to be able to collapse into her arms when she ran for her son. Narcissa kissed at Draco’s forehead, clinging to him. Then she shoved him down a corridor and told him to run. Go further into the heart of the keep. Do not let anyone find him. Permission was all Draco needed to act cowardly and flee.

The certainty in his mother’s eyes was plain as day. If the enemy caught Draco, they would kill him.

In Draco’s dreams, it was still happening. This isn’t a battlefield, it’s a bedroom. In fact, it’s a bathing room shooting off from a bed chamber. Draco clings to the old sword from the mantle piece he’d pulled down in a panic. The embers in the hearth beneath its display are still burning, having been lit by the servants that morning, before the invasion was real.

Draco doesn’t dare look away from the door to the bathing room. The sound of battle is not distant enough. It sounds like the manor might be wrenched apart under his feet and he’d join everyone else crying out as he was dragged to hell. He never catches sight of what he looked like, not in any of the decadent mirrors his parents had staged in that room. Draco never has the chance to see his own terror.

The monster that bursts through the door does so with a wave of broken splinters. Pathetically, Draco screams. He raises one hand to protect his face from the scratches, and lashes out wildly with the sword. The monster bats his attack away with a gauntlet.

Draco is caught in this moment. His mind fixates on how his weak attempts to save himself are batted aside. Every time.

Then the monster kicks Draco hard enough he catches air. Draco lands hard and there is no air. Draco is trying to scream and no sound comes out. He writhes on the floor, trying to crawl away from the monster wearing dented steel, a raging snarl, and green-fire eyes that promised death.

If he’d just thrust down his sword into Draco the boy would be dead, but this monster does not wish to deliver swift death. He slashes out. Decorative or not, the armor saves Draco’s life when it blocks the sword from rending Draco’s chest open. The madman swings harder and the sword breaks through the expensive, deferential metal.

Draco is trapped again at that moment. He can’t forget how fire bursts across his stomach. He remembers what that monster looks like at the scent of blood. He’s mad for it. He lashes out again, and again, until Draco finds his breath again in time to scream.

There is no mercy in that monster. It’s not mercy, when the monster leaves Draco in that room. Draco is left for slow, agonizing death, and only the monster’s desire to cause pain saves him.

The invader had wanted all of his victims to hurt before they died. So the cuts were shallow. Shallow enough that they didn’t pierce anything vital and luck granted Draco the chance to heal. And fate gave him ugly, jagged scars so he’d never forget he wasn’t meant to.

The war doctors let him feel the pain. Maybe they wish he’d die from the shock of it. Maybe they welcome how Draco bleeds through the bandages and cries out for his mother, who doesn’t come.

Draco knows this is history. He knows how it ends. It had been days before they realized who Draco was. Days of constant agony and terror. Days before they begrudgingly decided he needed to live. They didn’t care how painful living was. The more painful, the better. Draco still feels the pain.

It’s hard to separate then from now, memory for the present. It’s in him again. He’s once again on fire. It’s deeper this time. Like the monster that slashed him came back with more hunger and would eat him up from the inside out. Draco feels his blood burning. He wonders if it always burned like this. He wonders if he opened his eyes, would he see that green-eyed rage blaze under his skin, following his veins and arteries through his body until his blood was only poison?

They’d given him something. It felt like being under water. His head swam and he could never come up for air. At times, he was almost cogent enough to recognize foggy shapes. People, maybe. There were brief points of pressure. Perhaps touch. Then, the pain might come through like blazing agony, and he would choke for real on something else. Some fluid in his mouth. Something to dull his mind completely. To leden his limbs so he didn’t thrash and tear through fragile organs they’d just tried so hard to heal. Send him fully into blackness. Whatever that was, the vile taste in his mouth, it swamped his mind in too much darkness for dreaming.

Draco didn’t wake up. That wasn’t what the foggy awareness was. Maybe he just returned to existence. He pops in and out, over and over, and this time he was in. His body was a real, heavy thing. Uncertain if it connected to his mind. Must have, a bit, because Draco knew his mouth was dry and hairy. His arms and chest were strapped down. He was a prisoner to his bed, a prisoner to the blank ink that overtook him.

Sometimes when he existed he could open his eyes and see shapes. Sometimes he could move his mouth and try for words. It wasn’t so different from that other time. He still calls out for his mother, and she can’t hear him. The fuzz in his mouth wasn’t capable of words.

Existence terrified Draco. He didn’t want to know he was real and not be able to feel or move. He didn’t want the only thing he felt to be dragged down into dreaming. He didn’t want to ache from cuts that would never heal. He did not want to be frozen, unable to wake up from this nightmare to scream.

It is so dark. Draco wonders if he is finally dead. He wonders if he’s being dragged down to hell at long last. He wonders in hell is unending pain. The fiery tear of organs pulled out from beneath his skin.

Draco doesn’t believe he’s awake. His limbs are still buried in warm water and it’s impossible to move. He barely opens his eyes. Only if he leaves them closed he still sees light, unless dark shadows pass by to steal it. Draco forces heavy eyelids open.

Some figure is there above him. Too blurry to identify. Something tall and silver blonde. Draco wonders if it’s his father, together with him at last now that he found hell. He is afraid Lucius has found him. He can’t shake the thought that Lucius’ love didn’t carry to the afterlife, only his hate. Maybe Lucius could have escaped his own death, if he’d not wasted his life on saving his ungrateful child.

Draco opens his mouth and it is desert dry. His tongue is leather. He struggles but can’t make words. He grunts to his father, begging. He opens his mouth and croaks out a howl.

Then the pain comes back, and his father leans over Draco and makes him sleep.

Next time Draco sees his father he is still parched, but words somehow tumble out. He begs Lucius to forgive him. He begs his father to make King Voldermort stop the war. He tells his father they were wrong. The war was wrong. The people they were fighting were his friends, and they loved Draco, and please, god, it hurt, make it stop hurting.

It was somehow worse to learn the figure was not his father. If Draco’s brain was less fuzzy he might have been able to identify why. There was no logical reason to regret he wasn’t dragged into hell to be tormented by a ghost. Yet, here he was. Robbed of his chance at absolution.

That tall, imposing man had been real, though. It was Cousin Xeno. He stood over Draco from time to time as the young man regained consciousness. Gradually, he worked Draco back from the brink of nonexistence. Always gentle, always calm. Gradually, he helped Draco sip at fluids when he awoke. Never enough to quench his thirst. Gradually, he tested part of Draco’s body to make sure it still existed. When Xeno told Draco he was touching something, Draco remembered it was real.

When Xeno told Draco his mother held his hand, Draco remembered he could turn his head, and another blurry figure was there. His mother squeezed his hand and he would have cried if his eyes weren’t so dry.

His mouth had been made real and he could slur out words. Could she hear him? Had she heard him calling to his father?

Draco begged Xeno not to give him the medication. He squeezed his mother’s hand and begged. His mother leaned over him and said sweet encouragement. Called Draco her sweet boy. Told him he was strong. Draco wished he had tears in him. He squeezed her hand hard as he could because she was real. She was there!

And then he squeezed his mother’s hand because the warm water receded and the pain came back. The agony. Draco tried to be brave and take it. Every ounce of pain brought him closer to reality. It was the price for existence. Without existing there was no hand in his. No soft words from his mother.

When the pain got so bad Draco started thrashing Xeno had to give him the medication. Draco hated it. It felt like sinking. It felt like dying. Then the world went black, and he had no feelings left.

Chapter Text

When Draco awoke, it was always to the fog of medication. It made it hard to know whether he was dreaming. He thought he must not be, because he could feel heaving breath in his chest as he panted for air. That fear, the one of not where he could not breathe, only separated awake from sleep until it carried over into his dreams and then Draco was drowning in blood and unable to get up and stop the monster from killing. This time the monster was black shadows, and it struck down tall, red-headed figures that would not stop jumping between the sword and a dying Draco. Draco couldn’t cough up blood fast enough to tell them to run, save themselves.

Maybe he’d been awake that time. He was fairly certain at some point his real body had coughed up blood.

When the world between reality and darkness became too close to distinguish, Draco knocked the medicine out of Xeno’s hands so he wouldn’t have to drink it. It hurt worse that way, but he knew how to handle physical pain. It still didn’t hurt as bad as that first time. Besides, if he had to die he didn’t plan on doing it in a nightmare.

He must be dying, mustn’t he? It felt an awful lot like he must be dying.

When the pain came his mother talked him through it. She showed Draco how to breathe to keep his calm. She stroked his greasy, stringy hair. Sometimes she sang lullabies, like when he was a child. Draco didn’t know when she slept, since she was always there, calming him through the pain.

Draco was scared. Without the medication the world was suddenly bright and sharp. Draco counted stones on the wall. They were a familiar beige. Must be the castle, not back at Grimmauld Place. Counting made him nauseous and he gave up. The only people he saw were Xeno and his mother. He rather thought again that he was dying.

“Where is everyone?” he asked his mother. It was more of a whine. A pathetic sound that crawled out of his throat while his mom sang him through his pain. She was a godsend, a saint, but he also was terrified she was the only person he’d see again before he died.

A year ago, two maybe, that would have been fine. It had been him and his mother against everything else. She was still his first and truest love.

But he didn’t want to die only having said goodbye to her. He wanted one last hug from Teddy, Molly and Lucy. He wanted Percy to have to get over his sense of propriety and properly cry. He wanted a final wisecrack from George. He wanted Andromeda at his mother’s back, making sure she wouldn’t be all alone when her son was gone. If Draco’s death had to be so long and painful, he should at least get all of that.

His mother cooed, “Hush, love, hush and get better. They are all there waiting for when you are well again.”

They’d given Draco enough water finally that he could sob. “I’m dying,” he cried.

“No, no,” his mother whispered into Draco’s forehead. “My love, you must not think that. Please, hush, love. I’ll get Xeno. He’ll give you more medicine.”

Draco didn’t knock it out of Xeno’s hands this time, and Xeno sent him back into the darkness.

He hated the medicine because it meant he was never cogent enough to tell what state his mother was in. She was always there, waiting for him to wake up. Always holding him in her arms, singing sweetly. Draco was terrified she would drive herself into the grave trying to keep him alive.

There was no time anymore. Only black nothing or grogginess. Sometimes in the grogginess there was pain, but it was less likely if Draco stayed perfectly still. Xeno said Draco was healing, but Draco couldn’t tell. They strapped him to the bed when he was asleep because he might thrash, probably from nightmares. There was not a time Draco’s mother hadn’t been there. How could one stay with him so long? Maybe it had only been a day, maybe only hours. Maybe he was dead already and she was another ghost. Morbid thoughts like these plagued him whether sleeping or awake.

Draco wondered if he was asleep when the woman who wasn’t his mother brushed the sweat-soaked hair from his face. He could have sworn he’d woken up. The world had edges again. He strained to move and felt the straps that kept him still.

“Oh, Draco, are those hurting you?” she said gently. Then her nimble fingers undid the clasps and the straps fell away. “Isn’t that better?” she said, and Draco recognized it was Luna.

Draco licked his lips before he spoke. His mouth was still so dry. “Where’s Mother?” he croaked.

“Sleeping, I hope.” Draco hoped it, too. Even ghosts must need sleep. “You look Thirsty. Can I get you water or will you vomit?”

Draco turned his head to stare and his vision was almost clear enough to see Luna’s crinkled eyebrows. “Haven’t yet,” Draco croaked.

Luna’s answering smile was so brilliant, Draco’s eyes ached. “That’s good. Father thinks you might tear something if you vomited, and it would be quite a shame since he got the infection under control.”

She didn’t speak to Draco as if he was dead, and he thought maybe he wasn’t. What would a living person say? Draco didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. Luna seemed like she might tell him. “Infection is the bad one?”

Luna shrugged. “It wasn’t doing you any good. So how about just a little water, to start.”

Water was divine. As in, it made Draco regret his lack of religious devotion. Only a higher being could have created something this glorious and shared it with humans on earth. Maybe if Draco had prayed more fervently in his life he’d have been granted the gift of water sooner. That all would have been a lot to say, so Draco settled for croaking, “Thanks.”

Luna carefully brushed the water that had dripped onto Draco’s face from his chin before it could fall further. “Are you in any pain?” she asked. Draco stayed perfectly still and tried to identify the limbs of his body. He risked shaking his head. It didn’t really make things worse. “That’s good, then. I heard it’s been very bad.”

“How long have I been here?” Draco needed to know.

Luna hummed. “Eight days, I think.”

Unfortunately that didn’t shed light on much. “If I move at all it’ll hurt again. Do you know what that means?”

Maybe this time Luna frowned. “Father says if you had internal bleeding or if the poison reached your heart you’d have died by now, and if his antibiotics hadn’t worked the infection would have spread.”

“What are antibiotics?” Fixating on the details helped Draco think less about how the pain was coming back.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I think they eat the bad blood in you so it doesn’t summon malicious spirits.”

Draco stared straight up at the ceiling. He saw malicious spirits constantly in his dreams, so maybe he was dying after all. “Okay.” He swallowed down a lump. He really, really didn’t want to die. Especially not alone in a beige room. “Could you maybe get other people?”

Luna squeezed Draco’s hand. “Your mother will be back soon,” she promised.

“No, I mean other other people,” Draco asked.

“Ah,” Luna had a way of looking wise and knowing. “Father says they need to give you space so you can heal. Unless, of course, you’re dying. No one has gone far, so if you’re dying we can call them to come say goodbye.”

Draco blinked back sudden tears. “I’m not dying?”

Luna stroked a hand over his forehead soothingly. “I’m sorry, Draco, I really don’t know.” In her melodic voice, it was soothing.

Draco still grimaced. “Alright. But, maybe we can try skipping the medication again. I don’t want to die in my sleep.”

Luna was surprisingly calm when the pain came back. Her sing-song words were soothing. She let Draco grip her hand as tight as he needed to. She made Draco promise he’d make her more hand pies and told him all the food she used to dream about when she had been stuck in the dungeons. Wouldn’t it be grand, when they could eat all their favorite things together? Draco growled out that Kreacher would make it for them, unless Draco died.

Luna must have nerves of steel, because she didn’t call for her father to come back and give Draco any medicine. Not even when he cried and told Luna he was dying. It still didn’t hurt as much as that first time, but Draco was more afraid of what dying would mean. Who would make sure Teddy didn’t have to go to horrible castle parties, or teach Molly and Lucy to make dresses like Walburga Black, or get that grump of a king to laugh? He dug fingernails into Luna, but she could handle it. She stayed with him until his mother woke up and returned.

Draco must be healing, because he didn’t have to take the medication to sleep. It was a happy exchange to take fitful naps over the nightmares Xeno’s tonic gave him. Xeno brought Draco weak broth, then broth-soaked bits of bread. Draco didn’t vomit, and none of the food or liquid seemed to be leaking out of his organs. This, apparently, was an actual fucking concern Xeno did not share until he was certain Draco was in the clear. Xeno was not the sort of healer who shared any of the ways you might be dying with his patients, which was terrifying, because Draco didn’t know what might kill him next.

His mother held him through all his fears. She sang him French lullabies. Most nights, Draco was able to sleep.

One day he woke up and no silver blonde people were there. Draco twisted his head, but didn’t see anyone at all. Without thinking, he tried to lift his head to look further. He’d forgotten so simple a motion would engage his core and he grunted in pain.

“Draco?” A voice from the distance. Someone unexpected. What was Draco supposed to call him?

He didn’t have to say anything for King Harry to get up and walk closer. The king saw Draco blinking groggily in disbelief. He walked around the bed and sat down in the chair Draco’s mother used. One that let him be close enough to hold Draco’s hand or brush over Draco’s brow.

Xeno wanted people to stay away, unless... “Am I dying then?” Draco asked, still in a half-asleep haze.

The king gasped. Almost carelessly, he groped for Draco’s hand. Harry leaned over Draco’s bed so he could hold Draco’s hand close to his chest. Green eyes shone like a beacon. They didn’t rage, like the monster in Dracos’ dream. They did burn, hot and feverish and desperate. “Don’t die, Draco,” the king pleaded, and Draco wondered if this could possibly be real.

Chapter Text

Draco’s head lulled to the side to look at the other man. The king had to be doing better than Draco, but there were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was even more skewed than usual. The lines on King Harry’s face were worn so deep, like Draco’s mother’s. It looked painful, and Draco felt the sudden urge to rub the lines off. Draco’s voice was rough but clear. “Are you alright?”

That started a laugh from Harry. Ridiculous as it might be, the king lifted Draco’s hand and kissed it. “God, Draco,” he whispered into Draco’s hand. “I was so afraid.”

“Me, too.” Draco was still afraid. This could be the start of the tour of last respects.

“You sound… is there water nearby?” There was always water nearby. It wasn’t hard for the king to find it. He had a harder time using the spout to pour the slightest amount into Draco’s mouth. “If you could sit up it would be easier for you to drink.”

Draco swallowed what he could. It was enough. Anyways, he was out of it enough to freely admit, “It would hurt.”

That had Harry gripping Draco’s hand again. Draco could only stare. The king’s hands were broad and strong. His fingers were rough and warm. They had to be real. “Thank you for being such a stubborn fool that you couldn’t die.”

Still might, Draco didn’t say. Since Luna left, no one would say anything and as far as Draco knew he could be on the verge of death any minute. Xeno kept things close to his chest because he thought it was for his patient’s own good, and his mother kept things close to the chest so she’d have the fortitude to persevere. Death was a looming shadow of possibility.

“If I’m not dying… why are you here?”

“I found I couldn’t stay away.” The look on the king’s face was half confused, possibly at himself since the other half was incredibly fond. Then the frown came back. “I have to leave soon. I’ll be gone for weeks.”

That stopped Draco Short. “And you’re… here to say farewell?” Then, in case his meaning wasn’t clear, “in case I don’t make it?”

The king hissed in a breath. One hand moved from Draco’s hand to his shoulder. He clung there. Both his hands were on Draco and it didn’t seem the king wanted to let go. “Please don’t say that, Draco. Don’t say that.” only then King Harry seemed to realize what he was doing and instantly calmed. At least on the surface, since he didn’t take his hands back. “It’s not that,” he insisted. “I didn’t want to leave without seeing you. I didn’t want you to think you haven’t been in my thoughts.”

That… Draco couldn’t place what the words meant. Draco was taking his brush with death very hard, but it seemed the king was also more than a little affected, which made absolutely no sense because King Harry didn’t like him. King Harry didn’t wrap his large, warm hand around Draco’s long, nobby one and cling this tight. King Harry glared, and growled, and ran his hands through his hair in frustration because Draco was a pain in his ass he’d rather go away. In the back of Draco’s head lived a green eyed monster that kept coming back to try to kill him. It didn’t compute with this worried, nearly gentle man. Sure, Draco hadn’t forgotten their conversation in the yellow room and the king’s promise of some vague after when all things would be made clear. So what if Draco half remembered King Harry frantically trying to staunch Draco’s bleeding. None of that was… none of that meant… None of it explained. “Back for me how?”

This time when the king squeezed Draco’s shoulder it looked like holding back from more. His eyes were deep green and blazing with unspoken emotion. “Draco,” he said again. Then, to Draco’s utter terror, “Wolf,” one syllable holding two much emotion for two men who weren’t dying.

Oh no, that actually happened. Draco remembered the blood and thought maybe it was all part of a dream and hadn’t been real. He wasn’t ready for it to be real. If it was real, and the king knew, then Draco would have to face everything and it was too much to process. “Not a wolf,” Draco wheezed.

King Harry’s laugh was light and wet with unshed tears. “Draco, you are the most stubborn, infuriating man.” He actually sniffled, the bastard. Draco was in a panic and maybe so was the king. It was infuriatingly enduring. Draco flopped his free hand over his chest so it could rest on top of the hand on his shoulder. Anything to calm the king down before he cried and perhaps went so far as to blubber out an emotional declaration that he couldn't possibly mean. King Harry didn’t like him. Not like that. Not at all like that. Draco rubbed his fingers over the king’s knuckles. It was really nice, actually, being held and holding someone in return. The king made a noise that might have meant anything. He leaned down to kiss the hand Draco rested on top of his.

“I think I’m dreaming,” Draco said out loud, “If I’m not dead.”

The king lifted up to brush his lips against the side of Draco’s forehead. “You’re not dead.”

Draco sighed. “Then I’m dreaming.”

King Harry pulled his hand from Draco’s shoulder, out from under Draco’s, in order to reach into his own breast pocket. There was a cloth he’d kept there, close to his heart. The king brought it out and tucked it into the hand Draco still had lying across his chest. “This is real.”

Draco fingered the cloth. He felt the ridges stitched into it. He knew what he’d see before he lifted it high enough to look. His blood had not done much to the black cloth, but the white thread would never again be pure. If Draco had been dreaming, the handkerchief would be perfect as he remembered it, or still wet with his blood. The item he was holding, the one that the king had attempted to clean and preserve, was blemished without spectacle. So unlike a dream. Draco squeezed the cloth as if that would stop any more damage from being done. “You saved it,” he whispered.

“I’d say I can’t believe you had George burn down my room to get it back, but that is exactly the sort of thing you would do,” the playfulness in the King’s tone was so out of place. Draco had only ever heard it before from behind a mask.

It was terrifying, to have King Harry look at him like this when neither man was wearing a mask. Everything was topsy turvy and honest words came out too easy. “I didn’t want you to know it was me.”

All the playfulness leaked out of King Harry until his eyes. “Why not? Why didn’t you tell me, Draco?” he said it as if doing so would have solved everything.

Draco gulped. He could feel the heat of King Harry clutching his fingers, holding his entire self steady with that one touch that anchored him. It had hurt to say what needed to be said, back when he wore the mask. It would hurt again now. Draco could be brave. “I knew you wouldn’t like me, if you knew who I was.” He wished he could sound as certain now as he had in that observatory tower, but his voice cracked.

“I wish I could say…” The king never finished the sentence but he held Draco’s hand like it was his lifeline and Draco was the one giving care. It was like the king needed Draco, needed to touch, because he couldn’t communicate on his face what he was feeling. It was harder still, for the king to put feelings into words. The king stared down at where their hands touched instead of looking into Draco’s eyes. “It was a game. We were both just playing a game. Only, the game let me see who you were, how you acted. I wanted you for who you truly are.” That wasn’t the same as saying who he was wouldn’t have mattered. A shudder ran through Draco because it wasn’t the same to him at all. “In time, I wanted you. You, Draco. I wanted you every way I knew you.”

“Not in the same way,” Draco insisted, because it was true and it tore at his heart to remember how the flavors of the king’s want could be so different. It had been a game, and the wolf the king saw there was just a fantasy. If it had been real, the king would have recognized him when Draco stood right in front of him. Draco opened his mouth because he’d always told King Harry what needed to be said before, but he couldn’t make the words now.

Maybe King Harry understood. He leaned his forehead down to rest against Draco’s. Another anchor to hold the two men together. “Draco,” he made the word a sigh. “Draco please.” Draco thought he might never get tired of King Harry squeezing his hand, only his heart ached when it happened because it couldn’t possibly mean anything. It couldn’t. “I’m not asking now. I know I can’t ask now. But I remember what you said. You told me to find you and ask you to your face.” He opened those green eyes and they were too close and held too much emotional. “I need you to know before I go, I found you, and when you’re better and I get back, I’m going to ask.”

Draco could drown in the light of those brilliant green eyes. Their frankness and sincerity. He could die from the feel of them. It lit his chest of fire and he ached a type of brand new type of pain he’d never felt before.

King Harry sounded so certain it ached, because Draco was so unsure.

Then the creak of the door dragged Draco back to reality.

He gasped and turned aside so that the King’s forehead slid from his own. The king lingered long enough to kiss the side of his head, then he pulled himself back until he sat straight, with only his hand around Draco’s to connect them.

“Your majesty!” It was Draco’s mother. Of course. “What are… aren’t you meant to be…”

Harry clutched Draco’s hand one final time. “I was just leaving.” His voice was nearly dispassionate, but when he released Draco’s hand at last Draco had to turn back and look at him. It was so easy to catch the king’s eyes, since the king couldn’t bring himself to look away. Their gazes held too long in silence, and maybe King Harry was trying to say with his eyes things he didn’t know what to say with words. He could only promise, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

There was a strained note in the king’s tone. Something odd. Not odd, like maybe he just confessed deep feelings before Draco’s mother walked in on them, but rather odd like he was still holding something back. Draco couldn’t lift himself, but he tried anyway so he could resolve the nagging in his head. He hadn’t seen the king when he first awoke, not really. What was different about King Harry? He was in his soldier's clothes, which Draco knew he preferred to his court dress. Only it wasn’t as casual as Harry liked to keep it. The clothes were tough, fitted leather. He wore a looping belt, with a sword attached at his hip.

Draco had never seen him wear a weapon. Not once since the war. Not since that day in the courtyard when he’d dressed up in decorative armor and executed Draco’s father.

Draco reached out as far as he could, far enough that it hurt his abdomen to stretch so hard. He was just able to grab the King’s sleeve. “Where are you going?”

The king pulled Draco’s hand free from the battle leather. Instead of letting it go he cupped it gently. “Rest, now.” perhaps King Harry knew he should leave, but instead he lingered to kiss Draco’s hand one final time. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

For the first time, it was Draco who called out, “Wait!” The king stopped at the door to look back. Draco could see in the line of his body, the way he leaned into the room that the king wished he could come back. He could see in the king’s steely, haggard eyes that he wouldn’t. The king looked tired. Worry lines were too deep, and they couldn’t be all for Draco. It came back to Draco, that first question. “Are you alright?”

Harry smiled, warm and bright as a straw lion, a weed, or a sailor escaping on the wind. He smiled like Draco made him happy. “I’ll come back for you.” It was a promise, not an answer. And for just a moment, Draco believed it.

