Celestial Being

It wasn’t that Draco meant to spend all night in a dusty old chair in the library. Only that he meant to flee the king’s room and hide from everyone until he stopped feeling this unyielding misery and shame. Leaving King Harry wasn’t like walking out in the middle of the night after one of the balls, with the king bidding him to stay. This time, King Harry practically turned his back to Draco, one fist balled up to cover his mouth, holding back… whatever.

The absolute worst thing that could have happened right then would be to run into literally anyone. The king teased Draco for not lying well, which wasn’t so much true as the fact Draco couldn’t hold back his emotions. On good days, fear or anger would drown out everything else and he could hide behind his sneer or submission and it would be what was expected of him so he’d be allowed to carry on. This was the sort of epicly bad day where Draco’s eyes were welling up and he had to do this continuous flexing of his brows and flaring of his nose, all while biting his tongue, anything to distract his face from giving in and letting tears fall. If someone saw, they would know, and their knowing would tilt Draco over the edge of sobbing and then whoever it was would want to know why. Draco was so shattered that he might do something stupid like tell them.

It wasn’t about the king. Fuck the king. King Harry was just an extremely powerful and physically attractive man. This might push what once was the majority of Draco’s buttons, he had been attracted to the incredibly rich and physically attractive Colton, but it had nothing on a newer dream so tiny and rarely examined that it was hardly a dream at all. Draco couldn’t even put words to it because even though he’d lived his new life for years, most of those years he hadn’t dared to imagine it a life he could enjoy. However, at some point, an inkling of an idea did slip in. It was more of a feeling, really. Fleeting and ephemeral, impossible to capture in words. A dream of a life he might create for himself in the absence of everything he had been meant to be. A life only possible if he admitted he no longer wanted what he’d had, before.

Part of it spiked adrenaline and excitement. He felt it in bursts of memory. Running through mud in a childish competition. Wrestling toddlers covered in paint until everyone is tangled in primary colored limbs. Donning outdated costumes made magnificent by his willingness to go over the top. Undignified things that thrilled and brought joy.

The other part of this feeling was a world apart. It felt like snuggling up with his mother to savor Honeydukes chocolate. It was the soft turn of a page during reading time with the Weasleys. That moment he pushed back Teddy’s hair and kissed his forehead goodnight. These moments soothed him in a way he hadn’t ever known to crave in his life before.

Draco wished more of him had changed. Just enough that wanting what he did would be easy, or at least easier. He could learn that diplomatic way of talking, where you said what you needed to but without anyone feeling told off. He could try out humility. He wouldn’t run headfirst into every competition needing to win, wouldn’t end every conversation wanting the last word. He could try to be modest. Why must he thrive on the admiration of others, instead of just being satisfied knowing he was talented and clever without anything to prove?

That was the joke of it all. Draco had been born to be a duke, with every advantage laid at his feet. What had he ever been trying to prove? Not that he deserved it. Draco had never questioned that he deserved everything he had and more. He hadn’t questioned his entitlement when he was conquered and every possession was stripped away. He had only ever questioned himself when he sat at the loving feet of his loving parents who would give everything they had and more for him, and knew in his heart he still did not measure up to their dreams. Draco was brilliant, clever, beautiful, but he was not the son his father had wanted. For Draco’s entire childhood he had known his father wanted someone well… Lucious would have settled for someone like Percy, who was good at maths and could make a fortune multiply itself through cunning investment. Or, someone like Hermione, who manipulated politics and would rise to the top of the Small Council in due time. Perhaps most of all, someone like King Harry, ruthless in battle and able to conquer the throne for himself. King Draco Malfoy, Lucius would have loved to be able to say.

Draco was only Draco. He was proud of who he was. Even if part of that was terrified he could never measure up. Even if he was so desperate for approval that he would step into a fantasy world where it was safe to be seen, and then refused to admit it to anyone because he couldn’t bear for their affection to be torn away once they learned the truth. Even if it gave him a dream too big for someone like him to ever realize. Not for the king, but for someone to want him the way the king had when King Harry hadn’t even known who Draco was.

So Draco had run off and hid in the same place he’d found comfort as a child. The library was the same as it had been then, with the barest touches of time being seen here and there. A typewriter at a desk. The equinox sign carved into a shelf. Draco took Our Vast Universe off the shelf. He felt kinship rereading it. Feeling lost, lonely, and starving since he’d skipped lunch and dinner. Occasionally, Draco paused to wallow in self pity. He hoped it would be cathartic, but settled for soul crushing.

Draco stayed curled up the next day, in a state of melancholic half sleep interrupted by pangs of hunger. His eyes had dried, but he didn’t feel ready to face the world.

It was for the best, the world came to him.

It came in red-headed form, as these things were wont to do whenever Draco was around. It wasn’t one of the nicer Weasleys, so it came as a literal kick to the behind Draco had sticking out the side of the chair as he curled.

Draco yelped. Then Draco fell. Then in an undignified heap, Draco looked up at George.

George had put on a serious face, which had stern lines and frowny eyebrows, but looked a bit insincere. Like a small child doing an old person impression but not yet having learned to be dour. Maybe laying-in-a-heap Draco wasn’t serious enough for him, but he felt obligated to try anyway. So, George roughly said, “What’re you doing hiding here in the library, you’ve got everyone upset.”

