Celestial Being

Draco’s head lulled to the side to look at the other man. The king had to be doing better than Draco, but there were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was even more skewed than usual. The lines on King Harry’s face were worn so deep, like Draco’s mother’s. It looked painful, and Draco felt the sudden urge to rub the lines off. Draco’s voice was rough but clear. “Are you alright?”

That started a laugh from Harry. Ridiculous as it might be, the king lifted Draco’s hand and kissed it. “God, Draco,” he whispered into Draco’s hand. “I was so afraid.”

“Me, too.” Draco was still afraid. This could be the start of the tour of last respects.

“You sound… is there water nearby?” There was always water nearby. It wasn’t hard for the king to find it. He had a harder time using the spout to pour the slightest amount into Draco’s mouth. “If you could sit up it would be easier for you to drink.”

Draco swallowed what he could. It was enough. Anyways, he was out of it enough to freely admit, “It would hurt.”

That had Harry gripping Draco’s hand again. Draco could only stare. The king’s hands were broad and strong. His fingers were rough and warm. They had to be real. “Thank you for being such a stubborn fool that you couldn’t die.”

Still might, Draco didn’t say. Since Luna left, no one would say anything and as far as Draco knew he could be on the verge of death any minute. Xeno kept things close to his chest because he thought it was for his patient’s own good, and his mother kept things close to the chest so she’d have the fortitude to persevere. Death was a looming shadow of possibility.

“If I’m not dying… why are you here?”

“I found I couldn’t stay away.” The look on the king’s face was half confused, possibly at himself since the other half was incredibly fond. Then the frown came back. “I have to leave soon. I’ll be gone for weeks.”

That stopped Draco Short. “And you’re… here to say farewell?” Then, in case his meaning wasn’t clear, “in case I don’t make it?”

The king hissed in a breath. One hand moved from Draco’s hand to his shoulder. He clung there. Both his hands were on Draco and it didn’t seem the king wanted to let go. “Please don’t say that, Draco. Don’t say that.” only then King Harry seemed to realize what he was doing and instantly calmed. At least on the surface, since he didn’t take his hands back. “It’s not that,” he insisted. “I didn’t want to leave without seeing you. I didn’t want you to think you haven’t been in my thoughts.”

That… Draco couldn’t place what the words meant. Draco was taking his brush with death very hard, but it seemed the king was also more than a little affected, which made absolutely no sense because King Harry didn’t like him. King Harry didn’t wrap his large, warm hand around Draco’s long, nobby one and cling this tight. King Harry glared, and growled, and ran his hands through his hair in frustration because Draco was a pain in his ass he’d rather go away. In the back of Draco’s head lived a green eyed monster that kept coming back to try to kill him. It didn’t compute with this worried, nearly gentle man. Sure, Draco hadn’t forgotten their conversation in the yellow room and the king’s promise of some vague after when all things would be made clear. So what if Draco half remembered King Harry frantically trying to staunch Draco’s bleeding. None of that was… none of that meant… None of it explained. “Back for me how?”

This time when the king squeezed Draco’s shoulder it looked like holding back from more. His eyes were deep green and blazing with unspoken emotion. “Draco,” he said again. Then, to Draco’s utter terror, “Wolf,” one syllable holding two much emotion for two men who weren’t dying.

Oh no, that actually happened. Draco remembered the blood and thought maybe it was all part of a dream and hadn’t been real. He wasn’t ready for it to be real. If it was real, and the king knew, then Draco would have to face everything and it was too much to process. “Not a wolf,” Draco wheezed.

King Harry’s laugh was light and wet with unshed tears. “Draco, you are the most stubborn, infuriating man.” He actually sniffled, the bastard. Draco was in a panic and maybe so was the king. It was infuriatingly enduring. Draco flopped his free hand over his chest so it could rest on top of the hand on his shoulder. Anything to calm the king down before he cried and perhaps went so far as to blubber out an emotional declaration that he couldn't possibly mean. King Harry didn’t like him. Not like that. Not at all like that. Draco rubbed his fingers over the king’s knuckles. It was really nice, actually, being held and holding someone in return. The king made a noise that might have meant anything. He leaned down to kiss the hand Draco rested on top of his.

“I think I’m dreaming,” Draco said out loud, “If I’m not dead.”

The king lifted up to brush his lips against the side of Draco’s forehead. “You’re not dead.”

Draco sighed. “Then I’m dreaming.”

King Harry pulled his hand from Draco’s shoulder, out from under Draco’s, in order to reach into his own breast pocket. There was a cloth he’d kept there, close to his heart. The king brought it out and tucked it into the hand Draco still had lying across his chest. “This is real.”

Draco fingered the cloth. He felt the ridges stitched into it. He knew what he’d see before he lifted it high enough to look. His blood had not done much to the black cloth, but the white thread would never again be pure. If Draco had been dreaming, the handkerchief would be perfect as he remembered it, or still wet with his blood. The item he was holding, the one that the king had attempted to clean and preserve, was blemished without spectacle. So unlike a dream. Draco squeezed the cloth as if that would stop any more damage from being done. “You saved it,” he whispered.