Which was stupid, because in that moment of belief the king left, without ever answering Draco’s question.

Chapter Text

Draco’s head lulled to the side to look at the other man. The king had to be doing better than Draco, but there were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was even more skewed than usual. The lines on King Harry’s face were worn so deep, like Draco’s mother’s. It looked painful, and Draco felt the sudden urge to rub the lines off. Draco’s voice was rough but clear. “Are you alright?”

That started a laugh from Harry. Ridiculous as it might be, the king lifted Draco’s hand and kissed it. “God, Draco,” he whispered into Draco’s hand. “I was so afraid.”

“Me, too.” Draco was still afraid. This could be the start of the tour of last respects.

“You sound… is there water nearby?” There was always water nearby. It wasn’t hard for the king to find it. He had a harder time using the spout to pour the slightest amount into Draco’s mouth. “If you could sit up it would be easier for you to drink.”

Draco swallowed what he could. It was enough. Anyways, he was out of it enough to freely admit, “It would hurt.”

That had Harry gripping Draco’s hand again. Draco could only stare. The king’s hands were broad and strong. His fingers were rough and warm. They had to be real. “Thank you for being such a stubborn fool that you couldn’t die.”

Still might, Draco didn’t say. Since Luna left, no one would say anything and as far as Draco knew he could be on the verge of death any minute. Xeno kept things close to his chest because he thought it was for his patient’s own good, and his mother kept things close to the chest so she’d have the fortitude to persevere. Death was a looming shadow of possibility.

“If I’m not dying… why are you here?”

“I found I couldn’t stay away.” The look on the king’s face was half confused, possibly at himself since the other half was incredibly fond. Then the frown came back. “I have to leave soon. I’ll be gone for weeks.”

That stopped Draco Short. “And you’re… here to say farewell?” Then, in case his meaning wasn’t clear, “in case I don’t make it?”

The king hissed in a breath. One hand moved from Draco’s hand to his shoulder. He clung there. Both his hands were on Draco and it didn’t seem the king wanted to let go. “Please don’t say that, Draco. Don’t say that.” only then King Harry seemed to realize what he was doing and instantly calmed. At least on the surface, since he didn’t take his hands back. “It’s not that,” he insisted. “I didn’t want to leave without seeing you. I didn’t want you to think you haven’t been in my thoughts.”

That… Draco couldn’t place what the words meant. Draco was taking his brush with death very hard, but it seemed the king was also more than a little affected, which made absolutely no sense because King Harry didn’t like him. King Harry didn’t wrap his large, warm hand around Draco’s long, nobby one and cling this tight. King Harry glared, and growled, and ran his hands through his hair in frustration because Draco was a pain in his ass he’d rather go away. In the back of Draco’s head lived a green eyed monster that kept coming back to try to kill him. It didn’t compute with this worried, nearly gentle man. Sure, Draco hadn’t forgotten their conversation in the yellow room and the king’s promise of some vague after when all things would be made clear. So what if Draco half remembered King Harry frantically trying to staunch Draco’s bleeding. None of that was… none of that meant… None of it explained. “Back for me how?”

This time when the king squeezed Draco’s shoulder it looked like holding back from more. His eyes were deep green and blazing with unspoken emotion. “Draco,” he said again. Then, to Draco’s utter terror, “Wolf,” one syllable holding two much emotion for two men who weren’t dying.

Oh no, that actually happened. Draco remembered the blood and thought maybe it was all part of a dream and hadn’t been real. He wasn’t ready for it to be real. If it was real, and the king knew, then Draco would have to face everything and it was too much to process. “Not a wolf,” Draco wheezed.

King Harry’s laugh was light and wet with unshed tears. “Draco, you are the most stubborn, infuriating man.” He actually sniffled, the bastard. Draco was in a panic and maybe so was the king. It was infuriatingly enduring. Draco flopped his free hand over his chest so it could rest on top of the hand on his shoulder. Anything to calm the king down before he cried and perhaps went so far as to blubber out an emotional declaration that he couldn't possibly mean. King Harry didn’t like him. Not like that. Not at all like that. Draco rubbed his fingers over the king’s knuckles. It was really nice, actually, being held and holding someone in return. The king made a noise that might have meant anything. He leaned down to kiss the hand Draco rested on top of his.

“I think I’m dreaming,” Draco said out loud, “If I’m not dead.”

The king lifted up to brush his lips against the side of Draco’s forehead. “You’re not dead.”

Draco sighed. “Then I’m dreaming.”

King Harry pulled his hand from Draco’s shoulder, out from under Draco’s, in order to reach into his own breast pocket. There was a cloth he’d kept there, close to his heart. The king brought it out and tucked it into the hand Draco still had lying across his chest. “This is real.”

Draco fingered the cloth. He felt the ridges stitched into it. He knew what he’d see before he lifted it high enough to look. His blood had not done much to the black cloth, but the white thread would never again be pure. If Draco had been dreaming, the handkerchief would be perfect as he remembered it, or still wet with his blood. The item he was holding, the one that the king had attempted to clean and preserve, was blemished without spectacle. So unlike a dream. Draco squeezed the cloth as if that would stop any more damage from being done. “You saved it,” he whispered.

“I’d say I can’t believe you had George burn down my room to get it back, but that is exactly the sort of thing you would do,” the playfulness in the King’s tone was so out of place. Draco had only ever heard it before from behind a mask.

It was terrifying, to have King Harry look at him like this when neither man was wearing a mask. Everything was topsy turvy and honest words came out too easy. “I didn’t want you to know it was me.”

All the playfulness leaked out of King Harry until his eyes. “Why not? Why didn’t you tell me, Draco?” he said it as if doing so would have solved everything.

Draco gulped. He could feel the heat of King Harry clutching his fingers, holding his entire self steady with that one touch that anchored him. It had hurt to say what needed to be said, back when he wore the mask. It would hurt again now. Draco could be brave. “I knew you wouldn’t like me, if you knew who I was.” He wished he could sound as certain now as he had in that observatory tower, but his voice cracked.

“I wish I could say…” The king never finished the sentence but he held Draco’s hand like it was his lifeline and Draco was the one giving care. It was like the king needed Draco, needed to touch, because he couldn’t communicate on his face what he was feeling. It was harder still, for the king to put feelings into words. The king stared down at where their hands touched instead of looking into Draco’s eyes. “It was a game. We were both just playing a game. Only, the game let me see who you were, how you acted. I wanted you for who you truly are.” That wasn’t the same as saying who he was wouldn’t have mattered. A shudder ran through Draco because it wasn’t the same to him at all. “In time, I wanted you. You, Draco. I wanted you every way I knew you.”

“Not in the same way,” Draco insisted, because it was true and it tore at his heart to remember how the flavors of the king’s want could be so different. It had been a game, and the wolf the king saw there was just a fantasy. If it had been real, the king would have recognized him when Draco stood right in front of him. Draco opened his mouth because he’d always told King Harry what needed to be said before, but he couldn’t make the words now.

Maybe King Harry understood. He leaned his forehead down to rest against Draco’s. Another anchor to hold the two men together. “Draco,” he made the word a sigh. “Draco please.” Draco thought he might never get tired of King Harry squeezing his hand, only his heart ached when it happened because it couldn’t possibly mean anything. It couldn’t. “I’m not asking now. I know I can’t ask now. But I remember what you said. You told me to find you and ask you to your face.” He opened those green eyes and they were too close and held too much emotional. “I need you to know before I go, I found you, and when you’re better and I get back, I’m going to ask.”

Draco could drown in the light of those brilliant green eyes. Their frankness and sincerity. He could die from the feel of them. It lit his chest of fire and he ached a type of brand new type of pain he’d never felt before.

King Harry sounded so certain it ached, because Draco was so unsure.

Then the creak of the door dragged Draco back to reality.

He gasped and turned aside so that the King’s forehead slid from his own. The king lingered long enough to kiss the side of his head, then he pulled himself back until he sat straight, with only his hand around Draco’s to connect them.

“Your majesty!” It was Draco’s mother. Of course. “What are… aren’t you meant to be…”

Harry clutched Draco’s hand one final time. “I was just leaving.” His voice was nearly dispassionate, but when he released Draco’s hand at last Draco had to turn back and look at him. It was so easy to catch the king’s eyes, since the king couldn’t bring himself to look away. Their gazes held too long in silence, and maybe King Harry was trying to say with his eyes things he didn’t know what to say with words. He could only promise, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

There was a strained note in the king’s tone. Something odd. Not odd, like maybe he just confessed deep feelings before Draco’s mother walked in on them, but rather odd like he was still holding something back. Draco couldn’t lift himself, but he tried anyway so he could resolve the nagging in his head. He hadn’t seen the king when he first awoke, not really. What was different about King Harry? He was in his soldier's clothes, which Draco knew he preferred to his court dress. Only it wasn’t as casual as Harry liked to keep it. The clothes were tough, fitted leather. He wore a looping belt, with a sword attached at his hip.

Draco had never seen him wear a weapon. Not once since the war. Not since that day in the courtyard when he’d dressed up in decorative armor and executed Draco’s father.

Draco reached out as far as he could, far enough that it hurt his abdomen to stretch so hard. He was just able to grab the King’s sleeve. “Where are you going?”

The king pulled Draco’s hand free from the battle leather. Instead of letting it go he cupped it gently. “Rest, now.” perhaps King Harry knew he should leave, but instead he lingered to kiss Draco’s hand one final time. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

For the first time, it was Draco who called out, “Wait!” The king stopped at the door to look back. Draco could see in the line of his body, the way he leaned into the room that the king wished he could come back. He could see in the king’s steely, haggard eyes that he wouldn’t. The king looked tired. Worry lines were too deep, and they couldn’t be all for Draco. It came back to Draco, that first question. “Are you alright?”

Harry smiled, warm and bright as a straw lion, a weed, or a sailor escaping on the wind. He smiled like Draco made him happy. “I’ll come back for you.” It was a promise, not an answer. And for just a moment, Draco believed it.

Which was stupid, because in that moment of belief the king left, without ever answering Draco’s question.

Chapter 64
“Eh, Draco, mate.” Something poked Draco’s face. Draco groaned and turned away. “None of that now.” The thing yanked on Draco’s ear.

“Ow!” Draco twisted to swat at the thing. His abdomen burned when he turned. Apparently, at some point with his mother nervously hovering and refusing to tell him anything about what was happening with the king, Draco managed to fall asleep. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t. His mind had been abuzz and on fire trying to decipher what the king said and what it could possibly mean (because it couldn’t possibly mean that). Only he must have because now the pain woke him up, and when his eyes blinked open a face was right there, too close. “Jesus christ, George, what are you doing here and why’re you trying to kill me.”

George preened. “At least you got an ear to tug on. Now c’mon, mate, we got to go.”

This was a leap Draco was unprepared for, but George was already pulling the blankets off him. “Ugh, Draco, you reek.”

“Don’t be unkind.” Apparently Luna was here too. “Father had a servant bathe him regularly when the medication made him sleep, and now when he relieves himself.”

Draco hid his face and groaned. “I’m not awake. This is a new nightmare and it’s all in my head.”

“‘Fraid not, which is a bit of a kicker because this bit is going to hurt.”

It did hurt. George helped heave Draco up off the bed but couldn’t carry him further. Draco had to wrap an arm around George’s shoulders and stumble from the bed to the bedroom door. Luna was waiting outside the room with a contraption that looked like a chair on wheels. Luna held it still and George tried his best to carry the weight while Draco eased into it, but by the time Draco was sitting he also thought this might actually be the very real time he died. To add insult to injury, Luna produced something green. Draco realized it was trousers when she started to put them on his legs.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Draco wheezed.

“Escaping, duh.” George took over the back of the contraption where apparently there were handles he could push. “We’ve got to get you outside before Teddy leaves.”

Something flipped in Draco’s stomach, but that could have been pain from how the chair bounced over the stone floors when George pushed it. “Teddy’s here?”

“Of course, Draco. I told you everyone had stayed close by.” Luna was walking half a step ahead of Draco to lead the way.

“And he’s leaving?” Draco was stressed and in pain and it showed in his voice no matter how much he wished he could hide it.

George was hustling through the castle despite seeing how it made Draco bounce and wince. “Not before you say goodbye.”

The next twist in his stomach didn’t come from the bouncing or the chair. His friends had actually stayed close. Even Teddy, who must be scared to be in this strange place that still had so many strange people. Even Luna, who hated to visit the castle at all because of all the horrible things that happened to her here. They’d stayed and they’d waited, even when Xeno and Narcissa wouldn’t let anyone visit him. Even King Harry’s visit had upset Draco’s mother, who had very carefully not interrogated her cousin in front of her son. She’d probably waited until Draco was sleeping to chew out Xeno for the breach.

Draco was just so, so grateful these foolish friends would do something so stupid for him as to all but kidnap him from his sick room so that he didn’t miss the chance to see one of the people he loved. Draco gripped the chair handles and sucked in air through the jolts of pain. Surely, Luna would have heard if he was actually dying and wouldn’t have let him come. Only, he couldn’t bring himself to ask any questions about what or why, he just held on for dear life and appreciated his friends must have a reason for putting him through all this effort.

They’d been in the basement, where Draco knew healers kept medicine close to the kitchen. The castle surgeon would have a room near there. It was easier to access than the suites and rooms, seeing how it was how the servants came and went from the various court yards, so anyone injured in the stables or in the training yard could easily be brought in for treatment. Anyone like Draco, who got himself stabbed.

Perhaps it was harder to get out of, since Luna and George couldn’t lift Draco’s chair up a flight of stairs the way they might have carted him downwards. They did their best to minimize the strain of it. George wrapped Draco’s arm around his shoulder and tried to take on as much weight as possible. Luna ducked under the other arm and tried to hold him steady. They heaved to get Draco to his feet. It still hurt, but Draco clenched his jaw and kept the pain quiet. The stairs were tackled one at a time. Draco tried to stay strong and stoic so his friends didn’t regret their objectively horrible choice.

He could do stoic. He kept his mouth closed for years while he suffered through any number of degradations. How much harder could ten measly steps be? Not enough to break him. Nope, not at all. Not even when the strain started to wear on him half way through, and despite his friends’ best efforts he couldn’t keep the weight off himself. It was just that apparently you needed your abdomen for everything, so everything tugged at his wound and all the tender muscles underneath it. Even if George and Luna could hold his weight, Draco still had to lift his leg up each step. That shouldn’t have involved his wound at all, except apparently it did just a little. And after heaving himself out of bed, and letting himself be jostled down the hallway, and trying to balance up stairs a little at a time, any little more was actually quite a lot. But Draco kept his mouth shut because he worried that if he opened it he’d start cursing, and if he complained too loud his friends would change their mind and take him back to the room and his mother would kick everyone out and no one would tell him anything. So he bit his tongue and made all sorts of grimacing faces, but he didn’t whine. Not once. And they got to the top of the stairs.

Draco sagged so hard they almost dropped him, but George shifted to take on more weight and Luna held on until they found some stability. George choked out a laugh. “See? Nothing to it.”

Draco didn’t dare laugh. “Nothing to it.” Draco tried for it not to sound like a whine, or a growl, or a cry. He paused for a breath, “Maybe someone should get the chair again?”

“If we put him on the floor I don’t think we can lift him back up,” Luna warned.

“I think there’s a bench outside.” George didn’t actually sound certain, but it was that or Draco never making it outside at all. So they trudged on. George gripped Draco’s arm particularly tight, making sure he didn’t slip. Luna was the one who cranked the door open. It wasn’t too large, but big enough that servants could get things through it. Probably meant to allow intake of bulky items. It was useful, in this moment, for three people who had to shuffle together to make it out.

Exiting was useful, because the moment the door was open Draco could hear things. Shouting, voice-like things, and suddenly the pain didn’t matter as much because he wanted to be out there, where the people and the shouting was. His friends stumbled to meet his enthusiasm. None of them were doing well, at coordinating speed. George and Luna were trying, each offering suggestions or direction, but Draco didn’t listen. He moved as fast as he could even if the occasional step fell too hard and his rush didn’t let anyone go back for the chair.

They were just around the side of the castle. All the noise was happening at the front. If they could just get round that bend there they would be able to see everything. Whoever was over there would see him. It would be quite a sight, the three of them, Draco in his nightshirt and bright green pants. They’d be hard to miss. If they could just get around the side of the castle.

Although the shouting and loud noises had stopped. The dispute must be settled. Draco and his friends were so close to the corner, they’d turn around it any second now and would know what happened. Vaguely he could hear something else. Something rumbling. It came closer, then began to pull away. That was it, then, the thing they needed to see. Thankfully they were at the corner now. George was all but lifting Draco and Luna was doing as best as someone a head shorter without any great muscle could.

They lurched around the corner as one, and had the perfect view of two grand carriages driving away from them, mounted soldiers right behind them. They were at the gate before there was time to call, “Stop! Come back!” Although George hollered anyway. They didn’t hear, and the gates were already open wide to let the travelers leave.

As one they lost all the energy that had been driving them forward. Even George struggled to stay standing once Draco’s legs all but gave out. “Oh fuck, let’s put him down.”

They ended up putting him on the ground, anyway, since they’d blown past the bench in question and were still ages away from somewhere better to sit. The stairs they saw leading up to the main entrance may as well have been leagues away for all the good they’d be to the three exhausted fugitives.

Draco stared plaintively after the long-gone carriages. All the aches and pain from their grand, pointless push were starting to rear back up but none of it compared to how crushing it was to have missed Teddy. “He wouldn’t have wanted to leave without saying goodbye.” Draco was sure of it. Something had to be wrong.

“Ah Draco, I’m sorry.” George had slumped next to Draco, leaning with him against the side of the castle. “I really thought we could make it.”

“It’s always harder to fail when you come close,” Luna said, ever the philosopher.

That just had George looking gloomier. “I fucked up the chair design. I bet I could’ve tweaked it for the stairs. Fred would have thought of that.”

Luna made a disagreeing noise. “I don’t know if chairs are meant to learn how to climb.”

“No, just,” George held out two hands and stimulated moving one up a stair at a time.

“I considered that with the chair, but it would have gotten unwieldy.”

George tsked and tried to motion again, as if Luna was just missing something. “Look, you could add something on the end to stabilize it so it didn’t fall back with each step. Or maybe the design was wrong to start with and we should have done a cart. Point is, I should have thought of the steps.”

“Oh George, the design was brilliant. The chair worked perfectly. What you need is to change the stairs.”

George scrunched up his nose and glanced back at the castle that had been almost the exact same for hundreds of years. “Change the stairs?”

“Of course,” Luna said, as if change was a thing that could happen anywhere. “We wouldn’t have had half the trouble pushing the chair up a hill. You could flatten them somehow to keep the path steady. Turn it into a ramp.”

George looked well and truly anguished by the idea, but not because it was bad. “Christ, I should have thought of that.” He balled up his hands and pushed them against his eyes, like he was pushing down some pain in the back of his head. “I’m always fucking missing things.”

“I thought it was good,” Draco said, because he was miserable enough for the three of them and he didn’t want George looking so sad just because they came a minute too late. The rush from his room had felt more like a game, like a puzzle in the equinox ball. Looking back, it was stupid and silly and they should have tried anything else. Something serious. But if Draco was serious, he’d have to face how bad he hurt, and all the things the king had said, and whatever it was that made everyone around him nervous when all the issues with the Slughorns should be fixed by now. Draco needed George light hearted and silly because that let the world be that way, instead of something terrifying.

George just pulled his hands away from his eyes so he could glare at Draco’s attempt to appease him. “I’m useless on my own.” Draco didn’t see how this could be true. George had always been amazing, what with his mechanics like in the maze at the equinox ball, and his constant attempts to cheer up Draco. Although, Draco had met George because he needed a second set of hands to make the maze work, and George was always around sniffing out someone to spend time with him because he couldn’t stand to be alone.

Draco couldn’t help it, he reached out and took one of the hands George still had balled up near his face. Draco twisted it, turning it to and fro until he could pull the fingers apart and force his fingers interlaced with George’s. Draco didn’t understand his friend’s misery, but he understood what it had meant when George showed up today to try to give Draco some glimpse of joy and Draco wanted George to understand he was amazing, even if it didn’t work. Hell, maybe it did work, a little. Maybe being here with George and Luna, stuck on the ground, was still a little bit of joy. “This was a very nice thing you did, George. Maybe, possibly, you also helped me injure myself and now I’m going to die, but it was still very nice.”

Luna laughed, all high and sweet. “You won’t die, Draco. At worst you’ll have to suffer through medication and being hand bathed by servants for another month. And George,” she leaned forward so she could stare George dead in the eye over Draco. She hummed before finishing her thought. “I could learn to do mechanics. It is, I think, a serious occupation. Should you ever be working on something, and find yourself in need of fresh perspective.”

George’s mouth quivered and he was blinking hard when he turned away. But he didn’t pull from Draco. If anything, he leaned in closer. Draco leaned back, as best he could without putting any strength behind it. With his other hand, he reached out for Luna, who easily let Draco interlace his fingers with her own. They sat together against the castle wars, having completely failed, and looking more than a little foolish for bothering to have tried. “I think we make a very good team.” George snorted and Luna laughed, and it was comfortable to be there, despite everything, as long as his friends were there with their good humor.

In the calm, without his friends for urgency driving Draco, he finally had the energy to ask, “The king left, and now Teddy, where did they go?”

The question broke whatever calm had settled between them. “Oh, Draco,” Luna said, at the same time George muttered, “Well, shit.”

There was a new twist in Draco’s gut. Something wild and ugly. “What’s wrong?”

But before either of his friends found the words, there was a new noise. Something rumbling just like the carriages from before. All three looked up to see what it was at the gates. Not carriages, but a dozen men on horses. The gates opened for them, and the band trotted onto the castle grounds, around the loop that circled the courtyard on the way to the grand entrance.

The riders could have passed the trio, but they couldn’t have missed seeing them. One rider in particular stopped short when he did. He stared at Draco and his friends on the ground and then nudged his horse in their direction.

“What’re you doing?” He called out, and while Draco couldn’t get a good luck at him from his angle he recognized Charlie’s voice.

George jeered at his older brother. “Oh, fuck off, we don’t want you sniffing around our business.”

Ignoring his brother, Charlie got off his horse and stalked over to Draco and his friends. Draco could see he looked tired and sweaty, he must have been riding far. “This is weird even for you, George. What are you and,” Charlie paused, spotting Draco who still couldn’t really move. Draco waved awkwardly, which didn’t reduce Charlie’s suspicion of the trio’s activity.

“What is the delay?” Asked another rider, who had followed Charlie off the path and was now getting off his own horse. He wore darker leathers, tailored well enough he must be an aristocrat, but well worn enough to show they were more for show. Draco didn’t recognize him until the man turned his dark eyes on Draco. The recognition was mutual. “I heard you were dying.”

“Any minute now, your majesty,” Draco answered, because he had never considered what would happen if he was found being so foolish by someone important. And really, what else could he say to Prince Viktor Krum?

Chapter Text

Listening to Charlie and Prince Viktor discuss who exactly would be charged with carrying Draco back into the castle had the distinct feeling of King Harry pointing out Draco had gone too far. Like, it was all well and good to be silly out on his family estate, or at a masquerade ball, but there came a point where the behavior did not translate to respectable society. And while the king had come around to Draco’s artistic vision, vis a vis Draco invading the king’s bedroom, Prince Viktor just kept staring at Draco with this little stress line in his forehead and Draco didn’t think they would reach agreement on this particular escapade. George was on his feet now, ready to justify their past choices anyway, but Prince Viktor just held out his arms and replied, “but the poor man can’t even walk.” Draco supposed, if you looked at it practically, that was true.

It felt a bit like Draco had been a misbehaving child and the adults were trying to decide how to clean up after him. Also, clearly the prince was here for a very important reason and stopping to handle this nonsense was a colossal waste of time. Draco wanted to be rid of them quite a lot. “We didn’t mean to disturb you. I swear, I’ll be fine, go about your business.”

Unbelievably, the stress line on the prince’s forehead deepened. “What would the king say if we did that? If I left you here and you were further injured, would he not blame me?” His tone was even when he said it, but his eyes stormed. The anger wasn’t exactly at Draco, but it also wasn’t exactly not. Prince Viktor snapped at the other horsemen. “Erik, Yuri, see Mr. Malfoy to his room.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” George hadn’t hesitated to step between Draco and Prince Viktor’s men. “You lugs aren’t going to lay a hand on him. I’ve got a way to transport him back inside the castle, go on your way and Luna and I will sort this out.”

Charlie stepped in to make peace. “This isn’t a fight, George, we’re all here to do the right thing. You want to get Draco somewhere safe, yeah?”

George nearly bared his teeth at the other new arrivals. “You sure the castle’s safe with them?”

Charlie slumped. “Goddamnit, George.”

Prince Viktor barely moved. The changes were nearly imperceptible. A tightened jaw. The deepening of that forehead crinkle. The vague suggestion that his hand moved closer to the hilt of his sword.

“I would appreciate your men’s assistance, your majesty.” Luna’s gentle voice cut through the tension. “We have the most effective chair for Draco, but it is too heavy for me to carry alone. Would your Erik and Yuri be able to assist me in retrieving it, while George stays here with Draco?”

The prince’s hand was on the bridge of his nose, frustrated but far from his sword hilt. “Yes, fine.” He said something in a foreign tongue, Draco assumed his native language of Durmian. Two men, presumably Eric and Yuri, stepped forward as commanded. “Meet us inside with this chair,” Prince Viktor ordered.

“Draco’s not going anywhere,” George started up again.

Charlie ignored his brother and stomped over to Draco. Charlie knelt down so he didn’t loom quite as far over the younger man. “Is it alright if I carry you?”

