Chapter 6
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.