Celestial Being

Sleep had dulled his anger, but not by much. Which was helpful, because Draco was a certain kind of stubborn when angry. It helped him wake before first light and prepare for the day. He’d mastered how to push up out of bed and walk around his room, even if it sapped his energy. Not so much that he couldn’t move to a chair near a wash basin. It took more work to scrub himself, but he was determined not to have a repeat of being told he stank. He might have chosen to don easier clothes, but today wasn’t going to be easy and he saw no need to try to make it otherwise.

Preparations for the equinox ball always started with the outfit. There was a confidence that came out when Draco knew he was exactly how he ought to be. So he didn’t pull on his best outfit, that one the king had made for Draco to watch Teddy at that party. He took out the clothes he liked best. The ones he’d made by hand, that blended old styles with new, into something unexpected. The waistcoat was sky blue because it brought color to Draco’s gray eyes, and he’d embroidered water flowers along it, like what he’d seen in the fountain at the center of the troll’s maze.

Draco hadn’t been meant to go to the balls, but he found a way. Once he had the invitation in his hand he had never questioned his ability to do so. He harnessed that confidence. Percy hadn’t doubted him, when Percy came to him for help getting into the castle. Draco tried to find the faith Percy had put in him. He’d found his fighting spirit enough the day before to convince his mother to let him try - after all, failure meant nothing when they’d already sunk so low. Voldermort may have killed people for less than their presumptuousness, but King Harry and his followers would hardly do more than send Draco to his room. Narcissa had already put Draco there, and it was either believe in himself or never get out.

His mother arrived right as Draco donned his suit coat. She dressed very fine today, too. She agreed to help because in her heart she did not want to see Draco settle, because she didn’t want to settle. And if Draco failed it only meant she’d be given the chance to say she’d been right. That wasn’t so hard a consolation.

George had left Draco the mobile chair, and his mother could push him in it. Yuri and Erik still waited outside Draco’s door, but were unprepared to stop Draco from leaving. There was a scramble in their wake. Short, foreign words exchanged between the men. Then one of the two jogged after the Malfoys in order to firmly request to push the chair on Narcissa’s behalf. Of course she let him, with only the most gracious, “Thank you, Yuri.” He didn’t look half as awkward as she had behind the chair, whereas Narcissa was given the chance to walk in front of the procession with the air of a duchess.

When they descended two staircases Draco rose to his feet. He gripped a rail on one side and Yuri on the other. It was true, going down was easier than going up, but he was still thankful to have Yuri able to run back up the stairs and carry the chair back down.

They had just a moment alone together. “Is it odd that he’s following us?”

Narcissa shrugged. “They said the prince ordered them to keep you alive. I imagine they are worried you will fall and break your neck on the stairs.”

Draco remembered Prince Viktor’s concern. Not for Draco’s welfare, but that the king might cast blame if Draco did end up injured.

Then Yuri was back with the chair and there was no time to discuss it further. There was really no saying where the important people of the castle were, so Draco had his mother take him to the Hogsmeade Chamber. There was always something going on there. None of the people they passed stopped or questioned them as they made their way to the reception room outside all of the places the king used for his official business.

There was some other man, not Dennis who had stopped Draco last time. This was good. Dennis had been quite firm. This new man was younger, maybe even younger than Draco, and already flustered by the day. This one took in the arrivals with big eyes and forgot to demand whether any of them were on the schedule. He looked half ready to be knocked over by a soft breeze.

Draco had been so good at jumping into the action at the balls. If this were a ball, and not a matter of state, he would do something bold. Bold like standing up out of the chair and stepping in front of his mother. Bold as in drawling out words even if he didn’t know the meaning to them, because what if it worked.

“I’m here for the meeting.” Draco said with confidence. He said it like he was bored, like he’d rather be somewhere else.

The young man scrambled for his notes. They were in disarray, with so many details scratched out and scribbled over that Draco couldn’t even spy and read upside down to guess what was meant to happen. “Which meeting?” he didn’t seem to know what paper to look at and was seeking guidance from Draco, as if he might actually help.