Draco had grown fond of laying still on the ground, if not of having so many people see him there. How much worse would the scandal be if he was seen carried into the castle by Charlie, arriving with the Durmstang prince? He had half a mind to say no, and Charlie must be able to tell.

“Hermione sent me to get them, Draco. They’re here to sign a treaty so we don’t go to war.”

“War?” Draco squeaked. He regretted it immediately because it was more humiliating than being seen outdoors in his bedclothes. His fashion was eccentric. His fear was cowardly. Draco cleared his throat, hoping it would clear out all his fear-inducing unanswered questions. “I’m not doing well. You’d have to hold me steady.”

“Steady I can do.” Charlie was as good as his word. After the initial jolt of being lifted, Charlie cradled Draco in his arms and it wasn’t so bad. Draco understood why both the King and Charlie had named Charlie the stronger of the two, back at the ball. Charlie’s arms were thick with muscle and under other circumstances it would probably feel good were they to be wrapped around one’s body. In this instance, Draco’s face burned from shame. The prince’s arrival had drawn attention, as had his pause to investigate Draco and his friends. There would be gossip, and Draco couldn’t guess what it would say. The stairs were harder on Draco, but Charlie was as gentle as he could be. The man hadn’t broken a sweat from the effort of carrying Draco, who hadn’t thought himself a small man. Draco almost regretted that he hadn’t liked him more. It would have been easier, to like this kind, attractive man. Probably King Harry had thought that too, at some point.

There were servants who opened the doors and greeted them. The prince announced clearly he had been invited by Hermione, likely trying to get ahead of statements too similar to George’s. Charlie, in his own practical way, gave the doorman specific instructions on which stable hands were to tend to the horses he’d left in the courtyard. They were Charlie’s, and he wouldn’t have the hard journey harm any of his beasts. Draco pinched him so he’d stop laying out instructions to relay to his staff, and instead find a place to put Draco down.

“Please can you see if Lady Hermione Granger is available,” Prince Viktor said to someone important. Draco didn’t catch who, only the pinched glance the prince threw at him as Charlie set him in a chair that may have been meant purely for decoration. “And perhaps Lady Tonks, if you please.”

Ah, he was calling in Draco’s aunt then. Appealing to higher powers. Of course, if Teddy had left Andromeda was sure to have gone with her, only…

“At once, your majesty,” the servant was saying. He wasted no time sending a footman to carry the message.

George crouched down by Draco, not unlike his brother had. “You feeling alright there?”

Draco tried, and failed, to smile reassuringly. “Right as rain.”

“Beautiful. Perfect.” George was bouncing on his heels, doing his best not to unravel in front of all the people. Draco couldn’t recall ever having seen him stressed like this before.

Draco asked back, slow and careful, “Everything alright?”

George’s eyes flickered to the servants close enough they might be able to hear. “Fit as a fiddle,” he assured. This time his eyes flickered the other direction, towards all the Durmstrang men who had taken off their outerwear and were very clearly soldiers. They wore light chainmail and an assortment of weapons. Certainly they were the prince’s escort, but this wasn’t standard travel attire even then.

This crossed a line in Draco’s mind and he finally had to ask. “George, what’s going on with the-”

“-the design for that chair?” George cut him off. It was crisp and deliberate, and only a bit frenzied. “You see, what I did there was add in shocks, like for a carriage. Still learning, mind you, and I could tell it was a bit rough. However, I think if I…” Draco didn’t actually listen to George’s overview of how he would adjust the mobile chair to be more comfortable during Draco’s recovery. He just met George’s hard gaze and got the message that there were things they weren’t supposed to say.

Which was just Draco’s luck, wasn’t it, to be caught up in what couldn’t be said. He should have asked sooner, but there’d been no time with the king, nor on his rushed journey with George and Luna through the castle, or even outside with the prince and his entourage and the tension tight as a noose between them. Maybe if he’d been able to work through the pain he would have had mind enough to chase down these details. For all the good Draco had been at playing games and building his few close friendships, he had never managed to get his head around the politics. And that’s what was here now. Different factions, playing games for higher stakes than Draco could understand.

Had they really meant war? They couldn’t have. The last war had just ended. The country had not yet recovered. They couldn’t be at risk again this soon. But the king had put back on his weapon, and his heir had been sent away. The risk could be real, and if it was, Draco had to figure out his part in all the politics so he could do everything in his power to stop it.

Then Hermione was there! And Aunt Andromeda! And, unfortunately, Dolores Umbridge.

Hermione didn’t hesitate to greet Prince Viktor exactly as one would greet an old friend. It lacked decorum, but did grant her a few seconds to be close enough to him to whisper. Prince Viktor responded as warmly, and spoke with the same booming voice he’d used before to declare how wonderful it was to see his old friend. Not a bit of it was insincere, but it all was an act that even Draco could tell was out of character. No one here could just say what they meant, because something was wrong.

With his one best guess, Draco pegged it on Dolores, who’s beady eyes were watching the younger people in front of her with predatory intensity.

Maybe she could feel Draco’s eyes, because at once she turned all her attention to him. He hissed in air at her hard, narrow eyes that missed nothing. She looked as if she had half a mind to come interrogate him, who knows what for, but at that moment the servants opened the front door again and this time it was Luna leading Erik and Yuri in with the chair.

“What is this?” Hermione didn’t have to feign her interest.

“Get it over here,” George commanded, suddenly back on his feet.

“Draco!” Andromeda gasped, truly only just noticing him. “Whatever are you doing out of bed?”

It was a fair question, and one the gossip mill would delight in spinning answers to. All he could think to do was give them the truth to consider. “I was hoping to see Teddy.”

“Teddy?” If he hadn’t grown to know Andromeda these last three years he would not have spotted all the ways she made that one word a question. Draco had the intense feeling that she simply knew what Draco had meant, and her answer was to Draco’s true question of where Teddy had been sent away to. “He’s upstairs in our suite. If you’re well enough, you can see him now.” She pursed her lips in the end, a sign or instruction that Draco should ask no more on the subject. Not in front of all these people

Draco’s eyes widened but otherwise he held his questions in. He burned to know what George had heard that was no longer true, but Dolores was watching him. The servants were watching him. Hell, Prince Viktor’s guards were watching him. He had no idea who he could trust.

So he said, “I’d like that, thank you.”

Then, in front of everyone, Prince Viktor pitched his voice kindly and suggested, “Why don’t Erik and Yuri take you to Andromeda’s rooms?” In principal the same demand he’d made before, but in this space not even George would fight him on it.

“Thank you,” Draco gritted through his response. He let George and Charlie ease him back into the chair. The prince’s men did not rush half so recklessly through the castle and it was no struggle for George and Luna to stay beside them on the way. The soldiers did struggle with the stairs, but George lent his support and together they all got Draco up two flights while seated. His escorts took him right to the door of Andromeda’s rooms and knocked to request Draco’s admittance. They didn’t let George and Luna through.

Draco grabbed at George’s arm to stop him from arguing. Who knew what this was about, or what it meant.

Draco only knew what the prince had said. King Harry would blame Prince Viktor if anything happened to Draco. If that were true… Draco didn’t want to think too hard about what it would mean if that were true. Questions might bubble out of him that no one would be there to answer. Or worse, Draco would see on his friends’ faces they knew all the answers but they didn’t dare say them.

Draco had to believe answers would come later. He had to believe it.

It was easier to believe when there were more than the questions filling his mind, and just then there was.

Teddy was there, right there, dressed in his undergarments and munching on crackers. He looked up at Draco and shouted. “Draco! Draco! Draco!” It may have hurt when Teddy climbed up onto Draco’s chair, but who cared. Not Draco. He cared for nothing but the soft chubby arms gripping him. This child was love personified, and Draco could be patient and stay out of trouble if that was the part he had to play to keep Teddy and everyone else he loved safe.

Chapter Text

Draco wasn’t dying.

Sure, he still felt like shit, but after two days of nearly constant sleep, and an inspection by Cousin Xeno and the castle surgeon, the consensus was he would live. The surgeon had sterner words than Xeno about not galavanting all over the place, which carried the risk of pulling open internal things that may not have healed. Xeno wasn’t stern, but he did slip into his pronouncement that the prince had words with Draco’s mother and both of them agreed that assigning guards to his door was for the best. What sort of guards? The sort that kept out anyone his mother didn’t trust to look after Draco’s health.

It was a tad bit anticlimactic, not dying. It robbed being wounded of flair. Draco would just go on slowly healing, measuring progress by whether he could pull himself out of bed on his own to relieve himself. George would find that funny, at least, but he wasn’t allowed to visit.

Teddy visited, thank god, as did Draco’s mother. They offered equal news from the outside world, for their own individual reasons. Truly, Teddy often shared more. Sometimes Draco begged his mother to tell him what was happening. What was wrong. Why was the prince there, where had the king gone, and what was the threat of war. His mother soothed him and assured him all was well, the king was addressing it. She had told Draco the same lies in his youth, when it was King Voldermort in peril. Or causing peril.

Mostly Draco rested. He hated that he needed it. So much was happening out beyond the walls, but all he could do was give in to his sagging eyes and succumb to unconsciousness.

It wasn’t so different from the early days of his new life. He had hated being obsolete then as well. He hadn’t realized when he’d carved his way into purpose and power in this new life. That was silly of him, since everyone else had. Perhaps he couldn’t see it because it was power built upon trust and caring. In doing so, he allowed other people to care back, until he was surrounded by people who loved him and wanted him at their side. He’d never seen anyone do that before and didn’t recognize it in his own actions. It was foolish to have been given a second chance and to take it all for granted. He hadn’t thought he was taking it for granted.

Draco hadn’t been old enough, back then, to really matter in the war. His father had ensured he’d never be sent to battle. There had been an attempt to train him in strategy under the assumption that he’d eventually stand at his father’s side in directing armies. It didn’t matter that their kingdom hadn’t survived long enough for Draco to lead it, he’d still always known he would, and he had lorded that fact over others. He was in a perpetual state of youthful indiscretion, but with enough power that no one told him to stop. He could see now that all the games he’d played in his youth had been petty and unimportant, but they’d been important to him, and he’d been in the center of everything. It felt natural, like breathing.

Draco remembered now, stuck in his room, that it wasn’t his place to be important. It was no longer his place to be in the middle of the kingdom’s grand decisions. That future was stripped from him. He could be bold and flamboyant behind a mask. He could be silly and bombastic with children. When he acted that way in the real world, with the courtiers and the kingdoms’ overseers, all the people wiser than him chided his actions. After all, where had his recklessness gotten him? Stabbed, and stuck in this bed, while the people who really mattered were out there, knowing what was happening, and he could only hope they were making the right decisions.

He half imagined climbing out of his bed and crawling from the room with a righteous determination to know for certain the right things were being done. Even if his body could handle that, he’d have to get past his mother and the guards she’d set on him to stop him. He’d have to face how, if he arrived, everyone there would see his actions as foolish. Anger simmered inside him at the barriers he could not break through.

There was a war inside of him. He had no power, he was physically restrained, but the people he loved were at risk. How could he do nothing? How could he lay in his bed, smothered in ignorance, and not go mad?

So he’d beg his mother for news. Surely she knew something she wouldn’t say. If she did, her lips were sealed.

She was so fond of her mantras. All would be well, she said. The king would handle it.

“Handle it like Voldermort did?” The words just bubbled out of Draco, from a well of resentment so deep he’d forgotten it lurked inside him.

Narcissa’s soft concern didn’t falter. She had withstood harsher men than Draco. “Hush, dear. You must focus on getting better.”

She’d said it too many times that it no longer rang true. “What good is getting better when the next person comes to kill me?” He couldn't tell if he was angry at King Harry who had slashed him, or Colton who’d stabbed deepest, or some third party who’d hurt him the most.

“We are safe here, the king and his advisors will keep us safe.”

Those were words from his childhood that now stung like barbs. “Like Father kept us safe?” His father had promised that if they only were obedient the king would keep them safe. He’d promised it, and Draco had turned away from the gruesome reality of court because he believed by doing so such horrors would never touch him. His own cowardice disgusted him and fueled his anger more.

Draco’s mother didn’t flinch from Draco’s anger. She was implacable. “King Harry was strong enough to defeat King Voldermort, he is strong enough to protect this country.”

“How do you know?” Draco demanded. “Didn’t you think Voldemort strong, before? Do you believe these things or are they excuses and lies?”

Nothing changed on Narcissa’s face, but something flared behind her eyes. “We must believe it. It is our role to believe it. When we believe in them we make them stronger. They need us.”

“But they were wrong!” Draco shouted. It had been years since he shouted at his mother. Not since he was a spoiled child who didn’t understand what real anger was. It tore from his chest and once loose he couldn’t stop it. “Father was wrong! King Voldermort was wrong! You were wrong! We were facing ruin, all of us, and they needed someone to tell them to stop.”

“Some things can’t be stopped.” Narcissa’s wide eyes was the only crack in her poise. “We cannot all be the great men in power. For the rest of us, our strength is in having faith. When we have faith in those we serve we make them stronger.”

“Faith?” Draco barked. “Faith in what? A sadistic madman, or the fool who thought he could benefit from the pain Voldermort inflicted?”

This time Narcissa closed her eyes so Draco couldn’t see what lay in their depths. “Lucious did the best he could,” she insisted.

“It wasn’t good enough!” So what if Draco sounded like a child when he said it. He had been a child and his parents had failed him. “How could that be his best? You were there, mother, you saw it. Was that our best? Is that what we are? How do you put your faith in that?”

“They are dead!” Narcissa finally shouted. “They are dead. It is done. We must move forward. We live by the grace of the king, and we must trust in him.”

“But what if he’s wrong!” Draco couldn’t help but ask. “Voldermort was wrong, and you followed him. King Harry isn’t someone special. He’s just a man. Honestly, a fairly angry and impulsive man. He doesn’t even know who to trust. He put Slughorn in charge of his money, and look where that got him. Trusting him is foolish. Stowing away in this room is foolish. Anything could happen while we sit in here and we’re not doing anything about it.” Draco’s lungs burned from shouting and he had to heave for air. He was trapped. This room was a trap. The life, cast out of the power and influence the Malfoy’s once held was a trap.

“Oh, Draco,” Narcissa leaned forward to cup his face. “I thought you had learned. It is not your place to interfere with the work of lords and kings.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut to block out tears. It was true, Draco was no one, but when had that stopped him? “You never taught me to learn my place.”

Narcissa rubbed an escaped tear off Draco’s cheek. “I did the best I could.” There was no repentance. His mother had lost her kingdom and her husband, and still she wasn’t sorry. She would bend and beg to save her son, because she loved him more than herself, but that was as far as her penance went. Draco had thought his resentment ran deep, but he saw now that his mother kept hers deep in her heart. Narcissa didn’t lash out like Draco. She planted her anger in the ground and grew poison. She stored her rage so it would always be with her. Narcissa may play house with her sister and great-nephew, but it had not healed what severed when her side had lost. Just as much as Draco, in her heart, she was meant to be great. She was still the beautiful girl who’d risen above all to capture the heart of a duke. She was the lady of court, who commanded her peers because King Voldermort couldn’t keep a queen alive. She had chosen, just as clearly as Draco’s father, to wield power, and her tool had been making others believe in powerful, foolish men. All the grace and fortitude could not hide it from Draco now. He could yell, and cry, and beg, and his mother would never be sorry that she had chosen greatness over being good.

No wonder her best had not been good enough. Narcissa could not teach Draco to settle because she would not dream of Draco as anything less than his full potential. She only found joy when he thrived. She only looked herself back in the castle where she belonged.

For all Draco loved her, he couldn’t restrain his rage. It wasn’t all for her, but his father was dead and couldn’t face Draco’s anger himself. Draco’s parents had betrayed him. They had promised he would be safe if he only complied. They had asked Draco not to worry, not to speak out. He had listened to them. Look where that got him. They had lost, they had failed, and they weren’t even sorry. Lucius had kneeled before the executioner without letting go of his pride.

Draco didn’t want to be that way. He didn’t want to need that power. He didn’t want to yearn for it. He just wanted to be safe, with all of his friends and family, and feel like all those lords and kings in power would protect them. And right now something was wrong. It wasn’t in him to stay silent and just have faith. It wasn’t in him to be obedient.

Maybe his mother would never understand. Maybe loving Draco was the best she could do. But she wanted him to be great, and Draco could work with that. After all, there was no greatness to be had hiding away in this room.

Chapter Text

Sleep had dulled his anger, but not by much. Which was helpful, because Draco was a certain kind of stubborn when angry. It helped him wake before first light and prepare for the day. He’d mastered how to push up out of bed and walk around his room, even if it sapped his energy. Not so much that he couldn’t move to a chair near a wash basin. It took more work to scrub himself, but he was determined not to have a repeat of being told he stank. He might have chosen to don easier clothes, but today wasn’t going to be easy and he saw no need to try to make it otherwise.

Preparations for the equinox ball always started with the outfit. There was a confidence that came out when Draco knew he was exactly how he ought to be. So he didn’t pull on his best outfit, that one the king had made for Draco to watch Teddy at that party. He took out the clothes he liked best. The ones he’d made by hand, that blended old styles with new, into something unexpected. The waistcoat was sky blue because it brought color to Draco’s gray eyes, and he’d embroidered water flowers along it, like what he’d seen in the fountain at the center of the troll’s maze.

Draco hadn’t been meant to go to the balls, but he found a way. Once he had the invitation in his hand he had never questioned his ability to do so. He harnessed that confidence. Percy hadn’t doubted him, when Percy came to him for help getting into the castle. Draco tried to find the faith Percy had put in him. He’d found his fighting spirit enough the day before to convince his mother to let him try - after all, failure meant nothing when they’d already sunk so low. Voldermort may have killed people for less than their presumptuousness, but King Harry and his followers would hardly do more than send Draco to his room. Narcissa had already put Draco there, and it was either believe in himself or never get out.

His mother arrived right as Draco donned his suit coat. She dressed very fine today, too. She agreed to help because in her heart she did not want to see Draco settle, because she didn’t want to settle. And if Draco failed it only meant she’d be given the chance to say she’d been right. That wasn’t so hard a consolation.

George had left Draco the mobile chair, and his mother could push him in it. Yuri and Erik still waited outside Draco’s door, but were unprepared to stop Draco from leaving. There was a scramble in their wake. Short, foreign words exchanged between the men. Then one of the two jogged after the Malfoys in order to firmly request to push the chair on Narcissa’s behalf. Of course she let him, with only the most gracious, “Thank you, Yuri.” He didn’t look half as awkward as she had behind the chair, whereas Narcissa was given the chance to walk in front of the procession with the air of a duchess.

When they descended two staircases Draco rose to his feet. He gripped a rail on one side and Yuri on the other. It was true, going down was easier than going up, but he was still thankful to have Yuri able to run back up the stairs and carry the chair back down.

They had just a moment alone together. “Is it odd that he’s following us?”

Narcissa shrugged. “They said the prince ordered them to keep you alive. I imagine they are worried you will fall and break your neck on the stairs.”

Draco remembered Prince Viktor’s concern. Not for Draco’s welfare, but that the king might cast blame if Draco did end up injured.

Then Yuri was back with the chair and there was no time to discuss it further. There was really no saying where the important people of the castle were, so Draco had his mother take him to the Hogsmeade Chamber. There was always something going on there. None of the people they passed stopped or questioned them as they made their way to the reception room outside all of the places the king used for his official business.

There was some other man, not Dennis who had stopped Draco last time. This was good. Dennis had been quite firm. This new man was younger, maybe even younger than Draco, and already flustered by the day. This one took in the arrivals with big eyes and forgot to demand whether any of them were on the schedule. He looked half ready to be knocked over by a soft breeze.

Draco had been so good at jumping into the action at the balls. If this were a ball, and not a matter of state, he would do something bold. Bold like standing up out of the chair and stepping in front of his mother. Bold as in drawling out words even if he didn’t know the meaning to them, because what if it worked.

“I’m here for the meeting.” Draco said with confidence. He said it like he was bored, like he’d rather be somewhere else.

The young man scrambled for his notes. They were in disarray, with so many details scratched out and scribbled over that Draco couldn’t even spy and read upside down to guess what was meant to happen. “Which meeting?” he didn’t seem to know what paper to look at and was seeking guidance from Draco, as if he might actually help.

Draco felt sorry for the man. If Luna or George were here maybe they could have charmed him, but Draco’s power was of a different sort. “How many meetings are there? The king said to come to the meeting and I am here.” The king thought Draco a bad liar, but this poor man couldn’t see through Draco’s charade.

The man finally found the paper he was looking for. He held it out to Draco for confirmation it was the right one. “You’re here for the Small Council meeting?” the man asked. If Draco squinted, it almost looked like that was what had been scribbled into the margins of the paper.

“Exactly.”

And somehow he was let in.

He had thought the Hogsmeade Chamber cavernous, but it wasn’t big enough to share with Dolores Umbridge. She had sat herself at the head of the table, with the man who must be Cornelius Fudge on her right. An odd arrangement, seeing how it was Fudge who chaired the Council.

More astonishing was the only other person in the room was Percy, who had seated himself a few chairs further away, not quite across from Fudge. In front of him was a stack of tidy papers that Draco was sure had been fastidiously prepared. This was in stark contrast to Percy himself, who Draco had not seen this disheveled since Draco had first arrived at his family’s house during the pox. Draco had half a mind to send his mother for a comb so he could fix poor Percy’s hair.

The moment passed when Umbridge locked eyes on Draco the moment he stepped into the room. She had a knack for narrowing her eyes while maintaining her toad-like smile. “What brings you, Mr. Malfoy?” It wasn’t so big a room that her voice couldn’t boom through it.

Draco stopped in his tracks. His facade nearly cracked. She knew he didn’t belong and he wouldn’t be able to fool her. Why had he thought this would work? Of course it wouldn’t work. Bravado was enough for silly games, but not enough to break into a small council meeting with the kingdom’s most important leaders. He could feel the lie of it caught in his throat, and when he said it the king’s declaration that he was a bad liar would be true. Everyone would hear the falsehood and he’d be sent back out to his mother and Prince Viktor’s soldier and all of this would be for nothing.

It was the young man who saved him. “Mr. Malfoy is here at the request of the king, ma’am.” The man had tried to project certainty, which had the odd effect of reminding Draco you could be certain about anything. Unfortunately, by stepping up between Draco and Umbridge, the man had put himself in the limelight and suddenly faced the full force of Umbridge’s beady glare.

“What are you doing back in here? Didn’t I tell you to stay in your place.” Umbridge lashed out. The young man shrunk back at once. His frazzled nerves made more sense if he’d been at the mercy of Umbridge all morning. The man muttered some sort of apology then rushed back out of the room, closing the doors as he went. Draco looked after him, thinking that he must find a way to show his thanks in the future, and to apologize for catching the poor man in his lies.

Draco also caught one last glimpse of his mother between the closing doors. She was still in the reception hall, not having tried to follow Draco. Her smile was small but fierce. She had seen what Draco had done. He had gotten in. He had dared to do the impossible, and it had worked.

Then the door was closed, and he had to keep up the game.

He made the long walk around the table. It was grueling. It would have been easier if he dared use the wall or the chair backs as a crutch, but he knew Umbridge wouldn’t miss the sign of weakness. It was only a matter of time before she turned her sharp gaze back to him and began again to question.

Thankfully, Umbridge had other things on her mind. “We are not properly educating the youth,” she grumbled, her eyes still glaring after the young man who’d run off. “They think too much for themselves. Thought leads to questioning authority, which is the first step toward anarchy.”

Ah. What would she think of Draco, if she knew? Draco thought it best not to push the issue. Miracle of miracles, Draco reached the chair next to Percy, kiddy corner to Fudge, and mostly managed not to collapse when he sat in it.

Percy, bless him, was all nerves. Draco could tell he had wanted to get up, probably wanted to hug Draco and ask all about how he was feeling. It was clear Percy noticed Draco’s strain. Draco’s friend clearly wanted to act friendly, but was too frazzled by whatever reason he was here, which was certainly exasperated by all the ways he didn’t think he was making a good impression. Draco reached out to squeeze Percy’s arm, hoping he wasn’t overstepping in the moment.

“That’s right, you two are friends.” Umbridge’s attention had returned. It creeped over Draco like spiders and he stood stock still so as not to shiver.

What would Draco do if this was a game? What if this was just another equinox ball and there was no question in his heart he belonged?

He would turn and face the overseer with a knowing smile. He would examine her, see her pink, frilly dress, and the elaborate black bow tying back her hair and would know she was trying too hard to project an image. He would notice the tension in her fingers before her false smile and know she wasn’t at ease. But would he challenge her? This squat little woman who judged everyone and thought she knew best. She wanted to control the room, likely the small council, possibly the kingdom. She came from such lowly origins and Draco could admire the tenacity of her accent. But she had cowed the young man, and Percy was scared to even greet Draco in her company.

Would he challenge her? He could. He was so very good at identifying the insecurities that could wound a person. He could do that now, in front of witnesses, with the presumed authority of the king.

Only that was not what Draco would do, at a ball. Draco never hurt anyone. Not even Colton, when he ran off to win the game. No, at a ball… Draco was his best self. He supported the people around him.

Draco softened his smile to something less pointed. “Yes, Percy is a true friend. To me, and the king.”

For the first time Fudge spoke. “He’s loyal, I’ll give him that.” He said it like Percy wasn’t there in the room. “Only it’s been such a bother, changing how we review the financials.”

Draco looked to his friend. “You’re making changes, then?”

Fudge said again, “It’s been such a bother. Really, we ought to go back to how it was before.”

Draco turned back in time to see Umbridge nodding. “Quite. There is so much turmoil at hand. Traditions provide a sense of continuity and stability in an ever-changing world.”

“King Harry-” Percy was cut off before he could properly speak.