The reasonable response would be to hobble back into a dignified position and make an excuse for his actions. Draco was too worn out and couldn’t be bothered. The only energy he could muster was the self destructive kind. The kind that had him snapping, “How’d you even find me?”

George scoffed, nudging Draco again with his foot. “By looking, you nitwit. You think this was the first place I checked? I bloody well should have known it would be, though, seeing how you’re a dweeb with dweeb friends like Percy. Who’s worried, by the way, so no thank you for that headache." The words were mean, and he said them harshly, but it was like the serious face that wasn’t. Unconvincing. It didn’t sound like scolding. It sounded like… care.

Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation, or the hunger. Some lapse of judgment led Draco down a strange path. Draco was lonely and worried he’d always be lonely. He was desperate for someone to care. So, still heaped on the floor staring up at George, he wondered aloud a question he couldn’t bear to ask under any other situation.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone when you recognized me?”

George did look a little miffed now. He narrowed his eyes and went full hands on hips, which was a bit intimidating when Draco wasn’t standing right up next to him where they were equal height. “Oh, you’ll talk about that now?” George mocked. “Someone alert the presses, Draco Malfoy wants to have an honest conversation.”

Maybe Draco deserved that, after his last conversation with George, but he was in no mood to stomach it. So, foolishly, he made use of those damned early mornings he’d spent training and kicked out at George with precise aim. He caught George at the back of his knees, knocking his legs out from under him so he, too, fell down to the ground. Draco rolled up after so he could shove at George again. Only, George was expecting it now and a far better wrestler than Draco, so he just knocked Draco back down on his ass. “Oof!” Said Draco.

George shoved at Draco again so he’d stay down. He said, “I’ve got five brothers. You pull that again and you’ll regret it.”

Draco was too prideful to admit his surrender, but the lesson was learned. He pushed up to lean on his elbows, resentfully glaring at George. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he demanded again.

George looked at him like the question was stupider than picking a fight had been. “This about your fight with Harry?”

“Fuck Harry,” Draco yelled, not even remembering to call him king. In retrospect, it didn’t make the case he wasn’t upset. “You knew, all this time, and you didn’t say anything.”

“You knew all this time and thought you’d gotten one over on me. I’d say that makes us even,” retorted George.

That was enough to get Draco on his feet. Not to pick a fight, but so that he could storm around angrily and make wild hand gestures when his emotions peaked. Which they did. A lot. The storm Draco felt last night came back with a vengeance, and someone it could target without the mixed feelings Draco had about everyone else. “You knew!” he said again, unequivocally. “You knew that I was… You knew who I was and you didn’t treat me any different!” Something about admitting it left Draco feeling raw.

George was back on his feet as well, but keeping his distance from Draco’s emotional hurricane. He looked worried, not angry, but he was George and still answered. “You berk, of course I treated you differently.”

“No! You were… You were nice to me.” Draco felt the water welling again in his eyes. He turned so George couldn't see the facial gymnastics it took to make them go away.

“Draco. The first time I met you Bill and Ginny had to hold me back from murdering you. Me being a bit nice is different.” The weight of that hit Draco like a sledgehammer. He stared at George nearly uncomprehending. George stared back, all gruff edges and a serious expression that finally looked his own. The truth of it hovered between them. The acknowledgment that the time in the maze had mattered to them both. But, because this was George, he added, “Besides, I was mostly fucking with you cause you shagged Harry and I thought it’d be funny.”

Timidly, Draco’s lips quirked into a smile. It was just like George, to find tormenting a friend funny. Strangely, the truth of it left Draco feeling warm. Because it was Draco, he had to push, “You still should have said something.”

George shrugged. “You didn’t want to talk about it.” It was the truth, simply delivered, and it pulled the wind from Draco’s billowing sails. His legs felt shaking so he sat down. George sighed and pulled over a side table nearby in lieu of a chair. “Draco, I’ve got my share of questions for you, but let’s just start with you telling me why you’re hiding in the library.”

That was not something Draco wanted to explain. “I’m not hiding in the library.”

“Yeah. Let’s try that again. I say, ‘Draco, why are you hiding in the library?’ And you say, ‘George, I’m so glad you asked. Let me tell you everything.’” George waited but Draco only sat glumly in silence, uncertain of what to say. George heaved a sigh. “Draco. Is this about your fight with Harry?”

Draco buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t fight with the king.”

“Ginny says you did.”

“Ginny doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

George smirked. “Well, that I believe. But if you didn’t fight, tell me what happened.”

The thing is, Draco wanted to. He glanced out from behind his hands and saw George staring back, earnest and judgment free. It left Draco feeling raw in a new way. Draco wasn’t alone anymore. He had Percy, and Luna, his mother, his aunt, and of course Teddy. At some point he’d grown accustomed to loving and being loved. At no point had he grown accustomed to trust.

It didn’t seem wise, trusting. Not even for a man who’d kept a secret for no other reason than because Draco didn’t want it to be known. Not even for a man who already took what he wanted from Draco, in the form of companionship for his silly games. Not for a man who was lonely, and just as desperate for a friend.

Draco had changed so much, but in so many ways he was exactly the same. A foolish boy, who never chose to be wise.

Draco licked his lips nervously, but decided to be brave.

“George,” he said. “I’m so glad you asked. Let me tell you everything.”