Draco felt sorry for the man. If Luna or George were here maybe they could have charmed him, but Draco’s power was of a different sort. “How many meetings are there? The king said to come to the meeting and I am here.” The king thought Draco a bad liar, but this poor man couldn’t see through Draco’s charade.

The man finally found the paper he was looking for. He held it out to Draco for confirmation it was the right one. “You’re here for the Small Council meeting?” the man asked. If Draco squinted, it almost looked like that was what had been scribbled into the margins of the paper.

“Exactly.”

And somehow he was let in.

He had thought the Hogsmeade Chamber cavernous, but it wasn’t big enough to share with Dolores Umbridge. She had sat herself at the head of the table, with the man who must be Cornelius Fudge on her right. An odd arrangement, seeing how it was Fudge who chaired the Council.

More astonishing was the only other person in the room was Percy, who had seated himself a few chairs further away, not quite across from Fudge. In front of him was a stack of tidy papers that Draco was sure had been fastidiously prepared. This was in stark contrast to Percy himself, who Draco had not seen this disheveled since Draco had first arrived at his family’s house during the pox. Draco had half a mind to send his mother for a comb so he could fix poor Percy’s hair.

The moment passed when Umbridge locked eyes on Draco the moment he stepped into the room. She had a knack for narrowing her eyes while maintaining her toad-like smile. “What brings you, Mr. Malfoy?” It wasn’t so big a room that her voice couldn’t boom through it.

Draco stopped in his tracks. His facade nearly cracked. She knew he didn’t belong and he wouldn’t be able to fool her. Why had he thought this would work? Of course it wouldn’t work. Bravado was enough for silly games, but not enough to break into a small council meeting with the kingdom’s most important leaders. He could feel the lie of it caught in his throat, and when he said it the king’s declaration that he was a bad liar would be true. Everyone would hear the falsehood and he’d be sent back out to his mother and Prince Viktor’s soldier and all of this would be for nothing.

It was the young man who saved him. “Mr. Malfoy is here at the request of the king, ma’am.” The man had tried to project certainty, which had the odd effect of reminding Draco you could be certain about anything. Unfortunately, by stepping up between Draco and Umbridge, the man had put himself in the limelight and suddenly faced the full force of Umbridge’s beady glare.

“What are you doing back in here? Didn’t I tell you to stay in your place.” Umbridge lashed out. The young man shrunk back at once. His frazzled nerves made more sense if he’d been at the mercy of Umbridge all morning. The man muttered some sort of apology then rushed back out of the room, closing the doors as he went. Draco looked after him, thinking that he must find a way to show his thanks in the future, and to apologize for catching the poor man in his lies.

Draco also caught one last glimpse of his mother between the closing doors. She was still in the reception hall, not having tried to follow Draco. Her smile was small but fierce. She had seen what Draco had done. He had gotten in. He had dared to do the impossible, and it had worked.

Then the door was closed, and he had to keep up the game.

He made the long walk around the table. It was grueling. It would have been easier if he dared use the wall or the chair backs as a crutch, but he knew Umbridge wouldn’t miss the sign of weakness. It was only a matter of time before she turned her sharp gaze back to him and began again to question.

Thankfully, Umbridge had other things on her mind. “We are not properly educating the youth,” she grumbled, her eyes still glaring after the young man who’d run off. “They think too much for themselves. Thought leads to questioning authority, which is the first step toward anarchy.”

Ah. What would she think of Draco, if she knew? Draco thought it best not to push the issue. Miracle of miracles, Draco reached the chair next to Percy, kiddy corner to Fudge, and mostly managed not to collapse when he sat in it.

Percy, bless him, was all nerves. Draco could tell he had wanted to get up, probably wanted to hug Draco and ask all about how he was feeling. It was clear Percy noticed Draco’s strain. Draco’s friend clearly wanted to act friendly, but was too frazzled by whatever reason he was here, which was certainly exasperated by all the ways he didn’t think he was making a good impression. Draco reached out to squeeze Percy’s arm, hoping he wasn’t overstepping in the moment.

“That’s right, you two are friends.” Umbridge’s attention had returned. It creeped over Draco like spiders and he stood stock still so as not to shiver.

What would Draco do if this was a game? What if this was just another equinox ball and there was no question in his heart he belonged?