“The previous financial guidance was designed to instill the values and knowledge that are crucial for a well-ordered society. There is no need for innovation.” Umbridge said it like it was a dirty word.

“But I’ve prepared-”

Umbridge did something that may have been too ladylike to be called a snort, but Draco doubted it. “I say, it is time for the meeting to start. Cornelius, call us to order so we can be done with this nonsense.”

“Aren’t we waiting for-” Draco admired how hard Percy was trying. It was wearing on him, but he still tried.

“Punctuality is a virtue, Mr. Weasley. Those who lack it lack respect for our very institution.” Draco glanced at the clock and realized it was a minute pass, actually. They were no longer punctual. But Fudge didn’t seem inclined to interrupt Umbridge, even to follow her directions to him.

At a ball, Draco would seize this opportunity. He would do… something. He would distract.

“Oh, Overseer Umbridge, I cannot express how much it delights me to hear you say that.” Draco was laying it on a bit thick and he didn’t know if that was helping or hurting him on the sincerity front. He continued so no one would have the chance to dwell. “My mother spent years trying to instill that lesson into me. I dare say, I did not do her proud. It was not until my most humbling subjugation that I reflected on my sins and grew to understand the error of my ways. If only my dear mother had better guidance she may have been able to teach me sooner. What, oh my would it be too forward to ask? But surely you would know, what should she have done when faced with such a willful child?” It wasn’t Draco’s best speech but he took an awful long time saying it. Each second that ticked by gave Percy a chance to do… whatever. Something financial, which was going to be awful, but more awful still if these old bats had their way.

The speech had been over the top. Too over the top. Obviously, insincerely over the top. But it was a trap too well laid for Umbridge. Her eyes shined with the victory of being better than a duchess. “Hem hem,” she started. Draco forced himself to at least act attentive, but the following diatribe about discipline and punishment was painful to hear. She had wanted to put Percy’s kids in a school like that. The sweet and kind Molly and Lucy. She would have tortured them.

What would the masquerade Draco do? Well, he’d be in disguise, so maybe he could get away with killing her.

No. No. That was bad. Draco didn’t kill people. Probably. He hadn’t actually asked anyone what happened to Colton after Draco sliced him with that knife. However, thinking about Colton slowly succumbing to poison and finding death only after excruciating pain was enough to sink any thoughts of murder. He didn’t want… he didn’t want to have had… Fuck, Umbridge must not be watching him because he couldn’t keep the false smile on his face while contemplating being responsible for even scum like Colton’s death.

Umbridge was on a roll now. She was caught up in hearing herself speak. It was awful. It was helpful. It ate up time.

Enough time for the chamber doors to swing back open, and for Ron, Hermione, and Andromeda to walk in.

Chapter Text

Ron walked around the table, passing behind his brother with a simple, “Percy” then behind Draco with a quick squeeze on Draco’s shoulder that could have been encouraging, or threatening. He was dressed in his formal red uniform, complete with medallion that marked him Overseer of Military Affairs. It added a level of gravity to his presence that completely overshadowed the jovial man Draco knew him as. He took the seat directly across from Fudge, directly to Draco’s right. “Apologies for arriving late. What have I missed?” There was nothing friendly in his terse smile.

The battle of wills that raged between the three overseers played out silently. It was all Umbridge and her beady eyes, and Fudge with a nearly quivering lower lip. This portly little man with ruffled gray hair did not look prepared to mediate the conflict brewing in front of him. Especially not when Draco’s aunt sat to his other side, with Hermione beside her. Fudge glanced form left to right, with a sort of sharp fear that may have come from knowing everyone thought they could do his job better.

Fudge cleared his throat and tried to project competence. “You arrived just in time. I formally call this meeting of the Small Council to order, for the purpose of reviewing programs to cut due to the king’s lost funds.”

Only this did not inspire confidence. The room immediately devolved into bickering over the agenda.

Ron said, “You said we could discuss the treaty.”

Hermione said, “You can’t cut his programs the moment Harry leaves.”

Percy said, “The king requested different reports.”

Draco said, “This must be the most Weasleys ever to attend a Small Council meeting. Thank goodness I’m here, Overseer Fudge, I can help you balance this conversation out.”

Fudge stared wide eyed at Draco as if Draco had cast him a lifeline. The elder man cleared his throat a little. “No need, Mr. Malfoy. I chair this council and the agenda has been set. In fact, Dolores and I have decided to approve our previous course of action-”

“Ah! You’ve already identified potential cuts,” Draco chimed in. He made himself sound excited even though they were talking about programs and financials and neither of those things were exciting.

Umbridge reasserted herself with that same booming voice from before. There were only six people with her and she didn’t have to speak so loud, but maybe she wanted to assert herself and intimidate those around her. “The king agreed, if he could not make his programs sustainable, he would stop wasting our country’s money on poorly constructed charities. His leadership on these has been a disaster, and it’s time to bring them to an end. Especially with the Durmstrang army at our door.”

So much to unpack, and also so much to skip over. Unless you were Ron, who went at his fellow overseers head on. “The western mountains is hardly at our door, Dolores. And you well know, if we took the time to review the treaty we could assure the Durmstrang army would disperse.”

Draco could see Umbridge just waiting to wade into this argument so he spoke up first. “Ron, I mean Overseer Weasley,” Draco put a hand on Ron’s nearest arm and squeezed, possibly reassuring, absolutely not intimidating. Maybe hard enough to get him to listen. “You are being disrespectful to Overseer Fudge. He already set the agenda. Right now we’re talking about cutting money to, I don’t know, charities. I’m sure Percy has a report that will outline all the money we’re spending on,” Draco vaguely remembered a masquerade conversation in the library, “feeding the poor. And other things poor people may require. Percy, could you please pass your reports out? Overseer Weasley, there will be a lot of numbers on yours but don’t worry, I will be here to explain it to you and I’m sure Overseer Fudge’s decision will make perfect sense in the end.” This might have been one of those too far moments, but as Draco expected, insulting Ron made Umbridge smile.

Ron looked angry. It wasn’t the sneaky kind of anger, like when Draco was rude to Hermione and Ron decided on revenge. It was real anger. The scary sort. Like, if Draco were lucky, Ron would just throw him out of the room instead of pummeling him. That would be as unhelpful as trying to change a small council decision with brute force when you were outvoted two to one. Where were the other overseers? The king had more friends than this, but maybe they were off on the same mission he was. So Draco did something drastic. He pinched Ron. With just as much force as Hermione had used back at the king’s birthday party every time Draco tried to fuck up the politics. Ron winced, and it was probably just the shock of it, but he shut up.

At least long enough for Andromeda to finally speak. “Percy, I will take that report now.” She spoke with an innate authority that gave credence to Draco’s suggestion that he could not have mustered for himself. Which bought them enough time for Percy to in fact hand out the reports.

It was so many pages of reports. Percy wrote the numbers very tidy and very small. He had so many copies, mostly in his own hand. He must have stayed up all night making them that he didn’t even have time to properly dress. Draco hoped to god that whatever was in them was important because else he would never forgive Percy for treating himself so poorly, or himself for buying Percy the space to lecture him about budgets.

“First of all, I found all the money former Overseer Slughorn stole.” Percy said this primly, and not at all pointed at any individual overseer. “And as you’ll see in pages seven to twenty three, I have devised a plan to audit all departments to assure there are no other instances of mismanagement of funds, and to identify potential inefficiencies in process that can be streamlined in order to identify savings.”

This was as impressive as it was unwelcome. “Young man, we are not here to discuss auditing,” Fudge warned.

Percy wasn’t one to smile if he didn’t mean it so he could only stare all stern and serious. It wasn’t a good look on him, and the pinched shape it created was unfamiliar. Percy was never stern at home. “Of course, sir. You are seeking to eliminate the king’s social programs. If you look at pages thirty to thirty seven,” fuck, how many pages were there, “You’ll see the king’s proposal to eliminate the current funding model for these programs, as agreed to by the Small Council-”

“Excellent,” Umbridge said with relish.

“-and then replace the funding stream with savings from our audit program. You’ll see how funding for the next three months has already been identified from our initial audit findings of the transportation programs. Overseer McGonagall was more than willing to participate in my review.”

Umbridge’s face was nearly as pink as her puffy dress. She was sputtering, looking for the words to express her anger.

Draco was quicker. “I, for one, would love to hear all about Overseer McGonagall’s inefficient programs. Percy, could you walk us through the mismanagement you discovered?”

Hermione may or may not have squawked at that, but she didn’t have a vote and didn’t matter. Fudge was riveted by the idea. He was the sort who could better manage his insecurities by finding the flaws in others. He listened in depth (unlike Draco, who bravely did not cup his ears to keep out Percy’s explanation). It must have taken an hour, and if Draco was willing he would have learned something. It kept dragging on because people kept asking questions. Mostly Fudge, but even Ron got in on it, and then Hermione found herself entranced. Something about inventory storage and redundancy in processes, and perhaps Percy even did a monologue on tariffs.

Fudge was nodding now. He was excited. Draco’s plan, such as it was, had worked. It had actually worked!

Umbridge’s pink face had long since turned red as she realized she was losing. “We cannot use this money on useless programs that encourage slovenly behavior in our kingdom! Cornelius, let’s allocate these revenues to our national defense to dissuade Durmstrang from invading.”

That, Draco had questions on. What the fuck was happening with Durmstrang?

“We have a treaty!” Ron all but bellowed. Apparently, a treaty was what was going on with Durmstrang. “Harry is on his way back to sign it tonight. Your review and approval is a courtesy, he can sign it with or without you.”

Oh, that was good! The king would just sign the treaty, and then no one would invade anyone, and Draco would have plenty of time to ask Percy, and Ron, and everyone else what had almost happened…

“He’ll sign the treaty and marry Prince Viktor, and the king of Durmstrang will agree to peace.”

Chapter Text

Yeah. So. That went great.

It was like some big puzzle made just for Draco to solve and he totally did it. Just like he knew he could.

Like, everyone in the end was so glad he was there. Andromeda said nice things and told him she was proud of him, because he was so clever and turns out she had a soft spot for manipulating shitty people.

Everyone was celebrating his brilliance and quick thinking, and he wasn’t even wearing a mask.

Draco was back in the mobile chair, off in one of the drawing rooms, filled with cheerful Weasleys and the Black family’s relatives, and he was totally as happy as everyone else here because they’d totally won. Plus, Percy was being recognized as a financial hero, and there wasn’t going to be any war, and it was all so, so great.

Fucking wonderful.

The king was going to be back any moment, all the way from the western boarder where he’d been organizing and encouraging his fucking army that had legit been summoned because maybe their country was about to be invaded. Not for a good reason, just Durmstrang had some shitty people too, and they’d been waiting for King Harry to do something that made himself vulnerable, like apparently be financially irresponsible and arrest his own overseer for treason.

So, yeah, like it was a big fucking deal. Such a big deal. It would be totally selfish and short sided to in any way fuck with solving this magnitude of a deal.

But it was better now. The good guys had fixed it. Hermione, with her smart brain, made a secret deal with Prince Viktor, and together they finalized what they’d already been planning to have happen - a political marriage.

That was. Yeah. That was great. Really great. It would, ya know, solve all of King Harry’s problems. Draco was totally… well, everyone was happy for King Harry.

So fucking happy. Draco’s smile was happy. He was just overwhelmed with happiness. That’s why he wasn’t talking. That’s why he clung to the drink George had slipped him and didn’t dare actually drink any of it, because he didn’t want to loosen his lips and be too loud with his happiness.

In a matter of weeks, the king would be married, and Prince Viktor would live here in the castle with him, and they’d share the room Draco had decorated with all of those pictures drawn by Draco and the king’s chosen family and Prince Viktor would probably like it. After all, under the king’s gruff exterior was a man who embraced silliness and held family above all. Prince Viktor probably had similarly hidden depths. King Harry would discover them, when they were married, and happy.

Fuck, it was kind of hot in there. Draco was sweating and probably gross. He couldn’t get up and take his coat off because he also was in no small amount of pain after he’d pushed himself too hard again, but he didn’t want to leave because everyone was here. Well, Teddy was in bed, and the Weasleys had sent all their children back to their ancestral home in case the kingdom was invaded since the castle would be the first target and it felt safer to get the kids away. Plus, apparently they’d be able to summon, like, a huge army to defend it, because there were just loads of people in the midlands who loved either the Weasleys or King Harry or both. Only, they wouldn’t have to, which was just another reason to be happy.

Yeah.

So.

Yeah.

Draco certainly wasn’t thinking about anything but all the happy things. He didn’t dare question… anything. Not… Not…

There was a rattle at the door.

Why the hell did Draco’s heart leap when King Harry walked in? He was disheveled, like always. His waistcoat was unbuttoned and you could see how he’d sweated through his shirt. He wore buckskins instead of proper trousers, and muddy soldier boots instead of proper shoes. His face was marred by the scratching of a beard he should have been rid of days ago, and his hair… he never could manage to do anything right with his hair. He was sloppy, and flushed with the exertion of rushing here, and not at all what Draco should have found appealing.

Maybe it was an excitement shared by the rest of the party. They were still jubilant from success. It was the sort of cheer brought on by relief that the completely certain horrid thing wouldn’t actually come to pass.

It had to be that. Draco absolutely willed it to be that. His quickening pulse did not pound harder than anyone else’s. Because he could not possibly let it be anything more. It certainly was not from the knowledge of what it felt like to have the king’s strong arms wrap around you, or the gentleness with which the king could lay his forehead on your brow.

“You want to get out of here?” It was George, right at Draco’s side.

Draco hadn’t seen him because he couldn’t see anything but King Harry. The king was being greeted by a small horde, and he mostly looked happy to see them, even if his eyes kept glancing for something else. Certainly not Draco - even though the king’s eyes stopped moving once they spotted the younger man, sat prone in his chair. Draco couldn’t read the king’s expression. Something sorrowful. Something fierce. Something in his eyes that may have been pleading, but god knows what for. He was being hugged by everyone, but he pulled himself out of their grasp so he could reach one person. “Hermione, we need to talk.”

Hermione, not Draco. It must be about the treaty then. Maybe the king wanted to know if Hermione had to pay Prince Viktor to marry him, after all.

Draco gulped. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

George took the still full glass out of Draco’s hands and set it aside before maneuvering the chair out a side door. “To your room, or somewhere else?”

Even the idea of being stuck back in that room made Draco light headed. “Can we get some fresh air?”

It was good it was George, because anyone else would have questioned the wisdom of that decision, whereas George just found a way outside. This exit was a quick thing. As a child Draco would run out this way, with a servant following in his heels, desperate to keep mud off his fancy clothes before his parents saw. They didn’t have to tackle stairs to get outside, but the door was too narrow for Draco’s chair so he had to stand up and walk. George and Draco sat down on the top of the stairway that led from the exit down to a walking path that would take you to walking gardens or the stables. Draco leaned against the stair railing and looked out at the grounds, lit up with lanterns so you could find your way in the darkening twilight. It didn’t look any different than it had in his childhood. The only thing that had changed was him.

“It’s strange to be back.”

George hummed thoughtfully. “You spend a lot of time here, then?”

“Most my life,” Draco admitted.

It felt different, saying these things out here in the dark. Maybe that’s why George came out and asked, “Did you think you’d get to come back here? You know, with Harry?”

It was getting dark now and Draco kept his eyes peeled for the first star in the sky. It gave him something to look at and he could tell himself his eyes were scratchy from the strain. It also meant he didn’t have to look at George. “You were the one who told me, don’t be one of his pretty boys. It was never going to go anywhere” He wasn’t used to blending the equinox world with his real world. It still felt like two different lives.

George’s sigh was heavy. He wrapped his arms around his legs and pulled them in tight. He followed Draco’s gaze and looked upwards. “You’re the one who always says those balls are magic. Maybe something magical happened there for you.”

Draco took in George’s words as full darkness settled over them. The lanterns flickered on land like stars up in the sky but they weren’t close enough to make the pair more than shadows. That was good, because a shadow couldn’t ache at the idea of having lost something.

“Can you believe I thought maybe it had?” Draco asked. “Like, maybe I had done enough, and now I could be just as powerful and important as before. Damn my pride, but I wanted to be as important here as I could be at those damn balls.”

George nudged his friend. “You’re important, Draco.”

Draco didn’t accept the comfort. “I can bamboozle a bully for a day, or charm a king for the night, but it won’t work again tomorrow.” Draco laughed and it sounded hollow. “I’m always caught up in my own head, I miss the bigger picture everyone else is facing. Did you know Charley lectured me on how poor people didn’t have food? I thought mother and I had fallen as far as was possible, but we never even considered what it would be like to starve.”

“Pain is not a competition, Draco.” George scolded gently.

Draco needed George to understand. “You lost people, in the war?” he asked. George said nothing. “You never talk about it. But I know you did.” The nothing was hard in the air but George didn’t break the silence. “You all lost people. That’s why everyone was so afraid of another war.” Draco nodded to himself because he’d named what he had felt for days. A cold desperation brought on by knowing the consequences of failure. “There’s not much I can really do that matters, but I can put my pride aside so you don’t have to go through that again.”

George didn’t answer. He leaned his head down face first onto his legs and left it there. He lifted a hand from his legs to card over the remnants of his mangled ear. Draco waited for him to talk about it. He’d never asked what happened, and George never said. Draco waited a very long time and George only gave him silence.

It was rather melancholy out there in the dark. Also peaceful. Draco rested a hand on George’s back and rubbed small circles into tense muscles. Neither of them said anything. Neither made the other pretend they were even the tiniest bit happy.

All castles have noise, but it was the crunch of boots on gravel that drew the men out of their contemplation. George uncurled himself. He pulled his hand down from his ear. His whole body stretched out long, then settled into a casual slouch, matched by a casual smirk that overshadowed other features. The change happened so fast. Like George’s body was well versed in hiding his internal misery. Like it had been a precious thing that he ever let Draco see it.

There was more crunching. Someone walking towards them on the path from the stables. Draco could see the figure as he passed by lanterns along the path. Tall and regal, elegant even after what must have been a hard ride based on his windswept hair. Draco could recognize the shape of Prince Viktor now. If not the outline of his profile, then from the casual way he carried his authority. It reminded Draco of how his father, if his father hadn’t been so cruel.

The prince missed a step when he saw the duo on the staircase. It was too dark to see the emotion on his face. He caught his footing and kept walking. When he came into the light from the windows of the castle he looked perfectly poised.

“Gentlemen,” the prince said in greeting.

“Your majesty.” George had a way of making anything sound mocking. Draco pinched him to cut it out. George snickered but otherwise restrained his bad behavior.

“The king’s back, if you wanted to see him.” It twisted something in Draco’s gut to say it, but it was the proper thing to do.

The prince’s eyes flickered between the two men on the stairs. Draco noted how Prince Viktor’s eyes lingered on where they touched at the hip, and how Draco’s arm was still slung round George’s back. Something like hope flickered over the prince’s face. Draco’s gut twisted worse to know the prince wanted him to be infatuated with someone else. He must be afraid of where Draco’s affections lie. Prince Viktor had said he did not want to be cuckolded. He would marry for politics, but he still didn’t trust the king.

Draco wished he could summon his happy face as easily as George had adopted his disguise. He wished he’d gone back to his room instead of catching Prince Viktor looking vulnerable out here in the dark.

New noise. The creak of a door. More light flooded out from behind Draco, and when he and George turned it was an unwelcome silhouette greeting them. The king was so different than the prince in profile. Wide and solid and rumpled. His eyes were drawn to Draco on the stairs, as if no one else existed. “I went looking for you and saw that chair contraption abandoned inside. You okay?”

He went looking. For Draco.

Draco turned round to see if Prince Viktor had heard and Draco knew he had because his face was cold.

Draco cleared a suddenly dry throat. “Good. Great.” It sounded as false as he feared it might. “George is a bad influence, of course, but Prince Viktor has kindly seen to it that I remain in good health.”

Draco had meant it as a compliment for the prince, but his face only grew stony.

The king saw Prince Viktor then, looking hard as rocks and much less welcoming. “Oh, hello Viktor.” The king wasn’t cold so much as apathetic. He stood awkwardly at the door, uncertain of what to say to his fiance.

“You two should go inside. Talk things over,” Draco encouraged. That at least he could say with sincerity. Prince Viktor looked skeptical, but he took a tentative step closer to the staircase.

Of course King Harry ruined it. “Draco, Andromeda says you’re not yet recovered. Let me get you back to your room so you can lie down.”

Draco closed his eyes and breathed deep through his nose. He had new found sympathy for what he must have sounded like when he demanded to see the king. Like he didn’t think it strange at all that they be alone together, sharing special treatment. He opened his eyes to see Prince Viktor stuck still at the bottom of the stairs, not even looking up at them. Draco wondered if the Prince would refuse to follow through on the treaty, if King Harry ruined this.

Draco could salvage this, though. He couldn’t do much, but he had to be able to do that. “Prince Viktor, could you go in with his majesty and see if Erik and Yuri could come out? They’ve been such a help.”

The prince turned back to Draco, his expression unreadable. “The king offered to help.” There was no emotion in his voice but it sounded like an accusation.

“Pssh,” George snarked. “I wouldn’t trust Harry to carry my sister, the big oaf. Besides, you two are interrupting.” Neither royal looked ready to take the hint so George put a finer point on it. “Go away, lovebirds. I’ll get Draco to bed safe.”

It was the endearment that got through to Prince Viktor. His face scrunched up like he tasted something sour. Draco didn’t look back to see how Harry took it. He stared fixedly back up at the stars as the prince walked by, and ignored the king entirely as he was pulled back into the castle where he was needed.

Chapter Text

It was hard to get away from everyone. In part because Draco kept pushing himself too hard, slowing down his healing. In part because the guards Prince Viktor set on him were probably told to keep an eye on his whereabouts. In part because his friends and family were quite keen on making sure he was well.

It left Draco feeling claustrophobic. Or maybe that was spending so many hours in his room. It was a nice room, larger than his room back at Grimmauld Place with windows that showed the scenic castle grounds. The castle just held so much more weight than Grimmauld Place. It felt like the walls were always at risk of falling in on Draco.

When he decided to get away it was easy to slip his guards. He felt a little bad that they might get in trouble with Prince Viktor, but by now the prince likely knew Draco’s reputation and hopefully he would show his guards grace. Not that Durmstrang leaders were known for showing grace. It would just be hard to blame the guards when Draco asked one to take him to Teddy’s room, and the other dutifully left to report Draco’s movements to the prince. When Erik helped Draco up a staircase and went back for the chair, Draco simply strolled away down a different hall and used his knowledge of the castle’s twists and turns, and which rooms had second exits, until Erik would have to be quite lucky to figure out just where Draco went. Draco didn’t trust his luck, so he pursued a hiding spot where he was certain no one would look for him.

Halfway up all the stairs he admitted to himself this had been a horrible idea. He was sore and his stomach ached. He’d have to stay in bed again tomorrow, if not the following day as well, and his mother would chide him. Only it didn’t feel so horrible an idea when he got to the top. The observatory was grander even than he remembered it. The arched walls reached up to the heavens. The windows were enormous and it felt like Draco was outdoors in the sky. Nothing would crush him up here. In daylight, Draco could examine the intricacies of the murals and the scientific equipment gleamed. None of the furniture looked comfortable, so Draco walked to the center of the room and lay down on the floor. Above him were the zodiac figures, splendidly painted in vivid color that had faded over time. Draco could imagine how they must have looked decades ago when the tower was first built. It was beautiful. Maybe there was still food hidden somewhere in the room and he could stay here until evening and watch the stars come out without fear of anyone stumbling across him and reminding him of… everything.

Draco let himself rest and doze right there on the floor. It was easier to relax than in his room. Down there, people could find him. His mother would come and fuss and be happy. She wasn’t yet whispering suggestions to Draco about how he could build his power at court, but Draco knew it was coming. George and Luna might visit, and very deliberately not fuss, but it was beginning to feel an awful lot like pity. They could tell he was sad and didn’t know how to fix it. Teddy might come and want to play, which was a new sort of heartbreak because, for once, Draco very much didn’t. He told himself he was just tired. He had pushed himself too hard. It was exhaustion, not a dreary sadness dug deep into his chest that was sapping him of his desire to connect. Up here, in the astronomy tower, Draco didn’t have to think about the effort it took to withstand all the people who loved him. He could just rest.

The angle of the sun told Draco how many hours passed. It hadn’t been so long that he expected the sound of the observatory door being pushed open. He had thought it would be ages yet before anyone thought to look for him here. Draco blinked open his eyes and pushed himself to sitting so he could see who it was who’d discovered him.

Draco was right not to trust his luck, because it was King Harry. He wore his formal court attire, but he’d discarded the coat at some point and rolled his silk sleeves up to his elbows. Always, this man pushed the boundaries of what his court would accept from him.

He didn’t walk in like he was looking for anyone. In fact, King Harry looked bedraggled. His own exhaustion could be seen in how he slumped and how he dragged his feet as he walked into the room. The sight of Draco there in the middle of the room must have caught him off guard. He looked far more surprised to see the younger man than Draco was to see him.

“Draco,” the king said it like he needed to confirm what his eyes were telling him.

Draco forced a smile that must have looked bleak. “Your majesty.”

The king didn’t know what to do. He was caught on his feet looming over Draco, who was in no rush to get up off the floor. The king glanced back at the entrance, mentally counting the stairs up to the tower. “How did you get here?”

Ah, the king had not been looking for him then. That calmed nerves Draco hadn’t realized were tensing. It let him relax into a smile and say something foolish. “I am very adventurous and very stupid, you do the math.”

Something in the king eased as well, enough for him to laugh. It was a chuckle, but warm and true. It made Draco think of how the king must laugh so little, and Prince Viktor might call this moment intimate.

