A/N: Google Crimson spell. There you have the long hair. You can make it black in your head, I'm sure. ;)
Dedicated to The HP and Twilight lover, for the most wondrous review I have ever received!
Yet another ball.
Just bloody perfect.
He hated people. And now he was surrounded with them - just stupid ones, at that. For the moment he had taken shelter from the storm of humans directly to the right of the stairs, hoping that it would shield him from the eyes who sought a suitable victim to socialize with. Unfortunately his marvelous looks, eloquence and supreme intellect made him a perfect target.
He sighed deeply and took another sip of his jet black fire-whisky. It burned soothingly as it went down his throat, as if to say that it, too, suffered from this dreadfully dull party.
He decided that the party was, in fact, so insufferable he needed to drink up his (hm, was it second?) glass just to be able to stand it. Unfortunately he got so startled when one of the enchanted plastic bats in the fire-whiskey emitted an offended screech and flew away as he tried to drink it, that the glass slipped out of his hand and the liquid poured out on the floor.
The glass didn't break – enchanted, of course – but he mourned the loss of the whiskey, even though it was in the wrong color. It was a hard struggle between pompous men and annoying women to get to the table with alcohol. He actually thought about summoning a bottle just for himself, but realized that might seem a bit too desperate to be acceptable. Even considering his current position; suffering. He was a Malfoy - appearance was everything, after all.
He took a step away from the glass and the pool of liquid, leaving it for some house elf to clean up (or hopefully someone to step in).
Everything was just a bit more to his father then to him, it seemed. This was the third ball his father had thrown in two months, and the previous two had been just as dull.
His father's balls consisted of a lot of people chatting about nonsense and pretending that they were important, over-dressed old witches trading gossip and talking behind each other's backs, wizards discussing politics that most of them didn't even understand. The young girls were the worst; wearing to much make-up and too little clothes, giggling immaturely in groups and fluttering with their long lashes at him. Sometimes he just wished that he could put up a big sign over his head saying: Gay. Leave me alone, just so they would get the fuck away.
He was getting more irritated by the second, and that was not good, not just fifteen minutes after the party had started.
The ordinary show-off parties were dreadful. This, this Halloween-party, was simply horrid, just by the mere amount of people present. If it were, say, two-hundred at one of the normal parties, it was at least five-hundred there now. Everyone with even the slight importance to the wizarding society
What tormented him the most was that he was acting exactly like everyone else. He had greeted his (hmph!) guests politely and had mingled with the crowd impeccably until just a few minutes ago. And he knew that he soon would be dancing with annoying girls to lame music, accepting compliments and shameful flirting with a perfect smile while he felt like throwing up. But he wouldn't; he had to keep his appearance up.
With a loud moan he sank down on a painfully uncomfortable – but beautiful and elegant, naturally – chair and turned his gaze towards the roof. That, at least, wasn't completely shallow and plain – the night sky glittered by a thousand stars and a full, orange moon, gazing down with wonder at him. The wonderful sky held an incomprehensible, endless depth.
He knew that to enchant the roof like the grand hall at Hogwarts – to show the sky above – had drained an almost noticeable amount of money from the Malfoy-account – which really said something – but he thought it was worth every knut.
This party was not.
The hall was threatening to explode from all the decorations the house elfs had been putting according to his father's orders; glittering spider webs, soaring glowing pumpkins, real bats, floating candles, werewolf-paintings that howled, black alcohol (morons),and a hoard of more unthinkable things. They had been at it for days.
And just to make it all worse, it was a costume party. His father had decided that a costume party was a good idea.
Take cover, the world is going to an end.
He, of course, was way too dignified to dress up in some silly costume. Instead he had chosen to wear silver robes, perfectly matched with black pants and an elegant black satin cloak hanging from his left shoulder. A black mask was magically attached over his eyes just to keep questions and complains away.
He slowly started mentally preparing for yet another horrid evening, his few minutes of moderate peace would soon be over.
As he stood he could hear a wave of whispers from the people around him.
He sighed deeply. He knew he was gorgeous, but Merlin, they had seen him before, hadn't they?
"Oh, look!" a particularly loud whisper suddenly exclaimed as the source – another of those annoying girls – pointed towards the stairs a few feet away from him.
Huh, it wasn't him then? But who else could be stunning enough to create such a fuss?
