Chapter 8
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.