“I can leave, if you were looking to be alone,” Draco said at once.

The spark of humor in the king’s eyes dulled. “You’ve been avoiding me.” A statement, not an accusation.

It was true, of course. It had been nearly three days since the King’s return and Draco had made sure they were never in the room together. When he couldn’t be certain the king was occupied in important meetings, Draco had told his guards not to let anyone disturb him. He did not think it an irrational fear that Erik or Yuri would tell Prince Viktor at once if the king was ever alone with Draco in his room. He thought it a certainty that the prince would notice if the king ever followed Draco from a family gathering again for private discussion. There was always someone watching, here in the castle.

Besides, he couldn’t think of anything the king might say that wouldn’t make him feel horrible.

Draco tried to put on a brave smile as a barrier. “Only a little. You have important work to be doing, and I don’t think I want to be playing these court games after all.”

The king made a small, “hmm” noise. For the millionth time, he tried to put his hands in his trouser pockets, only they were too small. He sighed at the offending clothes and Draco smiled at the familiar routine of it. The king glanced around, as if looking for an alternative, but nothing presented itself. So he gave up on comfort and instead plopped down on the stone floor next to Draco. They were nearly even, then. Draco was taller, in a beanpole sort of way, but the king was large and stout and it was impossible for him to feel like the shorter of the two. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” the king said conspiratorially. The intrigue of it pulled Draco closer, even though he knew better. Draco watched the king’s eyes flicker over the line of Draco’s body, noting the proximity. The king’s eyes settled on Draco’s, bright and close. “I hate the court games, too.”

Surprised, Draco laughed. “That’s not a secret, your majesty. Every lord, lady, and scullery maid could tell me that.”

The king’s lips had tilted up when Draco laughed. “If I’m this bad at keeping secrets it’s no wonder I’m so bad at court.”

“Psh,” Draco huffed. “You’re bad at court because you keep putting horrible people in charge of everything and they surround you with things that make you miserable.”

That hint of a smile went away, leaving the king’s face grim. Everytime Draco spoke the king oscillated between emotions and it left Draco uncertain. If this was a masquerade, the king would be fascinated by Draco’s statements. It would leave the king chasing him, trying to understand. Now, Draco was only Draco. The king’s eyes may gleam as he looked at the younger man, but Draco couldn’t understand what emotion lay behind the emerald gaze.

Draco shifted uncomfortably. In an effort to be conciliatory he said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” Except he absolutely had.

King Harry’s eyes furrowed. He leaned closer to Draco and moved his hand to rest atop Draco’s. “You’re the only person who talks to me like that,” King Harry said. Draco’s hand was right behind him so he could lean back on it as he sat. The king’s attempt at comfort meant he was very, very close. Draco could feel the heat of the king’s body. It brought up memories of the last time he and the king had been alone in the observatory together. It reminded Draco of how good it felt when he pressed their bodies close. “Don’t be like them, Draco. Just be yourself.”

The king’s eyes were so close to Draco’s. Deep wells of green that yearned for something Draco didn’t think he could provide. A wiser man might pull away, but Draco was not wise.

Well, he was wise enough to say, “You’re getting married to Prince Viktor.” Draco had to say it. He needed to hear the words aloud, to remind himself that this temptation wasn’t real. Whatever the king was asking for would hurt too much, in the end.

King Harry leaned into Draco then, but only to hide his face on Draco’s shoulder. He was breathing deep breaths that didn’t seem to calm him. His fingers tightened on Draco’s hand, as if he was afraid Draco would pull it away. “I don’t want to marry him.” King Harry mumbled it into the crook of Draco’s neck. It sounded like a real secret, something no one was meant to know.

Draco cleared his throat, careful not to dislodge the king. “But you’ll marry him anyway?” It was so foolish to have the conversation like this, but he still hoped for a different answer. Then this would be alright. With the right answer, he could turn into the king and hold him for real.

“Draco.” He said it so softly. Almost a request not to have to say anything more. The king heaved a breath again. “I’m trying to find another way.” Ah, the reason it had been three days and the treaty was not yet signed.

It was excruciating, for the king not to be able to give Draco an answer. Excruciating and infuriating. Draco snapped without thinking. “You don’t want to marry him. He certainly doesn’t want to marry you. The other way is telling each other that and then not getting married.”

Astonishingly, the king laughed. He nuzzled closer to Draco as he did so. “The world would be much easier if we all just listened to you.”

Draco was glad the king couldn’t see him blush. “Of course, I give excellent advice.”

The king huffed. He rested against Draco just a moment longer, as if he wanted to stay, but in the end he didn’t. He pulled back and left Draco’s neck and shoulders feeling cold. The king kept his hand on Draco’s though, clutched tight. “I’m trying to find another way.”

It was hard to stomach this half affection. That was probably why Draco growled out, “The way were you’re honest and don’t make yourself miserable?”

Draco could feel the king stiffen. This was it then, the moment the king would yell at him and tell him he’d crossed over a line. Draco had a way of being too forward and the king only let him go so far before pushing back.

Only, what the king said was, “I’m not miserable.”

Draco’s laughter was not kind. “Are you joking?” He asked.

“No, I’m not joking,” the king was sounding frustrated now, right on cue.

“You spend all your time in meetings you don’t like, you surround yourself with people you hate, they put you in outfits everyone can tell you despise, the folks you put in charge are such pieces of shit that they don’t believe queer people are real and try to force you into marriage in preparation for when you realize you actually like women,” Draco was counting reasons off on his fingers and held up all five with his last fact, “and you proposed to an anonymous stranger because you thought he was the only person in the world who would treat you like a normal human being!”

The king was peering at Draco like he was the mad one. “Those aren’t… Draco, none of that matters to me.” He paused to reconsider a little. “That last one isn’t even true.”

“Isn’t it?” Draco demanded.

The king hesitated before looking away. “If I have to get married, I want it to be with someone who will care as much about my people as I do. You cared, Draco. You always care more than you should. It’s ridiculous, and you’re often stupid about it, but I’d rather have that than the alternative.”

More half praise. Like the king appreciated him, but didn’t want him. Draco’s face burned red and he lashed out once more. “The alternative of Prince Viktor?” He’d meant to rub it in, and immediately felt bad for doing so.

Either way, it backfired.

“It was Viktor’s idea to get married,” King Harry admitted. Draco hadn’t expected that. Draco looked back to the king so he could take in the king’s words fully. King Harry did look miserable as he explained. “Even though he’s the youngest son, he’d always been his father’s favorite. He thinks his father would back off on the war if we married.”

“But he doesn’t like you.” Draco didn’t mean to be cruel, he just didn’t understand.

The king threw Draco a self deprecating smile. “He likes me fine, he just doesn’t trust me.” He shrugged as if it couldn’t be helped. “But he loves his family and he loves his people. He fought in the last war, too, when Voldermort attacked Durmstaung. Their army had every advantage, and Voldermort’s men were killed five to one, but it was still a high cost to pay. Then Viktor’s eldest brother was killed, and, well, Voldermort fell soon after and we made peace.”

Draco had known abstractly about the war and how his father advised King Voldermort on different actions. He’d known his father did not want to go to war with Durmstaung, but the king would not be dissuaded and Lucius never would push too hard against the king’s choice, lest he be the one the king turned on. Draco hadn’t considered the cost of that decision. King Harry obviously had. King Harry was staring into the distance like he could see the past and it was still real to him.

“If that’s true, it makes no sense for them to attack us now. Surely their king doesn’t really want war.” Even as Draco said it he wasn’t certain. His mother had met the Durmstrang king, but she’d never told him what sort of person he was. He could be like anyone. Like Voldermort, even, who never needed a reason to make someone bleed.

King Harry blinked out of whatever vision he’d been immersed in. He shook his head to shake the dark thoughts off. He still looked grim when he turned his attention back to Draco. “Viktor thinks he’s just proud. One of his generals, Igor Karkaroff, is eager for war and conquest, and is telling the king I’m weak and can’t be trusted. Then there were the rumors of me snubbing his son, and then the bigger rumors that the kingdom was bankrupt after my Overseer of Finance stole all my money…”

Draco felt the strong need to defend Percy’s honor. “But he didn’t! Percy said he found it all.”

King Harry nodded. “Yes, it’s not true. And Viktor has mostly forgiven me embarrassing him, and if Durmstrang did attack they’d soon find their trade routes blockaded by our Beauxbaton allies, and their northern cities plundered by giants, and of course my army is far better trained that Voldermort’s ever was. This isn’t a war they could win, but I don’t want the cost of proving that.”

“No,” Draco murmured his agreement. “Even with all that, it would still be very bad.” The king squeezed Draco’s hand, but it wasn’t reassuring. It felt like a point of connection that could never grow. “And marrying Prince Viktor would stop it?” he didn’t have to ask, but he didn’t know what else to say. The king pursed his lips, not willing to say yes.

What the king cared most about was his people. He’d be miserable for them. He didn’t even care that what he did was miserable. He thought it was worth it, if he could keep other people safe. No wonder he was angry all the time, if he lived like that. Not that it was okay, how he acted. It was awful, but if he wouldn’t take care of himself he’d never get better. Draco certainly would never be the person to care for him. Only, he did have some ideas of how he’d take care of King Harry, if he could. Put Percy in charge of the kingdom’s money and let him find a way to pay for all the king’s social programs. Find a reason to banish Umbridge to somewhere wretched so he’d never have to see her again. Stop throwing big parties that he’d have to get drunk at in order to stomach attending. And little things. Give away all the fancy clothes the king hated and replace them with his own designs. Something elegant but practical, with big pockets. Take him on silly adventures, fun things filled with puzzles that Draco knew the king would like. Draco would invent new games for him and the children, and at the end of every one the king would laugh. No one would ever be surprised again to hear King Harry laugh.

That would be stepping over a line, though, and Draco had learned better.

“You should sign the treaty,” Draco hadn’t expected his voice to be horse when he said it. Like the words didn’t want to come out.

“Draco,” King Harry said plaintively.

Draco cleared his throat before speaking again. “It’s the right thing to do,” he said. “To take care of your people.”

The king leaned back against Draco’s side. “Please, Draco,” he said. Please what? Maybe just stop talking.

“Many people find happiness in political marriages.” he meant it as a consolation but it sounded like another dig.

“Don’t be like this,” the king asked. It may have sounded more like begging. “Don’t be like them.”

Draco turned to the king and suddenly their faces were too close. His throat was too dry and his heart beat too fast. “Them?”

King Harry lifted his free hand and stroked the side of Draco’s face. This truly was too intimate. Draco should stop the king, but he didn’t. “There has to be another way.” He spoke with enough conviction that Draco almost believed it. “I’ve never seen you settle, Draco. Not even when you should. You’re too stubborn and too clever.”

Draco licked his lips. “You forgot foolish, prideful, and brash.”

The king couldn’t help but laugh. “Right. All of those. You never do anything by half.” He looked at Draco like he saw more than all those things they’d named. Like whatever he saw was something he liked, and for a moment Draco believed maybe the king could want him. Then the king’s small smile grew into a grin. His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Imagine how fun it will be, when you show me how quickly you can solve this.”

Chapter Text

“Wear this one.”

Percy huffed. He was already almost completely done up in one of his more drab work outfits. “We were told to come urgently. I don’t have time to dither over clothes.”

Draco rolled his eyes affectionately. He’d had to card through Percy’s entire wardrobe, much to Percy’s chagrin. However, it was one of those do first, ask forgiveness later situations. And Percy absolutely could not look like a grunt from work. “This one!” Draco insisted. Draco shook the clothes in emphasis. Percy’s eye roll wasn’t affectionate, but he dutifully began to undo the buttons he’d just assembled.

“We’re going to be late,” Percy grumbled.

“Hardly,” Draco drawled. “The king sent at least a hundred invites, and it will be ages before everyone is assembled. Plus, everyone else will take the time to look their best before answering the summons.”

Percy glanced over at his friend, even as he continued disrobing. “Then why haven’t you put in any effort?”

Draco laughed tightly. “Why Percy, I didn’t realize you noticed my fashion.”

Percy looked like he might say something about that but Draco was quicker. Draco nimbly distracted Percy by helping him into the outfit Draco had picked out. His preferred austere style was softened by a smoother cut and the use of deep blue for his jacket instead of the standard black. Percy swatted Draco away when Draco got a bit hands on with Percy’s hair, but that was fine. Percy had finally gotten sleep and the rings under his eyes had faded. He was also back to his pristine grooming regiment and the scraggly stubble was gone. Draco let him go and Percy wandered off to find a mirror, yanking at his collar as he did so. “You look great!” Draco called after him. Percy probably found that reassuring but he still fussed over the unfamiliar attire and put great care in combing his hair into the exact style he wore every day of his life.

Percy wanted to walk to the castle, of course, but Draco had forced Percy into his nicest shoes and if they’d get caked in mud if the men walked the full way. No matter, Draco had anticipated this. Which is why there was a knock at the door before they could leave.

George waited for them both outside, ostentatiously in full evening dress with coat tails down to his knees and a cravat fluffed in enough layers to puff up off his chest. Behind him was a more ostentatious carriage, with trimming hopefully only painted to look gold. It could fit twice their number easily.

“You look ridiculous,” Percy told his brother, ever charming.

George grinned ear to ear. “You clean up nice, yourself. Where’d you even get that?”

Glowering was something Percy did frequently with other people, Draco was starting to learn. “From the girls’ christenings.”

“Right! Because Fluer said you couldn’t dress like you were at a funeral.”

“Boys.” Draco could sound stern when he had to. “Family reminiscing can happen inside the carriage.” Draco took a second look at the carriage in question. “Where’d you even get that?”

George responded jovially, “From a funeral, most like!” Then he sauntered off before the other two men could gather their wits to ask exactly what he meant.

They were shown to a reception room as soon as they arrived at the castle, which was already crowded with dozens of dignitaries asking each other what was the cause for their summoning. The crowd was too thick for the trio to wade into. They were stuck at the back of the room, which thankfully wasn’t so big that they wouldn’t be able to see whatever happened on the dais in front once things came to a start. More or less. Draco got up on his toes to peer over the crowd just in case he could spot a way to squeeze in closer to the more side of things.

Someone cleared their throat pointedly. It sounded like chastisement and Draco dropped instantly back down to the flats of his feet. “Mr. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy, and Mr. Weasley.” Draco didn’t quite recognize the voice until he saw the young man with his mousy brown hair and immaculate attire. “Follow me, please.” And since it was the king’s own servant, Dennis, the trio followed, and the crowd actually moved aside to let them pass. Dennis walked them all the way to the front of the room, until they were at Hermione and Ron’s side. Then, with a bow, Dennis left. Disappearing as suddenly and mysteriously as he’d arrived. The murmurs of the crowd increased in fervor after witnessing the trio’s special treatment.

Percy leaned forward so he could hiss at the whole group. “What is this about?”

Hermione, who must have been out tromping through mud based on the muck in her skirts, or perhaps digging in it, based on the muck on her sleeves, looked formidable simply because she could arrive at an event like this looking like that and not caring in the slightest. It was even more impressive because everyone here knew she could adopt the immaculate appearance of a great lady if she deemed it necessary, and by not doing so today she was, perhaps unintentionally, telling everyone else present that the king's announcement was more important. His urgent demand had, indeed, been urgent. Draco knew by the tightness of her jaw that it wasn’t so simple. She admitted as much to everyone. “I have no idea. Draco, do you know?”

They all looked at Draco, as if they thought he might. Draco tried for an unwitting smile. Everyone’s stares seemed to intensify, as if they could see right through his projected ignorance. “I know nothing,” he still lied. “I’m inconsequential.”

Ron snorted. “Inconsequential, my foot,” he muttered. Someone watching from the crowd might think Ron’s tone or body language read as frustration, but Draco figured that was 95% Ron arriving in full military regalia. It made him look larger, more imposing. It also made everything he said have greater weight, as if an insult from Ron right now was a threat from the entirety of King Harry’s army.

Draco, by comparison, could have been anyone. He’d dressed simple, reserved, fully in muted grays and black. He’d bought it from a shop, and while it was the latest fashion that just meant he wouldn’t stand out by his own peculiar design. No one would look at distinguished percy, flamboyant George, assertive Hermione, or commanding Ron and even remember Draco was among them. Draco would barely have a mention in the unfolding drama.

Besides, there were far more compelling things to stare at today, and everyone turned right on cue as the front doors of the reception room were flung open wide and King Harry Potter marched in, accompanied by Prince Viktor Krum.

Unnatural hush fell over the room. Draco could feel the heat of the crowd leaning forward, closer to the raised dais that made space for speakers to address everyone at once. Draco felt the same compulsion, he couldn’t help it. He was just as eager to see and hear how events would unfold. He found his palms and neck sweaty with nerves.

“I’d like to extend my sincerest appreciation to all of you for joining us on such short notice.” King Harry’s voice was rich and confident, and Draco wondered how he did it. When and how had King Harry learned to present himself with such poise? This wasn’t the man Draco knew, behind closed doors where courtiers couldn’t see him. That man was unrestrained. Emotional in the worst and best of ways. This was the mask the king wore when he didn’t want to let you in.

Thank god it was a convincing mask. It really had to be, today.

“I invited each of you because of the role you play at my court. I have relied on each of your guidance and counsel during my time as king. Your wisdom feeds our kingdom so it can grow strong and prosperous, and it is your wisdom that I keep close to heart and that guides the choices I make today.”

Draco thought this was a bit much, but it was the sort of thing his father might have said. He recalled as a boy watching people eat praise like this up. Besides, Draco could forgive anyone for their glee at being admitted to a truly exclusive event. He couldn’t blame them for wanting to be singled out by the king.

“Each of you have offered your unyielding loyalty and dedication while my small council and I overcame the challenges this last month. It saddens me that anyone might put their self interest above the good of the people. However, I am not so naive as to think this will be the last threat we face. Today, after much reflection, I have decided a new course of action for our kingdom. These changes will ensure that we come out of this incident more capable and united.”

The king paused then, his polite expression locked in place for the masses, his eyes connecting with various gazes in the crowd. Possibly influential people that the king knew he needed on his side. Until they landed on Draco. Draco hadn’t realized the king was able to convey so much warmth through his gaze on such a personal level when he was giving these speeches. Draco hoped it was that, so that no one would have the chance to see how the king’s eyes softened just for Draco. Quick as a blink, the king’s gaze had moved to Draco’s right. Anyone in the audience may have thought the king had always been looking at Percy.

“Percy Ignatius Weasley, please step forward.”

Percy did not step forward. Under the king’s gaze, with so many people watching, Percy looked like he may instead faint. His skin was alarmingly pale, and his darting eyes were wide and shell shocked as he looked to Draco for guidance. Draco tried to convey all the love and support that was possible in just a smile, even if Draco’s smile was small and a bit frayed from nerves.

George, bless him, had nerves of steel. He stepped around Draco and clapped his brother on the back. “Steady on, old chap. Let’s get you moving then.” It was with love, but the familiar patronizing approach snapped Percy out of the worst of his shock. He managed somehow to both glare at his brother and stare imploringly at Draco while George led him away towards where Dennis was already waiting to direct Percy up stairs and onto the dais. Then Percy was standing in front of everyone in his best outfit, still pulling at the cuffs to try to get them straight.

“Percy,” King Harry said again. The king’s smile might have held actual warmth, this time. The king reached into a breast pocket and pulled out something made of gold. “It is my honor to appoint you to serve on my small council as the Overseer of Finance, henceforth. Do you accept, and pledge to serve honorably in service to our kingdom?”

Percy raised a hand to his face to cover his gasp. He looked in panic to Draco once more, and this time Draco found a wide, brilliant smile. In a better world, this isn’t how the king would have done this. Not in front of strangers, not before Audrey and Percy’s mother could return. Only the kingdom needed Percy now, and Percy had proved himself unquestionably loyal and brilliant to boot. He deserved this.

Most likely Percy didn’t agree he deserved this, but that didn’t matter. Percy was far too well mannered to do anything other than agree to a task his king asked of him. So he cleared his throat, stopped fidgeting with his cuffs and stood up to his tallest height. He said with as much solemnity as anyone could have asked for, “I pledge to serve honorably.” Percy was taken aback when everyone cheered. He was so caught up looking at the crowd in bafflement that he almost missed the moment when the king fastened the golden emblem to his chest.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley,” the king said next. Hermione gasped in surprise, but Ron winked at her as he left for the stage. Hermione hissed at Draco a demand to know what was happening but this time Draco truly couldn’t have said. Whatever it was, the king and Ron were in on it together. They stood across from each other and for a moment it looked like it was everyone else who was intruding, like the crowd was watching a conversation meant just for friends. “Thank you, Ron, for your years of service,” the king said. “You saved my life, repeatedly, and when that wasn’t enough you knocked sense into me so you didn’t regret keeping me alive.” The courtiers’ laughed despite their shock at hearing such a revelation. “Your advice will always be cherished, and so I appoint you to a new role.”

Dennis was now next to the king, holding a display pillow that the king picked something off of. It looked suspiciously like a gold chain with a medallion on it. The king motioned to Ron, and with the half of a smirk that wasn’t inappropriate to give the king, he bent low enough that King Harry could put the chain over his head. “I dub the Captain of the Lion Guard.” When Ron rose back to standing it was clear to see the medallion had a roaring lion embedded on it, looking fierce and official. The king let the crowd cheer, at what Draco couldn’t say. The Lion Guard was not a real thing. He’d never heard of anything like it before. However, a king could make up anything and give it a gold medallion if it needed to be fancy. The medallion certainly distracted from the king removing the overseer emblem from Ron’s chest. The king put the emblem on the cushion Dennis was holding, and Dennis stepped away, saving it for another occasion.

“Xenophilius Lovegood.” This name shocked everyone. Draco himself twisted round to see where cousin Xeno might be. Draco found him far across the room, being escorted up the step to the dais by Luna herself. Both were dressed simply, in homespun fabrics homesewn into court dress. They must have been overlooked or sneered upon by anyone near them, but both carried themselves with a quiet certainty.

King Harry looked more serious than he had at any point thus far. “Leading a kingdom brings many challenges. The least fearsome are those caused by people. The greatest threat we collectively faced was from the pox. Without your guidance, many more would have been lost to us. This has opened my eyes to a need I should have long ago addressed.” The king reached back into his breast pocket and took one more thing out. “Xeno, I appoint you to a new position. Overseer of public health, to serve on the small council. Do you accept, and pledge to serve honorably in service to our kingdom?”

It was quite far between experimenting in his spare rooms to being appointed to create an entire new department for the kingdom. If Xeno had any concerns he did not show them. He smiled airly in a way Draco knew and loved. “I accept.” There was a pause while everyone waited. Xeno realized a moment later than he should what they were waiting for, but still spoke easily when he added, “and pledge to serve our kingdom honorably.” The cheers were tepid, but there was no mistaking the emblem the king put on Xeno’s chest.

The king faced the audience once more, somehow summoning even greater gravity. “Your support of these decisions is deeply valued and critical to our kingdom’s wellbeing, but, like you, I also have been worried about how we restore goodwill with our neighbor to the west.” The king paused here to look at Prince Viktor, which the crowd could be forgiven for forgetting was still up on the dais after so much activity elsewhere. “I know you will all join me in appreciating Prince Viktor’s shared commitment to peace and good will. His partnership has been instrumental in negotiating a treaty with Durmstrang that will have economic and cultural benefits for both of our nations. To that end, I have two further announcements today.

“Cornelius Oswald Fudge.” Fudge may have been front and center to watch the spectacle, but he had clearly not been expecting a role in today’s activities. He jumped at his name and had to collect himself before stepping forward and rising onto the dais. “Cornelius, it has been my honor to learn from you, and I dare say after all these years I am thankful to call you my friend.” King Harry probably told Draco he was a bad liar because there was no way Draco could have lied like that with half so earnest a face. Dennis was by the king’s side now, with another one of those gold chains and medallions. “You know more than anyone how important a task we have ahead of us, and there is no one I trust more than you to do it. To that end, today I appoint you to a new role. I dub you Chief Emissary to the Kingdom of Durmstrang.” It was another made-up role, but it came with a big gold medallion and everyone was cheering as the king put it around Fudge’s neck. The genius of it was that it had already happened earlier today to the king’s best friend, so Fudge couldn’t say anything in front of everyone as King Harry took the small council emblem from his chest and put it on Dennis’ cushion to be spirited away. Fudge had to just accept the king’s hand shake and congratulations, and find his way to the side of the dais like everyone else who had been honored that evening.

Then there was only the king and the prince left.

King Harry turned back to Prince Viktor, and there was almost a moment again when it felt like everyone was watching something special. Perhaps it was that the king looked especially regal, in his golden outfit with red trim, and the Prince looked ruggedly handsome in his dark Durmstrang dress clothes with their bright shiny buttons. They complimented each other, as if they were meant to be a pair.

“Viktor.” The informality heightened the moment. As if this was a conversation between two men, instead of king and prince. “You have grown dear to me this last year. Then this last month, I have seen your bravery and commitment to service. You are everything I look for in a leader, and everything I could hope for in a partner.” You could hear a pin drop in the moment King Harry paused for breath. Everyone stopped breathing so they could better hear what he was going to say.

They all breathed in a gasp when the king lowered down onto one knee. “Viktor, will you marry me?”

Chapter Text

Yesterday

Of course Prince Viktor was an early riser. He was perfect at everything, so there was no way Draco was going to catch him off guard even at this ungodly hour of the morning. It was rude that Draco was even here this early, but he’d hardly slept the night before and there were only so many made up conversations Draco could have in his head before he had to try literally anything else.