He would turn and face the overseer with a knowing smile. He would examine her, see her pink, frilly dress, and the elaborate black bow tying back her hair and would know she was trying too hard to project an image. He would notice the tension in her fingers before her false smile and know she wasn’t at ease. But would he challenge her? This squat little woman who judged everyone and thought she knew best. She wanted to control the room, likely the small council, possibly the kingdom. She came from such lowly origins and Draco could admire the tenacity of her accent. But she had cowed the young man, and Percy was scared to even greet Draco in her company.

Would he challenge her? He could. He was so very good at identifying the insecurities that could wound a person. He could do that now, in front of witnesses, with the presumed authority of the king.

Only that was not what Draco would do, at a ball. Draco never hurt anyone. Not even Colton, when he ran off to win the game. No, at a ball… Draco was his best self. He supported the people around him.

Draco softened his smile to something less pointed. “Yes, Percy is a true friend. To me, and the king.”

For the first time Fudge spoke. “He’s loyal, I’ll give him that.” He said it like Percy wasn’t there in the room. “Only it’s been such a bother, changing how we review the financials.”

Draco looked to his friend. “You’re making changes, then?”

Fudge said again, “It’s been such a bother. Really, we ought to go back to how it was before.”

Draco turned back in time to see Umbridge nodding. “Quite. There is so much turmoil at hand. Traditions provide a sense of continuity and stability in an ever-changing world.”

“King Harry-” Percy was cut off before he could properly speak.

“The previous financial guidance was designed to instill the values and knowledge that are crucial for a well-ordered society. There is no need for innovation.” Umbridge said it like it was a dirty word.

“But I’ve prepared-”

Umbridge did something that may have been too ladylike to be called a snort, but Draco doubted it. “I say, it is time for the meeting to start. Cornelius, call us to order so we can be done with this nonsense.”

“Aren’t we waiting for-” Draco admired how hard Percy was trying. It was wearing on him, but he still tried.

“Punctuality is a virtue, Mr. Weasley. Those who lack it lack respect for our very institution.” Draco glanced at the clock and realized it was a minute pass, actually. They were no longer punctual. But Fudge didn’t seem inclined to interrupt Umbridge, even to follow her directions to him.

At a ball, Draco would seize this opportunity. He would do… something. He would distract.

“Oh, Overseer Umbridge, I cannot express how much it delights me to hear you say that.” Draco was laying it on a bit thick and he didn’t know if that was helping or hurting him on the sincerity front. He continued so no one would have the chance to dwell. “My mother spent years trying to instill that lesson into me. I dare say, I did not do her proud. It was not until my most humbling subjugation that I reflected on my sins and grew to understand the error of my ways. If only my dear mother had better guidance she may have been able to teach me sooner. What, oh my would it be too forward to ask? But surely you would know, what should she have done when faced with such a willful child?” It wasn’t Draco’s best speech but he took an awful long time saying it. Each second that ticked by gave Percy a chance to do… whatever. Something financial, which was going to be awful, but more awful still if these old bats had their way.

The speech had been over the top. Too over the top. Obviously, insincerely over the top. But it was a trap too well laid for Umbridge. Her eyes shined with the victory of being better than a duchess. “Hem hem,” she started. Draco forced himself to at least act attentive, but the following diatribe about discipline and punishment was painful to hear. She had wanted to put Percy’s kids in a school like that. The sweet and kind Molly and Lucy. She would have tortured them.

What would the masquerade Draco do? Well, he’d be in disguise, so maybe he could get away with killing her.

No. No. That was bad. Draco didn’t kill people. Probably. He hadn’t actually asked anyone what happened to Colton after Draco sliced him with that knife. However, thinking about Colton slowly succumbing to poison and finding death only after excruciating pain was enough to sink any thoughts of murder. He didn’t want… he didn’t want to have had… Fuck, Umbridge must not be watching him because he couldn’t keep the false smile on his face while contemplating being responsible for even scum like Colton’s death.

Umbridge was on a roll now. She was caught up in hearing herself speak. It was awful. It was helpful. It ate up time.

Enough time for the chamber doors to swing back open, and for Ron, Hermione, and Andromeda to walk in.