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.

Chapter 64
“Eh, Draco, mate.” Something poked Draco’s face. Draco groaned and turned away. “None of that now.” The thing yanked on Draco’s ear.

“Ow!” Draco twisted to swat at the thing. His abdomen burned when he turned. Apparently, at some point with his mother nervously hovering and refusing to tell him anything about what was happening with the king, Draco managed to fall asleep. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t. His mind had been abuzz and on fire trying to decipher what the king said and what it could possibly mean (because it couldn’t possibly mean that). Only he must have because now the pain woke him up, and when his eyes blinked open a face was right there, too close. “Jesus christ, George, what are you doing here and why’re you trying to kill me.”

George preened. “At least you got an ear to tug on. Now c’mon, mate, we got to go.”

This was a leap Draco was unprepared for, but George was already pulling the blankets off him. “Ugh, Draco, you reek.”

“Don’t be unkind.” Apparently Luna was here too. “Father had a servant bathe him regularly when the medication made him sleep, and now when he relieves himself.”

Draco hid his face and groaned. “I’m not awake. This is a new nightmare and it’s all in my head.”

“‘Fraid not, which is a bit of a kicker because this bit is going to hurt.”

It did hurt. George helped heave Draco up off the bed but couldn’t carry him further. Draco had to wrap an arm around George’s shoulders and stumble from the bed to the bedroom door. Luna was waiting outside the room with a contraption that looked like a chair on wheels. Luna held it still and George tried his best to carry the weight while Draco eased into it, but by the time Draco was sitting he also thought this might actually be the very real time he died. To add insult to injury, Luna produced something green. Draco realized it was trousers when she started to put them on his legs.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Draco wheezed.

“Escaping, duh.” George took over the back of the contraption where apparently there were handles he could push. “We’ve got to get you outside before Teddy leaves.”

Something flipped in Draco’s stomach, but that could have been pain from how the chair bounced over the stone floors when George pushed it. “Teddy’s here?”

“Of course, Draco. I told you everyone had stayed close by.” Luna was walking half a step ahead of Draco to lead the way.

“And he’s leaving?” Draco was stressed and in pain and it showed in his voice no matter how much he wished he could hide it.

George was hustling through the castle despite seeing how it made Draco bounce and wince. “Not before you say goodbye.”

The next twist in his stomach didn’t come from the bouncing or the chair. His friends had actually stayed close. Even Teddy, who must be scared to be in this strange place that still had so many strange people. Even Luna, who hated to visit the castle at all because of all the horrible things that happened to her here. They’d stayed and they’d waited, even when Xeno and Narcissa wouldn’t let anyone visit him. Even King Harry’s visit had upset Draco’s mother, who had very carefully not interrogated her cousin in front of her son. She’d probably waited until Draco was sleeping to chew out Xeno for the breach.

Draco was just so, so grateful these foolish friends would do something so stupid for him as to all but kidnap him from his sick room so that he didn’t miss the chance to see one of the people he loved. Draco gripped the chair handles and sucked in air through the jolts of pain. Surely, Luna would have heard if he was actually dying and wouldn’t have let him come. Only, he couldn’t bring himself to ask any questions about what or why, he just held on for dear life and appreciated his friends must have a reason for putting him through all this effort.

They’d been in the basement, where Draco knew healers kept medicine close to the kitchen. The castle surgeon would have a room near there. It was easier to access than the suites and rooms, seeing how it was how the servants came and went from the various court yards, so anyone injured in the stables or in the training yard could easily be brought in for treatment. Anyone like Draco, who got himself stabbed.

Perhaps it was harder to get out of, since Luna and George couldn’t lift Draco’s chair up a flight of stairs the way they might have carted him downwards. They did their best to minimize the strain of it. George wrapped Draco’s arm around his shoulder and tried to take on as much weight as possible. Luna ducked under the other arm and tried to hold him steady. They heaved to get Draco to his feet. It still hurt, but Draco clenched his jaw and kept the pain quiet. The stairs were tackled one at a time. Draco tried to stay strong and stoic so his friends didn’t regret their objectively horrible choice.