The prince was gracious about his visit, either because he was that wellbred or because he was a psychopath. That last part was probably just Draco being nervous and projecting. Despite the prince’s impassive expression and impeccable manors Draco could tell Prince Viktor did not actually want him there. Still, the prince waved off his guards’ concerns and invited Draco in to join him for breakfast. Draco’s stomach rolled at the thought of food, but tea he would accept. That at least meant he had something to clutch nervously as the prince fastidiously cut his sausages into small pieces and began to eat them one by one, chewing each bite with deliberation.

It might have been a battle of wills to see who could outlast the other in their silence. More likely the tension was in Draco’s head and he was being a complete twat. He heaved in a sigh and set his tea aside so that there was nothing to distract him from what he’d come to say. Which of course was the exact moment Prince Viktor spoke, as if intentionally cutting Draco off just as the younger man summoned his courage. So it wasn’t all in Draco’s head, after all.

Still, the words were mild and measured as if what he said was of little consequence. “You visited with the king in the observatory tower yesterday.”

Draco froze like he’d been caught by his mother doing something naughty. Which was silly, since he was a grown man and it was the prince who was being strange.

“Have you been following me?” Draco asked, trying to match the same light tone the prince conjured so easily. Prince Viktor half shrugged before taking a bite of toast. Draco reached back for his tea. He would not be the only one of them without an easy way to pause before answering direct questions. The action was useful. It gave him time to have a second thought. “You’ve been following the king.”

That statement was thoroughly ignored. Instead, Prince Viktor asked, “What was the reason for your rendezvous?”

Draco clung to his tea mug, wondering if he should use the question as a segue into what he’d come to discuss. It wouldn’t even be lying, if he did. Only, there was something suspicious in Prince Viktor’s bland expression. He was terribly calm. It reminded Draco of something. Of someone.

Oh fuck, it reminded him of his father.

Draco groaned and slumped back in his chair, tea forgotten. The prince hardly batted an eye at his odd behavior. Of course he wouldn’t. He was lulling Draco into a false sense of calm before he did something truly devastating, like dashing all of Draco’s hopes then tossing Draco out on his ass. At least the prince couldn’t have his guards drag Draco off to the dungeon. This calm was how Lucius always acted when he was well and truly angry. It was how he treated people who’d personally wronged him.

Nothing about Draco’s half assed attempt at a plan was going to work when facing such a stony adversary. So he gave it all up. It was a fool’s errand for a fool’s cause, Draco would just have to be a fool.

“We weren’t fucking, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He chugged what was left of his tea after saying it. He needed it to fortify himself against whatever the prince had in store for him.

The prince set his fork down on his plate and whipped his face with the cloth next to it. He set the cloth back down, tidy as can be. Only then did he look up and give Draco his full attention. “And yet the king has yet to sign the treaty.”

Draco actually laughed. It was an exhausted, nervous chortle. He covered his mouth immediately afterwards because it was stupid and rude, even if it was honest. The prince didn’t lash out at him so Draco braved pulling his hands away and speaking. “Well, I actually am here to talk about the treaty. However, I am sensing there is something else on your mind?” He made it a question in the hopes the prince would break the ice and say his peace.

Prince Viktor did no such thing. If anything he got icier. “You speak for the king in his treaty negotiations?”

That was a trap if Draco ever heard one. He stifled another nervous laugh. “Hardly. It’s just we spoke yesterday and he confided in me-”

“He spoke to you about why he hasn’t signed the treaty?” The prince was starting to break. He sounded peeved and that wrinkle of frustration was back across his brow.

Draco did his best to back peddle. “Well, I was keen on getting some time alone, and he must have been looking to get away himself, and we both happened to run into each other in the observation tower, serendipity like. I think it was a right place right time situation.”

The prince’s frown grew deeper. “Serendipity?”

“Um, yes, it means-”

“I know what it means.”

“Ah. Well.” Draco stopped talking before he said something worse.

The prince crossed an arm across the chest and balanced his other elbow on it so his free hand could tap against his chin. He seemed to contemplate particularly hard. “Was it serendipity when the king visited your chamber before leaving with his army?” Draco may have grimaced at the question. The prince didn’t wait for his response, anyway. “Or when you stayed the night in his quarters? Or when you attended the small council meeting on his behalf while he was away?”

“Oh, that last one actually was,” Draco jumped in right before he realized saying as much wasn’t actually helping. Oh, hell, he would either have to backtrack and try to explain the first two, or just double down and hope it could somehow make things better. This time when Draco took a deep breath the prince didn’t interrupt him before he launched into his story.

“I’m just going to lean into complete transparency here, which I can feel you’re definitely going to judge me for, but here we go.

“That third one, the small council thing, well I just showed up and went to the first meeting I found. I totally just lied about what I was doing there. I’m aware it sounds ridiculous to tell you that I waltzed into perhaps the most sensitive strategy meeting in the kingdom and lied to everyone so they’d let me stay, but I did. I have reasons, but as I sit here thinking about them I know they just make me sound arrogant. Like, I thought because no one was telling me what was going on something terrible must be wrong and I was the only one who could fix it. I didn’t know what it was, but I still figured I should just put on a fancy suit and go to a random important room and then just do what I thought would make everything better for everyone. Truly, I am an ass. And as I think a little more about this, it probably doesn’t put this whole situation in the best light that I could just lie and tell everyone the king sent me and they’d all just believe me. Might be something to unpack there. And I’d be willing to, I really would, if you would find that in any way helpful, but more than anything I want you to know that whoever is telling you all these stories about King Harry and I can’t possibly know what’s actually happening, because the truth is far, far weirder than you think.”

That line in the prince’s forehead had definitely deepened as Draco rambled. The prince was frowning now and staring very, very hard. Unfortunately, he sidestepped Draco’s entire ramble to ask the question that must really be bothering him. “So you aren’t having an affair with the king?”

Oh hell. Shit. Fuck. Draco’s wince showed exactly what he was thinking.

In the spirit of complete transparency… “You asked before, if I had ever slept with King Harry. Such an awkward question, but actually easier than this one? So, yes, technically I have had sex with the king, but it was a secret. Still is a bit of a secret. By secret I mean that it was at a masquerade and we were in disguise and the king didn’t know it was me yet. So, you see, I couldn’t have told you when you asked, because as far as anyone knew it had never happened.”

Prince Viktor was still trying to hold himself to his stonily impassive, but Draco was laying a lot on him. Wisely, the prince paused to think. And to stare. His dark eyes bore into Draco as if he could stare hard enough to know whether anything Draco was saying was real. Probably Draco being a complete mess made it more convincing, but maybe the prince suspected him of higher levels of trickery.

When the prince finally spoke his words were clipped and precise. “I do not care to hear you explain yourself further. It is clear to me you and King Harry have a prior attachment. Tell me honestly, is it you who is stopping him from signing the treaty?” Draco hoped this was the prince’s true fear finally said out loud.

“Absolutely not,” Draco said emphatically. He was not so stupid as to tell Prince Viktor that King Harry would also absolutely rather marry Draco. He had some sense left in him. Draco only hoped that now, finally, the prince was ready to hear what Draco had come all this way to say. “The king will sign the treaty tomorrow. He’s eager to do so. Like you, King Harry wants a lasting, beneficial peace between our two kingdoms. I only wonder, are the terms of the treaty really what you want?”

“Which terms?” Prince Viktor pushed.

Draco pressed his hands down on the table so he wouldn’t tap them nervously. “Specifically? The marriage one.”

“You don’t think I should marry King Harry.” A statement. Not a question. “Without a marriage there is no commitment. My father would never agree to lesser terms. He is already insulted King Harry has yet to propose. Would you put our kingdom’s peace at risk for your own chance to marry the king?”

Draco bit the inside of his lip instead of speaking the first, second, or third thought that popped into his head. Now was not the time to be rash. It was time to be considerate. It would be so easy to write the prince off as some enemy or foe, but that’s not who he was. He was just a man, doing the best he could, and trying to hold himself together when faced with the person who threatened everything he cared about. Prince Viktor wasn’t the villain here, and Draco didn’t want to be, either.

“For this, you shouldn’t be thinking about me. It’s about you. The king will follow your lead, he’ll sign whatever treaty you insist on because he cares as deeply as you do about making this work. I just wonder, have you considered all your options? Marrying king Harry is easy, but is it what you want to do?”

Finally the prince broke. He slammed both hands on the table with a loud thunk. His frown was a hair’s breadth away from a glower, which was quite severe with his dark features and thick eyebrows. “I have journeyed across this entire kingdom, set aside my pride to offer marriage to a scoundrel, took care of his paramour when injured to show my good intent,” the prince sharp gaze made it clear he meant Draco, “and now you come here to compel me to set all this aside so you can marry the king in my place?”

Draco was literally taken aback by the vitriol. All of this emotion must have been bubbling under the prince’s surface for weeks. He had suffered through his anger, and the constant humiliation of it being proven well deserved. Draco gulped, but didn’t falter. If the prince could suffer through this ordeal, Draco could suffer looking at it openly and honestly.

Honestly, it was a lot. Draco hadn’t realized just how deeply the prince resented having to take these actions. He hadn’t realized exactly how impactful Draco’s own actions would be. With all the masks, and games, and lies, Draco had never considered that the thing between him and King Harry could actually be real. Not even when King Harry all but promised to him on his sickbed that it was. How could it be? There were more years of the king hating Draco than there were equinox balls in each others’ company. For every sweet touch there was a hundred sneers and insults. For all the king thought he knew Draco, all he knew was one of the lies Draco had draped himself in to be confident and wonderful. All he saw was the person Draco pretended to be so, for one night, he could be loved. Even tangling those memories with what the king knew of Draco as himself, it wouldn’t be a complete picture. Draco didn’t trust that King Harry wouldn’t one day wake up from his fantasy and realize that Draco was still the man he loathed, the man he’d twice tried to kill.

“I don’t want to marry King Harry.” It really wasn’t hard to speak honestly, and Draco could tell his words sounded very much like the truth. He stared long and hard at the prince until he could see realization dawn on the older man’s face that Draco truly meant it. That realization cracked something rigid in the prince, and finally Draco saw something real beneath it. Something raw, and afraid. “Do you want to marry him, either?”

Today

Prince Viktor stared down at the king kneeling below him. “I’m so sorry, Harry.” Perhaps he was a superior liar, but Draco thought it more likely the prince actually meant it. Prince Viktor wasn’t cruel by nature. He was brave, though, and he didn’t hesitate before saying, “No.”

Chapter Text

Today

Draco didn’t wait for the fall out. He didn’t need to hear Prince Viktor’s declaration that he was already betrothed to someone else, his true love. Scripted lines sorted out well in advance that Draco was nearly certain would ensure the treaty would still be successful. Marrying King Harry would have been a safer bet, but a miserable one. And Prince Viktor instantly took to Draco’s suggestion that embarrassing the king instead could solve any hurt pride Prince Viktor’s father still harbored. The prince had been right, though, he needed a marriage to seal the kingdoms together. Draco didn’t know or care who the prince had persuaded to take on that role.

It had all gone to plan. Draco should feel victorious. He should be crowing.

Instead he couldn’t move fast enough to get away. Always, always he was pushing himself too hard. He should be wise and go back to his room and rest. Only then people he didn’t want to see would come to him. They’d expect him to talk about what happened and about the king. There was nowhere in the castle where he could find peace. Nowhere to hide from all his choices and what he had done.

Yesterday

King Harry opened his chamber door fast enough that Draco thought he must have been waiting for the knock. A smile tugged at his lips and he stepped back to let Draco in. Draco squeezed a smile back as he slipped by, stepping around the king so they wouldn’t touch.

Draco could see where George’s fire had been by what in the room was missing. The large table and benches had been removed, replaced by a smaller round table with more comfortable seats one could lounge in. The green and gold rug Draco had gifted had been removed, the floor left bare where it once was. The rest was intact, colorful and bright in the midday sun. Draco gazed at the windows, imagining brighter curtains that would further liven the room. His fingers twitched with the desire to touch the ones hanging now, as if it wouldn’t be wildly inappropriate to make any changes he wanted.

“I was just sitting for lunch, will you join me?”

Having skipped breakfast, Draco found his appetite restored and then some. He nodded agreement and followed the king to the table where a whole spread was laid out. The king easily took a seat, and it should have been just as easy for Draco. If not for his bundle of nerves and uncertainty. He didn’t know where to sit. Next to the king? Awkwardly far away? He chewed on his bottom lip until the king kicked out the chair at his side in invitation. Right. Draco sat without making eye contact then busied himself collecting sweet meats and dried fruits onto his plate so he wouldn’t have to figure out where to start.

King Harry wasn’t a dunce. He noticed immediately that Draco was being avoidant. “Did it go poorly?” his voice was far tighter than just a moment ago when he’d greeted Draco.

Draco forced a smile and tried to at least look more relaxed. “I think it went well, actually.”

The king let out air he’d been holding in. “Good.” He said. Then more firmly, “Good.” He noticed Draco was still picking at his food instead of looking up at him. King Harry reached out a hand to take one of Draco’s. “Something happened. What’s wrong?”

Draco paused to stare at how well the two hands fit together. He wasn’t quite certain what to say. It wouldn’t be so bad to tell King Harry he’d need to be publicly rejected, because he was certain the king could take it. It looked like everything he did in front of the court was an act and this would only be a slightly different version. It was just that the longer he thought about it the more he considered that the whole situation was entirely fucked.

He wanted badly to unfuck it. He just wasn’t certain how to start.

“Your majesty-”

The king squeezed his hand almost painfully tight. “Draco, please. Call me Harry.” Draco visibly balked. “You called me Harry before,” the king reminded him.

Draco looked up then so the king could see him roll his eyes. “Yes, when I was dying. A man’s allowed to ignore decorum when he’s dying.”

Draco had the perfect view of the king’s smile, which reached all the way to his eyes. “My friends call me Harry.” The king’s thumb stroked down Draco’s hand for emphasis. Draco repressed a shiver at the sensitive touch.

Draco wasn’t so sure whether the king saw him as a friend. “What about your lovers?” Draco asked pointedly.

The king’s smile turned bashful and he hid it behind his free hand. “Are we going to have that discussion now?” He wasn’t defensive. If anything, he was embarrassed. Draco knew it wasn’t because he’d had so many partners. King Harry wouldn’t care about that. Maybe it was facing how Draco had been one of them and the king never knew. Perhaps it was even remembering how King Harry had wanted to take the Draco he knew to bed as well, when it wouldn’t have been meaningful. The king sighed through his discomfort and approached this as he did most things: head on. “If they were my friends, they called me Harry.”

Draco bit the edge of his lip nervously. He was hesitant, but he had to ask. “And if we were not… if you were no longer interested in me that way… you would still prefer I call you… Harry?” The name felt as awkward to say it now as ever it had before.

The king shifted his hand and stretched out his fingers so he could lace them through Draco’s own. “Yes, Draco. I think I’d like that very much.”

This time it was Draco’s turn to hide his blush. Right up until he realized what he was doing and snapped up to look at the king - Harry - head on with his best attempt at a smirk. “I accept your offer of friendship.” He tried to sound snobbish and unaffected but it was hard when he meant it more than a little.

Harry bit back his amused smile. He lifted Draco’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it gently. A soft brush of lips that tingled with sensation. Then he let Draco go and got to business. “Tell me what happened.”

“Oh, well,” Draco mused over where to start. He popped a cube of cheese in his mouth while he considered. “I’m mostly sure Prince Viktor won’t make you marry him.”

“Mostly?” Harry asked with the right level of skepticism.

Draco’s wry smile wasn’t forced. He never felt forced when he was teasing. “He truly doesn’t want to marry you, so you’re starting off in a strong position.”

Harry snorted. “Should have known you wouldn’t pull your punches.”

Draco shrugged and had another bite of food. “It’s not an insult. He doesn’t want to marry you, you don’t want to marry him. Finding an alternative is the best for everyone.”

Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair, food forgotten. “Alright,” he said, but it didn’t sound like things were alright. He wasn’t looking at Draco as he asked, “What’s next, then?”

Draco was ready to launch into the whole strategy he’d discussed with Prince Viktor, and then further fleshed out on the walk over to the king’s chambers, but the words died on his lips and he closed his mouth firmly instead. The king - Harry, he reminded himself - looked upset. Draco wasn’t certain why. “Did you want him to want to marry you?” Draco cursed his own need to always ask the question better left ignored.

Harry blinked hard and a moment later he pulled himself back together. He took his hands out of his pockets and sat up at the table, leaning an elbow on it as he turned to face Draco. “No.” It was firm and sounded true.

“Aren’t you happy then?” Draco asked because it didn’t feel like Harry was happy.

The king’s relaxed smile looked less authentic than how he’d slumped into his chair. It was a head trip to see him hide his inner feelings so quickly. “It is good news, and I appreciate hearing it. It’s just…” In that pause the king’s face softened. It looked more real. It looked like a person Draco could call Harry and perhaps it wouldn’t be weird after all. “I don’t like knowing how few people would tolerate me if I wasn’t the king.”

“You do make yourself quite intolerable,” Draco deadpanned. He hadn’t meant to, the words just came out.

Instead of anger, Harry laughed. It made Draco’s insides flutter. “Alright, yeah. Seriously, though, what’s next?”

Again, it would have been easy to move on. Wise, even. If only Draco were wise.

Instead he asked, “Why were you going to marry Prince Viktor? Not, like, now, but before? When, you know,” this couldn’t possibly get any more awkward except then Draco said, “when we were kissing?”

This time Harry’s blink was very, very slow. Like a cat. “What does it matter?”

Draco either laughed or actually said the words, “Ha ha.” Whichever was totally normal and chill. “It doesn’t. I just wondered. Because you were planning to marry him before, and I have to assume you didn’t really want to then. Or, maybe you did? I don’t know. You weren’t being threatened with war then, so why?”

Harry looked at Draco like he was batty, which was fair because Draco wasn’t feeling entirely sane. He was stressed and he was tired. He hated how the king let the silence stretch out between them while his face got progressively flat. Like every time Draco pushed the king pulled further back away from him. All the warmth was gone from Harry’s voice when he said, “The small council and I agreed, I would marry before the year is out and Teddy would be named my heir.”

Draco might have asked something truly pathetic like, “Why him?” or “Why not me?” but he bit back the sentiment. He didn’t actually want Harry to answer those questions. Or worse, make excuses not to. So instead Draco doggedly focused on a thought that he couldn’t get out of his head.

“I think it’s sad that you’d force yourself into a marriage because so-called traditionalists are afraid you’ll wake up one day and realize you aren’t gay.”

Harry looked confused. “Are you serious with this?”

This would be the time to stop talking. A smart man would stop talking. “That’s why they’re making you, right? You filled your small council with backwards thinking bigots.”

The confusion was rapidly turning into anger. “What the actual fuck.” Harry’s words were almost growling. It sounded familiar. It was how the king always talked to Draco when he pushed.

“I just hate that you’re forcing yourself to do this. You fought a whole war over ending blood supremacy so people could marry whoever they loved, and then immediately toss the idea of love out the window for the sake of people who don’t care a lick about you, or your principals. Don’t you think you deserve to be happy?”

“Happy?” Harry made it a question like maybe he didn’t know what it meant. “I’m doing everything I can to take care of my people, what more do I need to be happy?”

Draco scoffed. “I don’t know.” He really didn’t, not at all. “I think maybe taking time to do things you enjoy with people you care about, instead of constantly fulfilling obligations you resent.”

“I don’t resent them.” It was a full growl now, out in force. “It is my good fortune to have the means to keep the people I care about safe.”

“Yes of course it is,” Draco could agree up to a point, “but you’re describing work, which you never seem to enjoy. Wouldn’t you rather your marriage not be work?” Draco stared past Harry’s shoulder, trying to find the words he was looking for. “Someone you feel safe with, and can be open with, and who you could lean upon when you need help. Or someone who makes you smile and laugh, who you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with because every new day excites you.” He spoke almost wistfully. “Don’t you want to find someone like that?”

“If you don’t want to marry me just say it!” Somehow the shouting was more surprising than what Harry actually said. Although his words also took Draco by surprise.

“That’s not what I meant,” Draco insisted.

“What did you mean? Because it sounded a lot like you were trying to convince me to move along, like you convinced Viktor to.”

“That’s not fair,” Draco said. “I just don’t want you to marry me just because I’m the least bad option.”

Harry froze, eyes wide and jaw clenched. He stayed perfectly still and perfectly silent until he could speak without the slightest suggestion of emotion. “You don’t want to marry me.”

Draco actually pulled at his hair in frustration. “You don’t want to marry me!” He was finally shouting back. “You don’t want to marry anyone! And you don’t have to. You deserve better than this. I can fix this. I… I can make a plan. You know I can.” Draco let go of his hair because he suddenly wanted to be touching Harry. He grabbed for Harry’s hand, meaning to give comfort by holding it as Harry had done so well for him. Harry yanked his hand away. The noise Draco made may have been a whimper. “Please, Harry,” only it suddenly felt wrong to be calling him that. It felt like it was over stepping. “Please, I can fix this. Trust me.”

The king pushed back from the table and got to his feet. He cleared his throat, as if something had lodged itself there. It was impossible to tell when he spoke. His words were crisp and formal like he was speaking to a stranger. “Planning, then. I’ll summon Hermione, she’s good at that.”

The bottom dropped out of Draco’s stomach. He felt impossibly alone. “N-not Hermione,” he stammered. He couldn’t think of a justification for his opposition. Draco couldn’t tell the king that it hurt to think the king might summon a friend when Draco had nothing. Draco wanted to go back and get a full night’s sleep so he could think straight and find the perfect thing to say that would make the king look at him again instead of staring blankly over Draco’s shoulder. Draco wanted them to be friends, like the king had said they were, before he pulled away. He couldn’t stand being right and knowing they were never actually friends. He really needed a friend right now.

“Andromeda?” it was a shot in the dark, but after a pause the king nodded. That was good. Andromeda was… good. Only Draco would have to collect himself before she came because he was shaking and if she saw she would know he’d done something wrong again. Oh, god, that made Draco shake harder. He had fucked up, hadn’t he? He’d fucked up and he was all alone and he was afraid. He did what he always did when he was afraid, he was impulsive. “And George.”

“George?” the king couldn’t, or perhaps just didn’t, hide his disdain for the request.

Draco’s nod was fast and nervous. “He’s clever,” Draco said, because he couldn’t say that George already knew everything and would know with a glance that Draco had ruined it. He would take care of Draco if Draco needed him to.

“Whatever,” King Harry said instead of arguing. It was a bad sign he didn’t argue. He stormed off without sparing Draco another glance.

There was something about being left alone in the king’s chamber, with an abundance of food he had no stomach for, and all the reminders of how Draco could have made a place for himself in the king’s life.

Draco started crying.

It was big, loud, embarrassing tears and he had to stop them soon else his eyes would be red and puffy and everyone would know. It was just the sort of loss of control his father would scold him for. But if he wasn’t willing to bend his morals or give up on a chance of finding someone who could love him for who he was… well, what did it matter if he cried. His father was dead, and Draco had long since outgrown the need to please a dead man. And he’d never felt the need to please the king.

Until today, maybe, and he’d thoroughly fucked it all up.

Today

Thank god Draco found Charlie right away when he entered the stable, and double thanks that Charlie didn’t say a thing about Draco’s red, puffy eyes.

“Charlie? Is there a carriage I can borrow, I need to get home.”

“Whoa, mate, what are you doing here? Isn’t that thing going on?”

Draco didn’t explain anything. If he started talking he might not stop, and he really didn’t want to say anything, anyway.

“I know it’s late, and I’ll pay to stop at an inn if we have to, but I really want to go. Now.”

Charlie gave Draco another look and Draco didn’t doubt he was seeing everything. “Yeah, alright.” Draco sagged in relief at his agreement.

Not twenty minutes later, Draco was in George’s carriage (my carriage, said Charlie), with a driver and two of Prince Viktor’s guards who had randomly been in Charlie’s company (guarding the prince’s prized horses, said Charlie), and the promise to ride all night if Draco really wanted to get to Grimmauld Place that bad (although you’ll hurt in the morning, Charlie again).

Draco really, really did hurt in the morning. He might have slept through most of the trip, but the carriage had still bounced along the road and his abdomen ached. He could hardly get down the servants’ stairs on his own to enter the house. He never would have made it up all those flights of stairs to his own room, and he didn’t have to. Not with Kreacher and Angie there, ready to take care of him. Letting it go when he said he didn’t want to talk about why he was already back. Trusting him that everything was fine. Just let Draco get some sleep somewhere accessible, and when he woke up away from the drama of the castle everything would be totally fine.

Chapter Text

Everything was not fine.

If he had stopped for a single moment to think about it he would have realized that running away from his problems wouldn’t make everything fine. It was so apparent after nearly a full day in bed. He’d slept long and hard, the effect of frantic days and weeks catching up to him. Things were clearer after sleep. Even when your mind was dull and your body ached.

What had he thought he was doing? Dabbling in the affairs of princes and kings.

Draco didn’t know better than anyone else. He wasn’t careful, he must have created a new problem for every one he tried to solve. The only thing he knew what to do was say to hell with the rules. To hell with what was expected. To hell with the consequences. It had worked when the king was a tyrannical maniac, but those days were long gone even if Draco hadn’t learned to let go of causing trouble.

It was better that he left. Even if leaving didn’t stop the ache in his chest.

Grimmauld Place was too quiet. The only sound to be heard was the thrash of rain outside the windows. Weather to match his disposition. As much as he might wish it, he did not feel like he belonged with the people here any more than he had with those he’d left in the castle. He was the family of the house, and the servants wouldn’t treat him any other way. They’d flit around him like ghosts. He had no guess how long it would be until his family returned to rid the place of its haunted feeling.

He didn’t see a soul when he trudged up the long flights of stairs to his room in the servants’ quarters. He had forgotten how small it was. It was almost like he was back here for the first time after he’d first been banished from the castle. It had felt like injustice then. Now he felt it was his own fault, for not staying settled here where he belonged. He’d have to settle, now. There was no going back to the castle after he’d thrown every opportunity granted to him away.

