Chapter 15
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.