He could do stoic. He kept his mouth closed for years while he suffered through any number of degradations. How much harder could ten measly steps be? Not enough to break him. Nope, not at all. Not even when the strain started to wear on him half way through, and despite his friends’ best efforts he couldn’t keep the weight off himself. It was just that apparently you needed your abdomen for everything, so everything tugged at his wound and all the tender muscles underneath it. Even if George and Luna could hold his weight, Draco still had to lift his leg up each step. That shouldn’t have involved his wound at all, except apparently it did just a little. And after heaving himself out of bed, and letting himself be jostled down the hallway, and trying to balance up stairs a little at a time, any little more was actually quite a lot. But Draco kept his mouth shut because he worried that if he opened it he’d start cursing, and if he complained too loud his friends would change their mind and take him back to the room and his mother would kick everyone out and no one would tell him anything. So he bit his tongue and made all sorts of grimacing faces, but he didn’t whine. Not once. And they got to the top of the stairs.

Draco sagged so hard they almost dropped him, but George shifted to take on more weight and Luna held on until they found some stability. George choked out a laugh. “See? Nothing to it.”

Draco didn’t dare laugh. “Nothing to it.” Draco tried for it not to sound like a whine, or a growl, or a cry. He paused for a breath, “Maybe someone should get the chair again?”

“If we put him on the floor I don’t think we can lift him back up,” Luna warned.

“I think there’s a bench outside.” George didn’t actually sound certain, but it was that or Draco never making it outside at all. So they trudged on. George gripped Draco’s arm particularly tight, making sure he didn’t slip. Luna was the one who cranked the door open. It wasn’t too large, but big enough that servants could get things through it. Probably meant to allow intake of bulky items. It was useful, in this moment, for three people who had to shuffle together to make it out.

Exiting was useful, because the moment the door was open Draco could hear things. Shouting, voice-like things, and suddenly the pain didn’t matter as much because he wanted to be out there, where the people and the shouting was. His friends stumbled to meet his enthusiasm. None of them were doing well, at coordinating speed. George and Luna were trying, each offering suggestions or direction, but Draco didn’t listen. He moved as fast as he could even if the occasional step fell too hard and his rush didn’t let anyone go back for the chair.

They were just around the side of the castle. All the noise was happening at the front. If they could just get round that bend there they would be able to see everything. Whoever was over there would see him. It would be quite a sight, the three of them, Draco in his nightshirt and bright green pants. They’d be hard to miss. If they could just get around the side of the castle.

Although the shouting and loud noises had stopped. The dispute must be settled. Draco and his friends were so close to the corner, they’d turn around it any second now and would know what happened. Vaguely he could hear something else. Something rumbling. It came closer, then began to pull away. That was it, then, the thing they needed to see. Thankfully they were at the corner now. George was all but lifting Draco and Luna was doing as best as someone a head shorter without any great muscle could.

They lurched around the corner as one, and had the perfect view of two grand carriages driving away from them, mounted soldiers right behind them. They were at the gate before there was time to call, “Stop! Come back!” Although George hollered anyway. They didn’t hear, and the gates were already open wide to let the travelers leave.

As one they lost all the energy that had been driving them forward. Even George struggled to stay standing once Draco’s legs all but gave out. “Oh fuck, let’s put him down.”

They ended up putting him on the ground, anyway, since they’d blown past the bench in question and were still ages away from somewhere better to sit. The stairs they saw leading up to the main entrance may as well have been leagues away for all the good they’d be to the three exhausted fugitives.

Draco stared plaintively after the long-gone carriages. All the aches and pain from their grand, pointless push were starting to rear back up but none of it compared to how crushing it was to have missed Teddy. “He wouldn’t have wanted to leave without saying goodbye.” Draco was sure of it. Something had to be wrong.

“Ah Draco, I’m sorry.” George had slumped next to Draco, leaning with him against the side of the castle. “I really thought we could make it.”

“It’s always harder to fail when you come close,” Luna said, ever the philosopher.

That just had George looking gloomier. “I fucked up the chair design. I bet I could’ve tweaked it for the stairs. Fred would have thought of that.”

Luna made a disagreeing noise. “I don’t know if chairs are meant to learn how to climb.”

“No, just,” George held out two hands and stimulated moving one up a stair at a time.

“I considered that with the chair, but it would have gotten unwieldy.”

George tsked and tried to motion again, as if Luna was just missing something. “Look, you could add something on the end to stabilize it so it didn’t fall back with each step. Or maybe the design was wrong to start with and we should have done a cart. Point is, I should have thought of the steps.”

“Oh George, the design was brilliant. The chair worked perfectly. What you need is to change the stairs.”

George scrunched up his nose and glanced back at the castle that had been almost the exact same for hundreds of years. “Change the stairs?”

“Of course,” Luna said, as if change was a thing that could happen anywhere. “We wouldn’t have had half the trouble pushing the chair up a hill. You could flatten them somehow to keep the path steady. Turn it into a ramp.”