This may be what he had chosen, but he didn’t know how to reconcile himself to what lay in front of him.

Well, he supposed he had time to figure it out. No reason to start now, when it could be just another thing put off for later.

Draco stayed long enough to pull out a change of clothes. They were old ragged things, since any clothing of note had been left back at the castle. He still felt more at home in the things he’d made for himself than court attire. He wished he could have it one way and clearly feel himself meant to be in one place or the other. He took the time to fold up his court clothes and lay them aside to be cleaned later. His hand paused when he passed over the pocket in his shirt. He tugged at the cloth tucked in it. His constellation handkerchief. It was marked now. Literally by Draco’s blood, but also by all of Draco’s memories.

Draco got to his feet. There was a small table by the head of his bed and he went to it to open its drawer. He moved a paper aside to reveal three invitations. He took those and the handkerchief with him when he left his room.

His years wandering the attic had worn paths between the piles. Wandering between them was the first thing that felt like being home. The contents of the chests stored there were his secret friends. His confidants. They’d shared their treasures when he needed them. They’d given him hope when he had none. He felt welcome when he sat down in front of the black chest. The movements of lock picking were comforting in their familiarity. He’d memorized its contents but he still felt the thrill of opening the lid and revealing his family’s history.

There, right at the top, was the bundle of celestial masks. He couldn’t help himself, he reached in to unwrap them. He wanted to see them one more time. Maybe a final time. They were beautiful, just as he remembered. He set his handkerchief and invitations down carefully in the box and picked up the mask on top, his mother’s mask of stars. It glimmered in the light of Draco’s lantern. He remembered how beautiful she smiled in that photo of the three sisters. He remembered all of her stories about magical balls and falling in love under the night sky. His chest ached for the promised fairy tale that never came.

“Draco?”

Draco startled hard enough he dropped the mask. “Oh no oh fuck.” He ignored whoever snuck up on him to scramble back into the box and make sure his mother’s mask was undamaged. He frantically twisted it around to check every angle.

“Are you alright?” The voice was louder, like the person moved closer.

Also, it finally clicked in Draco’s head who was speaking.

He nearly dropped the mask again as he twisted round to see the king. “Your majesty!” Draco shoved the mask back into the box and slammed the lid closed.

The king had gotten within a few steps of Draco without making a sound to alert Draco of his approach. He must have come straight up to the attic after arrival because his hair was still soaking wet from having been out of the rain. At least he had stopped to take off his outerwear and his shoes, perhaps because they’d been soaked through as well. It was stranger to see King Harry in stockings than it had been to see him naked.

Unbelievably, the king responded, “You said you’d call me Harry.”

Draco just shook his head in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Angie said you’d be in the attic.”

“Of course I’m in the attic, but what are you doing here at Grimmauld Place?”

A drop of water had time to form at the tip of King Harry’s hair until its weight plopped it down onto his face. Draco watched it glide down the side of his brow, over the king’s cheekbone and down his chin. The whole while the king worried his lips, uncertain. “Charlie said you came here,” he said at last.

Draco huffed as only those raised with too much privilege could. The king was being unbelievably obtuse. “Am I meant to keep chasing your non-answers or will you tell me what you’re doing?”

That did it the way only Draco’s snark could. Sharp green eyes met Draco’s gray gaze and the two men stared at each other longer enough that the water drop fell further from King Harry’s chin down to his chest. The edges of the king’s lips twitched, nearly a smile, before settling back into a flat, uncertain line. “You left and… I was worried.”

Draco huffed and crossed his arms. His heart was beating fast and he told himself it was only agitation at the king’s presumptuousness. “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

Draco said it to make King Harry leave but instead of leaving the king looked hard at Draco, as if a hard stare would reveal the truth of Draco’s words. Draco tried to look confident and self assured, but he was being petulant in ragged old clothes on the floor of a dusty attic failing to hide a storage chest he’d slammed shut in panic just moments before. To his credit, Draco gave it his all. He stared fierce and stubborn and the older man.

The king… well. He was wearing his practical clothes so he shoved his hands into his pants pockets and narrowed his eyes at Draco’s behavior. Then he looked away to narrow his eyes at other things, like crates. Finally he pulled his hands out of his pockets so he could rub his face. It was a familiar dance of the king not knowing what to do with Draco’s stubbornness.

The change was when the king pulled his hands away from his face and looked downward. He found a box that looked steady enough to prop himself against as he lowered himself down to the old wooden floor. He sat himself cross legged and looked back at Draco at equal height.

This was not reassuring. It was the opposite of reassuring. Draco liked to think he didn’t sound hysterical when he said, “No, you can’t sit down, you have to leave. I’m fine, so you should leave.” It was worrisome how he didn’t even believe the words he was saying.

The king did smile this time but it was grim and humorless. “I think you left because I was an asshole and you didn’t want to be near me.”

Draco squawked when he meant to laugh. “Hardly. It had nothing to do with you.”

King Harry raised his eyebrows in the universal sign of disbelief. He was more cautious with his words. “Either way, I owe you an apology. I treated you in ways you don’t deserve to be treated and I’m sorry.”

Draco wanted to stone wall the king. He was sad and self pitying and wanted the space and time to wallow. He wanted to be as obstinate and standoffish as possible until the king went away.

More than that, though, he was curious. It was his fatal flaw. One of many. He couldn’t help but say, “Sorry for what, precisely?”

“Fuck. So many things.”

“List them,” Draco demanded. He slumped back against the black chest as if to make himself comfortable. “I’ll wait.”

The king had to bite his lip to stop himself smiling, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. He leaned against the pile of boxes next to him to mirror Draco’s faux relaxation and the boxes mostly didn’t shift. “I’m sorry my first reaction is always to get angry.” He was too serious for a conversation in an attic, but Draco didn’t dare look away from the king’s solemn gaze. “You don’t deserve for me to assume the worst of you, but I do it over and over again, no matter how many times you prove you deserve better.”

“My family did try to kill you for years,” Draco said because he felt the sudden need to remind Harry that there had been a reason for his judgment.

The king ignored him. “I’m sorry I haven’t… I don’t know, Lupin would have said ‘healed’ or something.” Now the king did look away from Draco. He was staring into the distance as if he saw something other than an attic full of storage. “I’m sorry that I can’t let the war go. Not the wrongs that people did, but the feelings that are in me. Hermione calls it ‘trauma’. Sometimes I react to normal problems, every day conflict, like I need to go into battle. That is on me, and I’m sorry I ever made you feel like it was on you.”

“I mean, I probably would have killed you,” Draco said even though he didn’t know why he went there, “if I had the skill, or the opportunity, or the courage.”

That had the king’s lips quirking up again and he turned back to Draco smiling. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell how funny you were. You make jokes when you’re scared, and I kept lashing out because I thought you were mocking me.”

“I am mocking you,” Draco insisted because Harry was not getting it. “I mock you constantly, you make it easy.”

King Harry flexed his fingers like maybe there was something he wanted to do with his hands. Like reach out for Draco’s. “I’m sorry I took you for granted. I, um, I’ve been thinking. About everything.” He cleared his throat. He fidgeted. “I think I just assumed that because I was a king, and you were… in a different position, you would just accept a proposal. I didn’t actually think about what you might want, or give you a chance to say it. Or listen, when you chose to share.”

Draco couldn’t pretend to be nonchalant anymore. He sat up and pulled his legs up against his chest. The king was being so ridiculous. King Harry might have been an asshole and a brute, but Draco hadn’t meant it when he’d insisted the King debase himself. It was too much, like it was exaggerated or made up. Draco felt more than ever the need to convince King Harry to stop spinning these tall tales. He simply didn’t understand the truth and Draco needed to make him. “I’m too stupid to know what’s good for me.” Draco spoke so softly the king had to lean closer to hear. “Of course you would expect me to do the reasonable thing. I just make stupid, stubborn, selfish choices. I don’t know how to stop.”

“God, Draco.” This time the king did shuffle closer to him. He didn’t reach out and touch Draco but it was a near thing. He was close enough that Draco could feel the heat of him. He could nearly feel the moisture of the rain still on the king’s skin. “You are so far from selfish I worry that you give too much of yourself away. You sure as hell do too much for me, and I haven’t done a thing to earn it. I’m sorry I never give anything back.”

“You like, fought a whole war, right? All I ever did was throw parties and bully people. I wasn’t even good at the little work I was given. I ignored half my lessons, my tutors despaired for my future. My own father didn’t bother to give me any responsibilities, because he must have known how useless I was. I couldn’t even… I couldn’t even… I saw him, you know? King Voldermort. I saw what he did and I didn’t…”

Then there were arms around Draco because the king finally closed the distance between them. He squeezed Draco tight against him, and Draco put up with the damp clothing and water droplets because underneath it Harry was warm and solid and it felt good to be embraced. Draco might have been taller than the King, but he could still lean forward and tuck himself against the king’s shoulder and simply breathe in the smell of him. It was so very dangerous, letting himself feel comfort from this man, who didn’t seem to realize that things could never work between them.

The king rubbed his fingers over the nape of Draco’s neck and, despite himself, Draco relaxed against him and sighed. “I don’t know why you’re here, Harry.” It didn’t feel so much like overstepping to use his name. It felt like he had to, to show he was sincere.

“No one has ever made me feel like you do,” Harry said.

“Angry?”

Draco could feel Harry’s amused huff before he answered, “Like the war doesn’t define me.”

It was undignified to snort and Draco would insist he hadn’t. “You’re being ridiculous. I don’t know what to say when you’re ridiculous.”

“Aren’t you going to mock me?” Harry asked.

“I’m trying to come up with something, but it’s hard to mock someone when they’re sad. It just makes you mean.”

“And you’re not mean.” Somehow Harry’s arms wrapped more securely around Draco. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

Draco tried half heartedly to pull away but Harry wasn’t having it and Draco quickly gave up. “You’re being ridiculous,” he said again instead.

“In case you can’t tell, I don’t care.” He sounded like he meant it. Like maybe he would be ridiculous as long as it took to make his point.

Draco shrugged to make enough space that he could pull just far away to look up and meet Harry’s eyes. “What is it that you want?” He hated that he sounded strained. How was it he could summon courage and bravado for every hair brained scheme he had, but couldn’t keep his voice steady for this one conversation with Harry?

“I want,” Harry paused as if, even with all his time spent thinking, he hadn’t put time into finishing how to finish the sentence. “I want a chance to have something with you.”

“What?” Draco said, because he didn’t know how not to push.

Thankfully the king didn’t say something trite like “anything.” Draco wouldn’t have believed it if he had. Instead, Harry said, “Something real.”

That made Draco gulp. He felt stripped bare and naked at the suggestion. It was terrifying to even consider. More terrifying still to explain why, because he was afraid it wasn’t possible and Harry could never give him anything real at all. Draco could barely force out the words, “You treated me differently when I wore a mask.” A mantra that had trapped itself in his heart. A truth that had soured every other interaction he’d had with Harry since.

“I know,” Harry said. A simple acknowledgement that was the first step to easing the knot in Draco’s stomach. Draco had been afraid Harry would deny it. “I get the feeling you don’t actually want me to string on the apologies, but I could.”

Draco shook his head. Harry was right, he didn’t want to hear more apologies. They wouldn’t do much more than make him feel uncomfortable and if they went on too long Draco would probably just get suspicious or self-deprecating. He didn’t want that. The problem was, he didn’t know what he wanted. Harry had come all this way to sit before him and ask for something, and Draco didn’t know if he wanted to give it. He didn’t know if he was capable.

Well, he was probably capable. Somehow he had organically built friendships with any number of people and he’d grown to trust and love them with all his heart. He was capable of doing it. There was just something in the way here. He couldn’t tell exactly what it was. Was it Draco wanting something different, or Draco being too scared to try for what he wanted?

He tried to parse through everything but he wasn’t ready. He had escaped to the countryside to hide in his family’s home away from all his problems because he wasn’t ready to face them. He wasn’t ready for them, him, to have followed Draco here. He didn’t know what to say. He desperately wanted to know what to say. He wanted to be able to give Harry back the same honesty and vulnerability Harry was offering him. He just didn’t know if he could do it.

“You’ll never treat me like you treated the man in the mask,” Draco said, because he had to say something, so why not say the thing he was most afraid of?

Harry reached out and cupped Draco’s face in his hand. “Draco, you can’t really want me to.” He dropped his hand and dipped his own head so he didn’t have to look at Draco. “Those parties, they weren’t real. It was a fantasy. This escape, where I could pretend to be someone I wasn’t. And it just happened that each time I went to one I saw this beautiful man, and I could pretend for a while that I was a different person who could just be liked for who he was instead of the fact he was king. I think I wanted to be someone different so bad I just kept making up… stories, I guess? Like stories with fairy tale endings where I got the beautiful man who made everything easier and then my problems would go away.”

“You get a true love's kiss and then turn into a pauper instead of a king?”

Harry smiled. “Why not?”

Draco shrugged. “I want the fairy tale.” He always had and he thought he always would.

They were so close, with their legs still touching and either of them could have wrapped their arms back around the other. Harry set his hands on Draco’s knees instead, rubbing gently against them. Possibly the touch comforted Harry, he certainly kept reaching out. “I’m here, right? I’m here, and I’m saying sorry, and I’m asking for a chance. This isn’t another marriage proposal to please other people. It’s me asking you for a chance to see if we’re right for one another. Maybe find our happily ever after.”

Draco’s heart soared and his heart ached and he chewed on his lip nervously because his hope and his fear couldn’t reach consensus. This could be a fairy tale ending. He could say yes. He could lean forward and kiss Harry and give in to the warmth and comfort the other man clearly longed to give him and receive in return.

Only, Harry had asked for something real. He couldn’t build a relationship if he started it with secret resentments he was too afraid to share. “You never got angry at me, when I wore the mask. You weren’t cruel.”

Draco had seen a lot in Harry’s green eyes. Anger, mostly, but also joy, and, on the more exciting days, arousal. He’d never seen him look so sad. He didn’t hide it this time, though. He was brave enough to face Draco head on. “It isn’t what it looks like. I didn’t like the masquerade man better.”

“Didn’t you?” Draco asked.

Harry was making a sad grim smile as if he thought something tragically funny. “It would be easier if I did. You’d understand why, and I could spend the rest of my life proving to you how sorry I was.”

Draco bristled. “Like I’d let you!”

Harry laughed at the younger man’s antics, but he also pulled his hands away. The loss of warmth was harsher than Draco could have imagined. Harry ran both hands through his hair, pulling the damp strands up at odd angles and ensuring they’d dry crooked.

“I’m an angry person, Draco. I get angry at everyone. You just didn’t stick around in a mask long enough for it to be directed at you.” His smile was all sad again. “Like I said, none of it was real.”

Neither man spoke and the silence gave plenty of time for Harry’s words to sink in until finally Draco said, “That’s really sad.”

Harry groaned his frustration and inched even further back from Draco. “No shit.” For the first time that day he sounded hurt.

Draco wanted to say that came out wrong, or he didn’t mean it. He also wanted to move forward back into Harry’s space. Parts of them that had been touching were now damp in a way that drew in the cold. Reminder after reminder that being held by Harry had felt better. It reminded him of being back at the equinox balls, when they sat close and it didn’t have to be that complicated. Except for all the times it was. It reminded Draco how every chance he’d had to come clean was a chance he took to hide further, and how so many resentments had built up over that time while he magically wanted everything to change without ever having to face what had happened for himself. There was no fairy tale ending here.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want what Harry was asking for. He couldn’t say what he wanted. Maybe just to find out whatever “real” meant and do Harry the service of saying it aloud so they both knew what Draco could offer back. Maybe if Draco managed to do that Harry would still look sad and he’d get angry, but it would be feelings Draco had earned honestly. They’d be feelings both men could recover from, if that’s what was needed.

Because Draco could end things now. He could say no and walk away. It would hurt, but… well, mostly it would hurt. He’d get over it, like he got over losing a war, his father, his wealth, and his status. Which, of course, meant he wouldn’t ever get over it at all.

Because even if Harry was frustrating, or got angry, or thought the worst of Draco, he was also so much more. He was the man who rolled in the dirt with children, who was creative and silly when given a chance, and who would sacrifice everything for the people he loved. He also was a man who said sorry, kind of a lot, because even if it would be better if he just stopped making mistakes, he also never stopped trying to be better. He could realize when he was wrong, and get past his pride to see the best in Draco in the end.

Draco’s heart was beating hard in his chest because he knew there was something real there. There had to be something real there. There had to be something he wanted that he could say with confidence and maybe, finally, they could move past their baggage and create a new, better, brighter future, or whatever they say in those stories with happy endings.

The only thing holding Draco back was fear. Long, lingering fear. Fear from all that baggage that they’d never unpacked.

He didn’t want to talk about it. There was no comfortable conversation here. No easy way through one. Draco reminded himself that Harry had traveled all the way here in a rain storm to lay himself bare and that must have been harder than Draco admitting he was scared. So Draco had to do it. He had to lay his fears out there. He had to see what would happen.

“How can I know that you won’t, you know, get angry and do something, like, slam me up against a wall? Or cut me open?”

Harry actually flinched away from the question. The strain of the conversation was getting to him and he lashed out in defensiveness. “I never cut you open.” Such a bad deflection. It was clear Harry knew it as soon as he said it because his face reddened with shame and he wouldn’t meet Draco’s eyes.

Which in this moment may have been for the best, because Draco’s eyes were wide in shock and his skin was too pale. He almost lashed out himself to correct the king, but paused when a devastating realization hit. Harry didn’t remember attacking Draco. Draco had been no one to him, just a body to cut down. And Draco had never let Harry see the marks. Draco had thought if he’d done so it would have given him away. That it wouldn’t have was a special sort of pain.

The silence was stretching too long. It was agonizing.

“I never,” Harry tried to break the silence but lost the words before he could finish speaking. He gulped. When he spoke again the words were shaky. “I never hurt someone on our side.”

“Our side,” Draco said, trying out the words. They sat uneasy in his stomach under all his scars. “Your side,” he tried next, to see if it felt more honest.

“You’re on my side, Draco.” Harry said it like he wanted it to be true. Like he was asking Draco if it could be. Like he still wanted something with Draco. If they could find something real.

Draco couldn’t let the past go. “What if you’re angry, and I push you, and you forget, and there’s no one there to stop you.”

Harry could hear and see the fear in Draco and perhaps that’s what he needed to settle his own nerves. “I won’t forget.”

“But what if--”

“Draco, you literally threw yourself in front of a poisoned dagger to save me,” Harry sounded unbelievably firm. “All my friends like you better than me. You’re Teddy’s favorite person. And if that somehow wasn’t enough, you won’t stop concocting elaborate schemes to try to make my life better. I… you… you’re… you’re one of the best things in my life.”

Harry sounded so certain the Draco didn’t know how to take it. Draco’s eyes were big again, all wide in surprise. He felt nearly light headed. “Oh,” Draco said.

“This might be too much to put on you in one day. I can see you’re nervous, and you probably need time to-”

“No,” Draco interrupted. “I mean, yes. I mean, no I don’t need time. Yes, let’s…” he licked his lips because they were dry and he was nervous and he needed one last beat to be certain before he said, “take a chance at having something.”

Harry paused a moment to look hard at Draco. Draco looked back, still wide-eyed, but not uncertain. “Something?” The question was tinged with hope.

“Anything,” Draco said. Which was stupid because he couldn’t possibly mean it and he’d never let Harry get away with something so excessive and ridiculous. He just felt… like something had been lifted off him. Like the world was open to possibilities.

Harry’s lips were quirked up in that small smile and his eyes shone like brilliant emeralds. “Anything?” he asked.

“Well,” Draco said because he felt caught out in his own eagerness, “not marriage. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Harry’s eyes truly twinkled. He looked happy.

“Time,” Draco said. “We’ll spend time together.”

“I’d like to spend time with you.” Harry sounded so incredibly sincere it made Draco’s stomach flutter. Probably because Draco actually believed him. He finally believed Harry would give Draco time and maybe he didn’t wish Draco was someone else.

“Yeah,” Draco breathed out the word. He wanted to spend time with Harry, who was imperfect but was trying. Harry, who thought Draco was one of the best things in his life.

Harry looked like he had a million questions and was holding them all in except for, “Anything else?”

“Um,” Draco said because he hadn’t thought this through. He had lurched, because it’s what he always did. He jumped straight in without thinking. Only, he had thought about this. He’d thought quite a lot. He’d been worried and afraid and he had shared it, at least the parts that mattered. He did want to try whatever this would be, but he wanted to do it right, like it meant something. He was still nervous and on edge, but after squeezing out one fear at a time he had heard enough. Harry would likely always be a sad grump, but that wasn’t all there was to him. Draco would always carry scars, and one day he’d probably talk about them, but more importantly… Draco believed Harry. Something had shifted in Harry’s world view, and Draco wasn’t the obligation he’d shoved off on an advisor, who Harry always had to be suspicious of. He was Draco. Family, lover, friend.

Draco realized he needed to know Harry was coming into this just as openly. He didn’t want to discover Harry had hidden his own resentments, only to see them fester.

“Do you have anything you’re worried about, with me?” Draco asked. “I need to know now. We have to be honest, for this to be real.”

To his credit, Harry gave it thought before answering. “You have to stay out of foreign affairs. Probably also domestic affairs. You can be helpful, but…” he trailed off because he clearly couldn’t find the exact words to say what a mess Draco could be.

“What if you get yourself into a mess?” Draco tactfully did not say “again.”

Harry looked at Draco like he knew what Draco had chosen not to say. “Then you talk to Hermione, or Andromeda, or me. That’s it. No going to George, or, heaven forbid, Percy.”

“Percy is probably never going to talk to me about affairs of state again,” Draco lamented. “He’d find it so unprofessional.”

“That is Percy’s finest quality,” Harry drawled. “But seriously, if we’re going to… there has to be separation between us and my responsibilities as king.”

Draco thought of all the ways he’d caused trouble for Harry and his friends by sticking his nose into things, and all the time sticking his nose in was needed. “I can still talk to you, though, if I’m worried?”

“I don’t know how I’d stop you.” Harry didn’t sound sad about it, and that was enough for now.

Draco smiled and leaned forward just a bit to be closer to Harry. “So, time together. You work on all that anger and healing trauma. I show reasonable levels of respect for all the hard work and careful plans you and your advisors are doing for the kingdom.”

Harry very nearly rolled his eyes, but held it in. “Anything else?” he asked.

And while this felt silly and too close to a business transaction, Draco wasn’t sure if he’d ever have a better chance to say it so he said it now. “Exclusivity.”

“What now?” Harry asked.

The nerves came back but Draco shouldered on. “This isn’t going to be like… well, I want to be clear. We’re exclusive. No kissing other boys.”

It was Harry’s turn to look surprised, just for a moment. Then his eyes darkened and a sly grin spread across his face. “I’d be happy to exclusively be kissing you.”

Draco hadn’t actually been thinking about kissing, not until Harry said it. Then suddenly he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t stop thinking about other things, like how warm Harry’s body had been and what it would feel like to strip those wet clothes off him and lick up raindrops with his tongue.

Maybe if he were wiser he’d pause there and finish the conversation. Talk through all the anythings and what their wants and needs were to feel safe and whole in this something they wanted to build a relationship off of.

Draco wasn’t wise. He was eager and he was cold and he was lonely, and Harry was right there. Right. There. And Harry clearly wanted Draco. Draco was one of the best things in his life. So Draco lurched forward with all his energy. He flung his arms around the other man, who wasn’t braced to catch him so both of them toppled a little. They hit a stack of boxes and perhaps it swayed but it didn’t fall, which meant Draco was able to urgently and immediately start kissing.

Harry moaned against Draco. He shifted under the younger man to make space so they could lie together on top of each other, Draco straddling Harry. They focused mostly on the kissing, with teeth nipping at lips and tongues eagerly exploring. They had done this before, but never like this. It may have been up in a dusty attic, but it felt open and free.

Draco ground against Harry, chasing his own lust and feeling Harry’s in turn. He wanted more. He wanted to feel everything. Draco reached down between their bodies to untie the clothes between them, but Harry intercepted Draco’s hands and laced their fingers together. He used Draco’s hands to pull him back in towards Harry so that the older man could kiss him again. Slow kisses interspaced with nuzzling that warmed Draco on the inside even if he didn’t understand why it was happening.

The next time Draco tried to take things further Draco started at Harry’s ear. He nibbled on the edges and licked the moisture away from the skin just to feel Harry shiver under him. Draco nosed along Harry’s skin, tickling his neck before kissing it. Then biting it. Harry arched underneath him and groaned and Draco sucked hard on his neck so that he could see himself on Harry’s skin in the morning. Draco kissed further down. Biting at the skin, kissing the shoulder, licking the clavicle. He reached his hands under Harry’s shirt and brushed his fingertips over Harry’s hips, teasing him with sensation. Harry grabbed Draco’s wrists before he could go further and pull the shirt off.

Draco paused. He pulled one hand away so he could push himself up and look at Harry. “Am I doing something wrong?”

Harry didn’t look like anything was wrong. His lips were kiss bruised and his eyes were blown wide with lust. His body was strung tight and there was no hiding how hard he was under Draco. He was nearly panting with desire. He shook his head to confirm it wasn’t Draco. “I, um, I just… this isn’t just about sex. Not for me. Not with you.”

Draco bit back his first instinct to say, “obviously” with as much sarcasm as he could muster. They’d had a whole conversation about all the other things it was about. Draco realized that had been for him. Harry had done that for him, so he would be comfortable. This action, this withholding, meant something to Harry that wasn’t obvious to him the way it was to Draco. It was Harry trying to show how much he cared. It was Harry seeing Draco more than just another one of his pretty boys.