“I’d say I can’t believe you had George burn down my room to get it back, but that is exactly the sort of thing you would do,” the playfulness in the King’s tone was so out of place. Draco had only ever heard it before from behind a mask.

It was terrifying, to have King Harry look at him like this when neither man was wearing a mask. Everything was topsy turvy and honest words came out too easy. “I didn’t want you to know it was me.”

All the playfulness leaked out of King Harry until his eyes. “Why not? Why didn’t you tell me, Draco?” he said it as if doing so would have solved everything.

Draco gulped. He could feel the heat of King Harry clutching his fingers, holding his entire self steady with that one touch that anchored him. It had hurt to say what needed to be said, back when he wore the mask. It would hurt again now. Draco could be brave. “I knew you wouldn’t like me, if you knew who I was.” He wished he could sound as certain now as he had in that observatory tower, but his voice cracked.

“I wish I could say…” The king never finished the sentence but he held Draco’s hand like it was his lifeline and Draco was the one giving care. It was like the king needed Draco, needed to touch, because he couldn’t communicate on his face what he was feeling. It was harder still, for the king to put feelings into words. The king stared down at where their hands touched instead of looking into Draco’s eyes. “It was a game. We were both just playing a game. Only, the game let me see who you were, how you acted. I wanted you for who you truly are.” That wasn’t the same as saying who he was wouldn’t have mattered. A shudder ran through Draco because it wasn’t the same to him at all. “In time, I wanted you. You, Draco. I wanted you every way I knew you.”

“Not in the same way,” Draco insisted, because it was true and it tore at his heart to remember how the flavors of the king’s want could be so different. It had been a game, and the wolf the king saw there was just a fantasy. If it had been real, the king would have recognized him when Draco stood right in front of him. Draco opened his mouth because he’d always told King Harry what needed to be said before, but he couldn’t make the words now.

Maybe King Harry understood. He leaned his forehead down to rest against Draco’s. Another anchor to hold the two men together. “Draco,” he made the word a sigh. “Draco please.” Draco thought he might never get tired of King Harry squeezing his hand, only his heart ached when it happened because it couldn’t possibly mean anything. It couldn’t. “I’m not asking now. I know I can’t ask now. But I remember what you said. You told me to find you and ask you to your face.” He opened those green eyes and they were too close and held too much emotional. “I need you to know before I go, I found you, and when you’re better and I get back, I’m going to ask.”

Draco could drown in the light of those brilliant green eyes. Their frankness and sincerity. He could die from the feel of them. It lit his chest of fire and he ached a type of brand new type of pain he’d never felt before.

King Harry sounded so certain it ached, because Draco was so unsure.

Then the creak of the door dragged Draco back to reality.

He gasped and turned aside so that the King’s forehead slid from his own. The king lingered long enough to kiss the side of his head, then he pulled himself back until he sat straight, with only his hand around Draco’s to connect them.

“Your majesty!” It was Draco’s mother. Of course. “What are… aren’t you meant to be…”

Harry clutched Draco’s hand one final time. “I was just leaving.” His voice was nearly dispassionate, but when he released Draco’s hand at last Draco had to turn back and look at him. It was so easy to catch the king’s eyes, since the king couldn’t bring himself to look away. Their gazes held too long in silence, and maybe King Harry was trying to say with his eyes things he didn’t know what to say with words. He could only promise, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

There was a strained note in the king’s tone. Something odd. Not odd, like maybe he just confessed deep feelings before Draco’s mother walked in on them, but rather odd like he was still holding something back. Draco couldn’t lift himself, but he tried anyway so he could resolve the nagging in his head. He hadn’t seen the king when he first awoke, not really. What was different about King Harry? He was in his soldier's clothes, which Draco knew he preferred to his court dress. Only it wasn’t as casual as Harry liked to keep it. The clothes were tough, fitted leather. He wore a looping belt, with a sword attached at his hip.

Draco had never seen him wear a weapon. Not once since the war. Not since that day in the courtyard when he’d dressed up in decorative armor and executed Draco’s father.

Draco reached out as far as he could, far enough that it hurt his abdomen to stretch so hard. He was just able to grab the King’s sleeve. “Where are you going?”

The king pulled Draco’s hand free from the battle leather. Instead of letting it go he cupped it gently. “Rest, now.” perhaps King Harry knew he should leave, but instead he lingered to kiss Draco’s hand one final time. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

For the first time, it was Draco who called out, “Wait!” The king stopped at the door to look back. Draco could see in the line of his body, the way he leaned into the room that the king wished he could come back. He could see in the king’s steely, haggard eyes that he wouldn’t. The king looked tired. Worry lines were too deep, and they couldn’t be all for Draco. It came back to Draco, that first question. “Are you alright?”

Harry smiled, warm and bright as a straw lion, a weed, or a sailor escaping on the wind. He smiled like Draco made him happy. “I’ll come back for you.” It was a promise, not an answer. And for just a moment, Draco believed it.

Which was stupid, because in that moment of belief the king left, without ever answering Draco’s question.