Celestial Being

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.