He turned to see.
He stood directly to the right of the stairs, so thanks to the baluster railing he couldn't see anyone for a few seconds. But when he did, the first he saw was a long, black strand of hair, lifted by an otherwise invisible wind.
"A woman, then", was his first though.
But it was not a woman. Not at all.
The man wore a set of black dress robes, pooling by his feet, elegant enough to create a sting of jealousy at the pit of his stomach. But the robes were not what caught his main attention. The hair was.
He had never seen anything like it. As the man turned his back to him to greet his father, he saw that it almost reached the man's knees. Still, it somehow seemed light, and withheld its volume (in direct contrast to Severus Snape, standing to the right of his father, staring in envy at the man). And black, black as nothing he'd ever seen. The night sky he had previously admired with all its stars somehow seemed a little less glorious in comparison to this unknown man.
As this stranger began to trade words with his bewildered father – who obviously tried his best to figure out who the hell he had invited – he woke from his trance. And abruptly went to greet the guest before his mother could get a chance to drag away with him to her ladies.
"Ah, and this is my son, Draco", Lucius said and made a gesture in his direction.
The man turned to face him. Draco stared in amazement at the hair as it reacted to the man's movements, flowing graciously through the air, seeming unaffected by the pull of gravity. He just wanted to touch it. Just a little…
"Nice to meet you", the man said and clasped his hand, that he obviously unconsciously hand stretched out.
He fought a blush and won.
"Pleasure", he answered in a voice that was supposed to be slightly bored – though perfectly polite –, but instead gave away a bit of his curiosity and fascination.
Only now he met the man's eyes.
And nearly fell backwards.
They were a wonderful, brilliant shade of green, purer then anything he'd ever seen. Black, thick lashes framed them, making them stand out even more.
And the face… the face. Even though area around the eyes was covered by a plain black mask, it still radiated something that made him want to stroke that smooth, perfect cheek, to kiss those actually somewhat full lips.
If he hadn't figured out that he was gay already, meeting this man would definitely have been a clue.
"Can I show you to the food? Or drinks maybe?" his unconscious made him say, clearly not prepared to lose the man's company so soon after gained.
Thank you, Unconscious.
"Drinks, please", the man said with a polite smile, lighting up his world for a moment.
"This way, please", he said with a slight bow and held out an arm to point the way.
Want. To. Touch. Hair!
His wish was granted when the man walked past him and one of the unknown guest's delicate strands of hair brushed his face.
It was softer than anything he could have ever imagined.
Somehow he managed to follow the man towards the large table with drinks despite this wonderful experience.
Salvation by hair.
He followed closely behind to be able to direct the man, but made sure to be far away enough for the hair to move freely. It seemed like a constant breeze followed the man, playing fondly with his hair like nothing was more enjoyable.
Probably nothing was.
Watching it wasn't half bad either.
As the crowd grew more… well, crowded, he was slowly forced closer and closer to the man. Not that he was complaining.
As they reached the table, he poured up a glass for both himself and the stranger.
"Black?" the stranger commented.
"Yeah, I think my father is going nuts", he said with a displeased shrug. "Not only does this stuff look highly repulsive, but why change the color when it looked perfect in the first place."
To his great surprise the un-named guest started laughing.
The sound struck him as incredibly beautiful. Like nothing he'd ever be able to describe, but knew he would remember always, even if he'd only get to hear it this once.
Was he going soft after one and a half drink and a man's pretty hair (gorgeous eyes, beautiful face, perfect robes and amazing laugh)?
He truly was pathetic.
"You never cease to amaze me, Malfoy, even though you certainly have changed you methods", the man smiled widely.
He stared at the man.
"Do we know each other?"
He'd thought that he'd have remember such a man, even if he'd known him only before he realized that he was gay. Which he had done at age fifteen.
The man just smiled at him and sipped his black whiskey.
"Who are you anyway?" he asked suspiciously.
"I think we both prefer that you don't know the answer to that question", the man said and turned away from him. The black hair lifted in an elegant bow and brushed his hand.
It felt like something was ripped apart inside of him when the still unknown man walked away without looking back.
When the hell did you turn into such a sissy?
First chapter out of three.
My little birthday-fic for Harry.
Happy 30th birthday, Potter. Now you are an old man. ;)