Celestial Being

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.