So Draco crawled off Harry and laid down beside him. It was awkward because the space was tight and parts of Draco really didn’t want to lose out on being up close to a gorgeous man, but it was also okay. It let Draco take Harry’s face in his hand, and wrap the other hand up in Harry’s hair, and pull him in close for the softest sweetest kisses Draco could offer.

Time together and kisses. That’s what they had promised, and it was more than Draco had thought possible. It was everything he needed.

Later, Harry would ask Draco what he was even doing in the attic, and Draco would muster the courage to be more vulnerable and open than he had been even in their conversation. Draco would show Harry the black chest, and explain everything it meant.

Later, the men would leave the attic. They’d stay together in Draco’s little room in the servants quarters and Harry didn’t complain at all about how small it was when Draco finally stayed with him for an entire evening. Harry would hold him the whole time, warm and close.

Later, the storm would end and the family would come, worried about Draco and Harry, only to find them safe and calm and happy.

Later, they would spend time together, talking, reading, kissing, more than kissing, with friends, with family, shouting and yelling, in happiness and disagreement.

Later, they’d figure out if it was for now or for forever. But that was a long time away, and right now giving something a chance was enough.

Chapter Text

We are pleased to inform you that you have
been accepted to the Equinox School
of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please do nav-
igate here on September twenty two.

First year students require plain work robes (black).
pointed hat (black). Magic wand. Protective
gloves (dragon hide or similar). Please track
assigned course books for each elective:

Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection.
The Standard Book of Spells first years will try.
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.

STUDENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE
NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK. Au revoir!

Percy was dithering because Draco made him go in alone for the selection. Also, likely, because he hadn’t wanted to come to the ball at all but Draco pouted until he gave in. So here he was, being forced to choose between somewhat arbitrary categories and nearly unable to make up his mind.

It had Draco grinning, because of course Percy would take this more seriously than he needed to. Nearly everyone had. That’s what made the game fun.

It was another minute before Percy came out wearing a blue mask. He clung to a long black wand that didn’t have the slightest decoration. “This is stupid.”

Draco laughed at him and motioned to Audrey that it was her turn. Draco stood at the edge of a divider so he could see the line of people arriving, and those that walked out of the selection booth, without the groups being able to see each other. Because it was more fun if people had to choose without bias.

Brave and daring?
Loyal and patient?
Clever and learned?
Cunning and resourceful?

Draco made any attendee who brought a mask discard it in order to select from the provided categories.

For that matter, he made any attendee who didn’t follow the instructions discard their outfit and replace it with extras he’d sewn just for the night’s event.

Audrey walked out with her yellow mask after hardly any time at all. “I love the story of the enchanted knights!” She declared, waving her own orange wand about. It had glittery triangles and circles glued to it.

“But no one is just one thing.” Percy had probably also read the legend, and doubtlessly got the metaphor, but that didn’t help his very literal thought process.

“Congratulations, students!” Draco interrupted because it was for the best. “Here are your course materials. Go forth and show us which magic clan is the greatest of them all.” Audrey squeaked excitedly and took the bundle of pamphlets that stood in for course books. Percy was less excited, but took them out of duty since he’d promised to give the game a fair shot. “You can work together, but you are on different teams and only one can win.”

Audrey was already flipping open the book and musing, “I bet the herbs and fungi one is in French, the girls have been practicing all the natural elements.”

Draco couldn’t help but look pleased. “Don’t provide hints, Audrey, you should get extra points for helping Molly and Lucy with their studies.”

“That isn’t fair,” Percy complained, but Audrey was already dragging him away and into the manor house.

They were the last of the Weasleys invited, and had arrived on the latter side. Draco suspected more guests would wander in far past fashionably late, but he was willing to hand off the welcome process to a volunteer so he could finally enter the game himself. He swapped out a plain black mask for a green one without needing a second’s thought. Some considered Sir Slytherin the villain of the tale, but Draco knew who he was and saw the good in it.

The grand entryway was lit up with sparkly lights that looked like floating candles, as if by magic. Dozens of witches and wizards were scurrying between rooms where puzzles awaited their attention. Draco walked through the crowd and into the great hall beyond.

It was a vast, cathedral-like space illuminated by thousands more of the floating candles, with long tables laid out with glittering golden plates and goblets, all under a magical ceiling that appeared like a night sky with stars. The front of the room held a separate table where the equinox committee would eventually sit. Behind it was a large clock with runes and magical symbols, counting down the hours and minutes until midnight. Some ‘students’ sat at their assigned tables, talking, laughing, feasting and making merry. Most ran to and from the room, carrying tokens to deposit into large caldrons painted the color of their respective teams.

It was magic. Completely, spectacular, brilliant magic, and Draco felt giddy. It had taken months of planning and effort but now here he was, in the middle of a magical wonderland made real.

“Draco, finally!” Another man in a green mask nudged Draco as he approached. His pointy hat was green and looked as if things were growing on it. The green clashed with George’s red hair and freckles but he hadn’t hesitated to pick a team. A large head of house badge was fastened to his chest, marking him as one of the gamemasters. George held out a handful of tokens. “C’mon, mate, it’s not too late to have some fun.”

Draco smirked at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a station?”

“Ha!” George chortled. “I want to fly.”

It was no real hardship for George to drag Draco out of the great hall. They joined a throng of others running through the manor. Draco stepped on his toes and peered everywhere, seeking to take in the spoils of their labor. The doorway to each room was decorated fantastically, all elaborate murals with just enough of a hint to suggest what may lay inside. Anything and everything burst out of doorways. Purple smoke, globs of goo, mechanical trolls, students shrieking in terror and in glee.

Draco would have lingered, but his cousin was beckoning passerbys into a room decorated with what might have appeared to be monkeys, insects, and lizards, if you didn’t look too close. Luna had what may have been a stuffed platypus draped around her shoulders, tucked just under her blue hat. George charged by her, not making eye contact with her or the lanky blonde man at her side who held out a small mechanical dragon that was crawling over his hand. George yanked Draco through a doorway even as Draco watched the small thing launch up into the air, its wings swirling rapidly in flight.

George would probably be less jealous if the man courting Luna had only been less clever.

It had been a mechanical marvel to pull off the broom mechanism that let attendees swoop down from the third floor all the way to the first. Thankfully there was an open air vestibule that provided the space, and George had been more than willing to dedicate all his resourcefulness to the effort. He’d sworn everyone at the manor to secrecy when they began to test it over and over again to make sure it was safe. They should have started with a net at the bottom, but they got there eventually after one too many unfortunate falls. Now, anyone could pay a hard won token for the chance to dive off a balcony. If they were lucky, they’d win it back by tossing a ball through a hoop or catching one of the scattered winged golden-painted trinkets hanging from strings. Some party goers had fallen, but the net held.

Draco entered the room in time to see one man swoop down from above, both hands outstretched. He snatched a tiny gold trinket out of the air on either side, maintaining his balance just with the strength of his legs. The entire watching crowd cheered at the feat.

“Show off!” Draco yelled as Harry exchanged the gold balls for a token each. He was probably the only person making profit off this game.

Harry grinned at Draco’s jibing. Of course he was on the broom. He had been the first to give it a go back in the testing, and foolishly Draco had let him leap to it without considering that he was putting the king’s life at imminent risk. The red mask marked Harry as brave and daring, but Draco thought that wasn’t the half of it. If Sir Slytherin had been conniving and ambitious, Sir Gryffindor was a testament to how brave might be a positive spin on reckless and foolhardy.

Harry looked happy, though. That authentic happy he got out of doors after a vigorous ride, or from tromping around with Teddy and the other littles. It was infectious, and Draco felt no hesitation when Harry strolled over and caught Draco up in a kiss.

Most days, kissing Harry was one of the best things in the world. Draco wrapped his arms around the older man’s neck and pulled their bodies flush so he could feel Harry’s muscle against him. Harry moaned so soft no one but Draco could hear it, and flickered a tongue over Draco’s lips, igniting nerves that somehow lit up his entire body. “Wanna get out of here?”

Draco maybe did, but he pouted because it meant missing out. “I haven’t gotten to play the games!”

“I finished ‘em, and I’m telling you there are better things you could do.” Harry reached a hand into Draco’s robe to trail up Draco’s chest like he knew Draco liked.

Draco slapped Harry’s hand away. “You finished all of them?” He asked it pointedly because he had reason to doubt.

Harry huffed without losing his grin. “I might have skipped George’s.” Anyone wise would have skipped George’s. George set up his cauldrons so that when a person didn’t twist the knobs just right to indicate the exact correct quantity of ingredients they would receive a burst of slime to their face. More than a few people were running around with green remnants in their hair and in the creases of their nose and ears where they didn’t quite wash it all off.

“I bet I’d do it perfectly,” Draco said, all smugness. “I am exceptional at magic.” He twirled his wand theatrically in a way he’d never admit he had practiced. Harry’s eyes sparkled and the effort was worth it for his admiration.

“You’re exceptional at everything,” Harry said, once again snuggling his way into Draco’s space. Harry certainly had Draco’s number. Flattery could get you anywhere, at least when it was Harry actually being impressed.

He was so hard to impress, because he cared so little for most things. It was a shock to Draco, to discover how so much of the king’s apathy about clothes and balls and furnishing was because he well and truly didn’t care. Draco could tell it ran deeper than that. Deep into wells in the ground that were pitch black and Draco hadn’t found a long enough rope so that his metaphorical bucket could get to the metaphorical water that held all the king’s actual reasons he put up barriers between himself and things that he might actually enjoy. Sometimes Harry let details slip of terrible past events that almost certainly haunted him. It reminded Draco of all those times he’d stumbled across King Voldermort doing things Draco wasn’t supposed to see. Like he slipped behind a curtain against the rules. Most days he could pretend the curtain was there to keep the peace. The other days Draco said fuck it and dug his heels in and made demands of how Harry should live his life and they fought until Harry stormed away.

There was a lot left to figure out in their relationship, but the good days were good, and Harry flushed with the thrill of flying was good.

Draco caved and went with Harry. Of course Harry had already scoped out a room, off beyond the bounds of the ball. One might not know they were at the ball if not for cords of enchanting music and the occasional combustion of something Draco shouldn’t have let George explode indoors.

Harry returned to kissing Draco, an action that somehow took his whole body and left Draco breathless. Harry’s hands were at Dracos’ throat, untying the thin ropes that held his cloak on. Draco huffed when Harry let the cloak fall to the floor haphazardly, but then Harry did something with his tongue that had Draco tingling with anticipation and Draco clutched at the hair at the base of Harry’s skull right under his wizard hat instead of complaining. Harry followed suit, running his hands through Draco’s hair, for some reason back to front. The reason became clear when Draco felt his hat lifting. Draco actually yelped. “Careful with that!”

He could feel Harry’s laughter against his chest but Harry removed the hat gingerly. “Whatever you say, headmaster.” He waved the hat a little to show off the tiny black bats and cats that were carefully attached on black sticks sticking out in all directions. It created quite the optical illusion, that Harry probably would have admired if it wasn’t currently between him and his desire to have Draco naked.

Draco scowled and tried to take his hat back, but the king just laughed and held it carefully to the side until he could safely store it on a nearby desk. Then he spun around and caught Draco unaware to lift the younger man up off his feet before tossing him on the waiting bed. Harry was back on him almost as soon as he landed. Calloused hands ran up Draco’s thighs, over his hips, up his chest, then nimble fingers began vigorously unbuttoning his blouse.

“Eager,” Draco tried to tease but it was a touch too breathless to succeed.

“Want you.” Harry said between kisses. “We can do this fast, get you back to the party.” Draco pulled his head back so he could scoff. Harry took it as an invitation to kiss down his chin and nibble at his neck, while still unbuttoning his garments. “Don’t worry,” the words tickled Draco’s sensitive throat. “I’ll make it good.”

That spurred something in Draco. He reached out and grabbed one of the king’s wrists, pulling it away from his clothes. The other thread through Harry’s hair so he could get a good grasp of it in his fist and pull. Harry groaned and arched into Draco as the younger man restrained him.

“I’m not looking for good,” Draco all but growled. “You’re a wizard, Harry. I want magic.”

This groan was louder and Draco could feel the friction of Harry’s cock as he rubbed it against Draco’s own groin. “Magic,” Harry breathed. He stared at Draco with dark, hooded eyes and licked his lips in anticipation.

Draco released Harry so could pull away. With a skill and determination Draco might have been intimidated by, Harry swiftly untied Draco’s trousers and yanked on them. Draco lifted his hips to help and Harry eagerly pulled the pants off completely. That left Draco bare from the waist down while Harry was still fully dressed, including that silly wizard hat. It hid Harry’s face from Draco and he couldn’t see the exact moment Harry wrapped his lips around Draco’s cock and twirled his tongue around the head of it. It was good Harry was holding Draco down because Draco couldn’t make himself stay still while Harry’s lips and tongue sucked and every thought in Draco’s brain was centered on that wet blissful heat.

Harry sucked him down, down, down, and Draco couldn’t handle it. He grabbed for the older man’s dumb hat and threw it across the room because he had to see. He had to. He loved watching the way his cock went into Harry. It was so hot seeing Harry take him, it never got old. Especially not when Draco could see Harry drooling around his prick while his face was flushed with arousal. Harry was loving it. He absolutley loved taking cock and he was so good at it.

Harry had told him once that he used to hire prostitutes, when he was first learning about sex. There was one, his favorite, who would dress in delicate silks and fuck like a sledge hammer. Harry paid the man to teach Harry how to suck cock. Just because he wanted to be able to. He wanted to suck on someone like Draco and take him completely apart. While Draco still had very awkward feelings about the depth of Harry’s experience compared to his own, he was very much on board with one of the lessons Harry insisted on passing along.

“I’m clo - clo -” Harry reached one hand around Draco’s backside and slid a slick finger tip across Draco’s hole. “ohmygawdimsocloseHarryimgoingtocum-” and Draco did. His mind blacked out for who knows how long because it felt that good.

He felt Harry’s finger pushing into him, stretching him open, before he felt anything else. “Yessss,” Draco moaned because he liked that. Harry liked it best when Draco topped, but maybe tonight he planned to take a turn in response to Draco’s snark. “Put it in me,” Draco panted. He was wrung out and sensitive, so it would take a couple minutes before it felt good again, but trial and error taught him how much Harry liked it when he spoke dirty. “Put it in me, fill me up.”

Harry’s laughter rumbled through his body and into Draco. He pulled his finger out and nudged at Draco to turn over so that he had better access. Harry went back at it, now with a clear view of his finger slipping in and out of Draco’s ass. Maybe he liked it as much as Draco did, watching a hungry hole flutter. Harry pulled his finger out to apply more lube, which of course he had just waiting nearby. This time he brought back two fingers, stretching Draco further with their intrusion. He began to scissor his fingers, preparing Draco for something bigger.

Draco was ready to start begging Harry to put it in again when the strangest thing happened. Harry stretched his fingers out inside Draco and something wet and hot slipped in between them, lighting Draco out up from the inside out.

“Jesus christ what was that!”

Harry thrust it back in, driving the amazing feeling deeper into Draco. Draco tried to pull away but Harry had an arm wrapped around his hips to hold him steady as he thrust his tongue into Draco over and over again. It was wrong and gross and Draco definitely would insist Harry stop, except it somehow felt amazing and even Draco’s spent dick was starting to pay attention.

“Gnnnn Harry,” Draco groaned and it didn’t sound anything like the protest he’d intended. Harry certainly heard only encouragement. He had a finger all the way in Draco now, rubbing right up against Draco’s prostate as his tongue continued to lick and massage Draco’s insides. Without realizing it Draco began to thrust back against Harry, inviting in every pleasurable sensation.

It was torment when Harry pulled away, leaving Draco stretched and open. “Fuck, Harry. What the fuck.” Harry chuckled and nipped at Draco’s asscheek. Draco yelped, then turned to half glare at a grinning Harry.

“Got you hard again in record time,” Harry said with a smirk. “Just like magic.” It was true, Draco was young enough to have a decent refractory period but this had sped it up even for him. Harry reached around his body to rub a hand still wet with lube over Draco’s prick and Draco shuddered from the sensation. “So now you can fuck me.”

Draco dropped his head and groaned into the sheets. He was stretched open wide and would have loved to be filled up with cock, but of course Harry had a devious plan. Maybe he should have chosen the Slytherin team, afterall. Draco pushed up enough that he could grab at Harry and pull him around and onto the bed next to him. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he groused, to Harry’s amusement. Draco reached around until he located the lube Harry’d stashed nearby. Then he lifted one of Harry’s legs to his shoulders so he could look at all of him, his tight hole, dripping cock, and beautiful face, all while stretching him open wide.

Only there was something odd tonight. Draco reached a lubed finger down to his hole and rubbed it around the edges of something already there.

“Ta da,” Harry said as Draco pulled at the thing inside him, revealing a long cylindrical shape that held him stretched open. Harry gasped as it moved inside him, rubbing against sensitive things. On an impulse Draco shoved it back in. It forced a gasp out of Harry. His entire body shook with the effort to hold still.

“This is some magic trick,” Draco said as he shoved it in again, jamming it towards Harry’s prostate.

“Ah!” Harry cried. He ground down against it. “Wasn’t sure how much time you’d have tonight, wanted to be ready.”

Draco’s throat was instantly dry at the thought of Harry doing this for him. He had it in him the whole night. It was there while Harry rode the broom. “Christ,” Draco said again. Then he pulled the thing out and tossed it to the side. “Roll over.”

Harry did, of course. Bossiness didn’t always do it for him, but tonight he was eager. He let Draco shift his hips to the perfect height so that Draco could line up his lubed up cock and shove it in with one go.

Fuck, that was it. That was everything. The feel of Harry stretched out around Draco’s cock, scathing hot and silky smooth, eager to take him all. Harry groaned for the millionth time and then pushed hard back into Draco so Draco would take the hint and begin thrusting.

They’d never gotten this part wrong. No matter how many squabbles or fights they had, they could always come back to the sex. It felt good even when Draco knew Harry was using it as a distraction from all his other problems that overwhelmed him. That wasn’t what Draco wanted to be for him, but sometimes it’s what he could offer, and the thrill of gripping bruises into Harry’s skin while wildly thrusting with everything he had was an excellent consolation.

Draco had one hand on Harry’s shoulder and he used it as a leverage point to pull their bodies together as hard as he could with each thrust. He knew Harry’s body now. He knew exactly how to angle it for maximum sensation, so that in a matter of minutes Harry would rasp and mewl and moan for him. It was a heady sensation, causing this much pleasure. It made him want to do more, to go harder. He wanted Harry yelling. He wanted him to shout. He wanted him to lose all inhibition and explode from the pounding Draco gave him. And since Draco was on round two he had time to pound Harry into oblivion. And it was working. Harry was shouting. He cried out as his ass clenched around Draco’s cock, and Draco knew Harry was cumming. Draco kept thrusting, just as hard and fast until Harry was over sensitive and whimpering from the feeling. It still felt good to pound into his hole and Draco chased the sensation until finally he was able to let go in a final explosion of his own. He cried out, too, before collapsing on top of Harry’s back, completely wrecked.

They laid like that longer than they should have, with both men basking in the afterglow of their release. Draco mouthed along the back of Harry’s shoulder, sucking marks into his skin because he liked knowing they were there under the king’s clothes, marking Harry as his.

It was Harry who rolled them both over. He tried to go for a kiss but Draco pushed him away. “Wash your mouth, you’re disgusting!”

Another laugh. Harry was filled with laughter tonight. “You liked it.” Draco shoved him off the bed and towards a bowl of water for cleaning up. Harry could always be counted on to be prepared for sex. They were exclusive long enough that they agreed to move past condoms, but clearly Harry was comprehensive in his preparations. Draco washed Harry brush his teeth before catching sight of the clock. Somehow it was half past eleven. He hardly had any time!

Draco jumped off the bed and scrambled for all the clothes Harry had tossed about the room. He shoved himself into all his pieces. “I can’t believe I let you wrinkle everything.”

Harry leaned against a wardrobe, still naked. He looked exceptionally smug as he watched Draco scramble. “You look great. I’d certainly do you.” Draco picked up a pillow that at some point made it to the floor and chucked it at Harry. He laughed and knocked it away.

Thankfully there was a full length mirror that Draco could use to try to fix the worst of it. He’d still look rumpled, and his hair was nothing less than shagged out, but everything was in the right place and when he perched his hat atop his head it somehow pulled the ensemble together.

Harry paused buttoning up his own trousers to stare at Draco’s figure. “We could just stay up here and have another go.”

Draco didn’t have time to find another pillow to throw. Instead he flipped Harry off and left the room with Harry’s laughter trailing behind him. As much as he huffed, he did love how Harry wanted him. He still doubted sometimes that Harry could be happy with him. Harry seemed to see it, and most days he did his best to show how Draco was everything he wanted and needed.

The grand hall was crowded by the time Draco made it back. Students were rushing in to deposit the last of their tokens to their respective team’s cauldrons. Others sat at the grand tables, already drinking and feasting.

Draco took a deep breath to steady himself. He hadn’t meant to arrive just before midnight when the spotlight would be immediately on him. However, needs must, and Draco knew how to command a room under pressure. When the clock started counting down the final minute, Draco stepped up onto the raised dais where the Committee members were already perched. He strode forward, all confidence, to the very middle. He struck the most commanding pose he could manage right as the clock started to chime. Twelve beats rang throughout the room, signaling the stoke of midnight.

Every person in the room turned their attention to Draco, and he basked in it.

Most days, Draco was pleased for his quiet life in the countryside. He had Teddy, and nearly every day Rose and Hugo would come to play. There was almost always either Ron or Hermione, and, when she wasn’t at court, Aunt Andromeda. He constantly exchanged letters with his mother in Durmstrang. His friends visited all the time, or he’d go visit Luna even further into the countryside, or Percy and his family in the City. Sometimes, when Draco really desired adventure, he’d travel here to the giant manor house George had converted into a university of sorts for those with engineering aspirations. He had a million and one things to be happy for, to be grateful for.

Some days, he remembered he could have had things another way. He thought about how he’d been born to greatness. How he could captivate a room with his charm and wit and brilliance. He’d been offered the chance to stand in front of a court like this every day and hold their admiration. It’s not that he wanted that, except for in these little moments when he really, really did. Because he was good at this. He could smile out at an audience and make his voice carry without ever shouting. “Welcome to a new year at the Equinox School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!” he could accept the cheers and joy the people offered as if it was his due.

It was a little dangerous, though, to accept it all for himself. His father might have done that to advance his own agenda, but Draco was far from his father. This time he chaired the committee, but it took everyone to pull off the event. That’s why he’d given titles to the game masters and invited them all up on stage. It let Draco introduce the “professors.” He used his power as host to urge everyone to cheer on the game masters who’d poured their hearts into the individual pieces that made up the whole of this party. George, in his green mossy hat. Luna, effervescent in blue. Hannah, wearing yellow as bright as sunshine. Lee, with red dragon scales. The audience cheered for each in turn, celebrating their creations.

Draco liked this better. He liked seeing his friends light up with pride. Maybe one day he could go back to court, maybe accompanying Teddy when he came of age, and Draco could learn to do this there as well. He could bring people together to support each other instead of be cruel, and help Teddy thrive in a kingdom that wanted him to succeed. For now, he could do that here, for all these people who wanted to be a part of something magic.

“The time is upon us. Each of you joined us for a grand experiment to determine once and for all what makes a witch or wizard great.” This was the cue for four assistants to run out and stand behind each cauldron. George had helped hide a scale under each one so it would be easy to know which had the most tokens from weight alone. The helpers all motioned the results to Draco, who tried to suppress a smirk.

“In fourth place,” perhaps it was cruel to say, but Draco was never going to be too kind a person. “The brave and noble Gryffindors!” A loud groan rang out from their table, nearly droned out by the loudest of all, Lee Jordan. Draco wiggled his eyebrows at them. “Me thinks you spent too many tokens on the broom rides.” Which lit the table up in laughter and applause.

“In third place,” Draco paused again for dramatic effect and he waited until everyone held their breath with him. “The brilliant and studied Ravenclaws!” There were more sounds of protest, but now also good natured cheers. Draco clapped as well to celebrate their work, but he nodded to the rest of the room as he said, “Let it be a lesson to us all that it takes more than brains to succeed.”

“With two contenders left, I will announce the winners.” Draco nodded to a band at the back of the room, “Drumroll please.” The drummer picked up his sticks and started making noise. It was Lee who first joined in, slamming his fists on the table. The whole Gryffindor table picked it up, followed swiftly by everyone everywhere in the room until the ruckus was so loud Draco could hardly shout over it to be heard.

“Hufflepuff!” At his announcement something clicked, and around the room huge banners that had previously been hidden in the ceiling art suddenly unfurled, displaying the crest of Sir Huffpuff all around them. Something whirled at the Hufflepuff table, and what previously might have appeared to be center pieces began to spin, shouting out large yellow bubbles that floated across the room, filling it with Hufflepuff yellow.

Hannah squealed and jumped to her feet, thrusting both hands in the air in celebration. Her entire table jumped up as well, shouting their excitement and hugging each other with glee.

Draco tried to make himself heard over the lot of them as he shouted. “Turns out no amount of cleverness could overcome the value of loyalty and teamwork!”

Everyone was cheering now, even the Slytherins who had to settle for second place. It was how it should be. Everyone celebrating together.

It was the glee that made it magic. All the people coming together in joy. Tonight was exactly what Draco wanted. It felt like anything was possible. Maybe tonight someone met their true love under the starlight. Or escaping a dragon. Or getting covered in sludge. Anything could be a fairy tale. After all, each person got to choose their own happily ever after.