George looked well and truly anguished by the idea, but not because it was bad. “Christ, I should have thought of that.” He balled up his hands and pushed them against his eyes, like he was pushing down some pain in the back of his head. “I’m always fucking missing things.”

“I thought it was good,” Draco said, because he was miserable enough for the three of them and he didn’t want George looking so sad just because they came a minute too late. The rush from his room had felt more like a game, like a puzzle in the equinox ball. Looking back, it was stupid and silly and they should have tried anything else. Something serious. But if Draco was serious, he’d have to face how bad he hurt, and all the things the king had said, and whatever it was that made everyone around him nervous when all the issues with the Slughorns should be fixed by now. Draco needed George light hearted and silly because that let the world be that way, instead of something terrifying.

George just pulled his hands away from his eyes so he could glare at Draco’s attempt to appease him. “I’m useless on my own.” Draco didn’t see how this could be true. George had always been amazing, what with his mechanics like in the maze at the equinox ball, and his constant attempts to cheer up Draco. Although, Draco had met George because he needed a second set of hands to make the maze work, and George was always around sniffing out someone to spend time with him because he couldn’t stand to be alone.

Draco couldn’t help it, he reached out and took one of the hands George still had balled up near his face. Draco twisted it, turning it to and fro until he could pull the fingers apart and force his fingers interlaced with George’s. Draco didn’t understand his friend’s misery, but he understood what it had meant when George showed up today to try to give Draco some glimpse of joy and Draco wanted George to understand he was amazing, even if it didn’t work. Hell, maybe it did work, a little. Maybe being here with George and Luna, stuck on the ground, was still a little bit of joy. “This was a very nice thing you did, George. Maybe, possibly, you also helped me injure myself and now I’m going to die, but it was still very nice.”

Luna laughed, all high and sweet. “You won’t die, Draco. At worst you’ll have to suffer through medication and being hand bathed by servants for another month. And George,” she leaned forward so she could stare George dead in the eye over Draco. She hummed before finishing her thought. “I could learn to do mechanics. It is, I think, a serious occupation. Should you ever be working on something, and find yourself in need of fresh perspective.”

George’s mouth quivered and he was blinking hard when he turned away. But he didn’t pull from Draco. If anything, he leaned in closer. Draco leaned back, as best he could without putting any strength behind it. With his other hand, he reached out for Luna, who easily let Draco interlace his fingers with her own. They sat together against the castle wars, having completely failed, and looking more than a little foolish for bothering to have tried. “I think we make a very good team.” George snorted and Luna laughed, and it was comfortable to be there, despite everything, as long as his friends were there with their good humor.

In the calm, without his friends for urgency driving Draco, he finally had the energy to ask, “The king left, and now Teddy, where did they go?”

The question broke whatever calm had settled between them. “Oh, Draco,” Luna said, at the same time George muttered, “Well, shit.”

There was a new twist in Draco’s gut. Something wild and ugly. “What’s wrong?”

But before either of his friends found the words, there was a new noise. Something rumbling just like the carriages from before. All three looked up to see what it was at the gates. Not carriages, but a dozen men on horses. The gates opened for them, and the band trotted onto the castle grounds, around the loop that circled the courtyard on the way to the grand entrance.

The riders could have passed the trio, but they couldn’t have missed seeing them. One rider in particular stopped short when he did. He stared at Draco and his friends on the ground and then nudged his horse in their direction.

“What’re you doing?” He called out, and while Draco couldn’t get a good luck at him from his angle he recognized Charlie’s voice.

George jeered at his older brother. “Oh, fuck off, we don’t want you sniffing around our business.”

Ignoring his brother, Charlie got off his horse and stalked over to Draco and his friends. Draco could see he looked tired and sweaty, he must have been riding far. “This is weird even for you, George. What are you and,” Charlie paused, spotting Draco who still couldn’t really move. Draco waved awkwardly, which didn’t reduce Charlie’s suspicion of the trio’s activity.

“What is the delay?” Asked another rider, who had followed Charlie off the path and was now getting off his own horse. He wore darker leathers, tailored well enough he must be an aristocrat, but well worn enough to show they were more for show. Draco didn’t recognize him until the man turned his dark eyes on Draco. The recognition was mutual. “I heard you were dying.”

“Any minute now, your majesty,” Draco answered, because he had never considered what would happen if he was found being so foolish by someone important. And really, what else could he say to Prince Viktor Krum?