Title – Masquerade
Authoress – Phoenix Tears
Summary – Draco Malfoy, back from his secret hiding in America, attends the du Parc family's masquerade, and meets up with some old acquaintances.
Rating – PG
Warning – Slash, incest. Don't like – don't read.
Disclaimer – I own nothing, except for this plot. All the characters are property of the wonderful goddess J.K. Rowling.
Authoress' Note – I am a citizen of America, so pardon the spellings if they are not strictly United Kingdom type English… you know, 'colour' or 'color'…
Feedback – Of course, as for every writer, questions, thoughts, and constructive criticism are all greatly appreciated. Thank you, and enjoy.
~*~
I've just Apparated back to London, back from two years of living in hiding in the United States. I'm now entering a life I had gone away from when I graduated Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, two years ago.
I am nineteen years old.
My father is in hiding, my mother is dead, Voldemort is gone, and Harry Potter is still alive. Naturally.
The entire Malfoy family's whereabouts are unknown. We were told to go into hiding by Albus Dumbledore, who said to come back when the aftermath of the war was over. The Malfoys had to go into hiding because, even though we switched to the Light side and Order of the Phoenix, there are those out for blood, who cannot forgive our sins.
Our sins must be paid in blood, flesh, and life.
But we cannot pay.
One of those who is out for blood is Ron Weasley, for example. The Weasley and Malfoy families have been ancient families striving in a blood feud for centuries, though the Malfoy family is much more respectable, wealthy, and older.
After two years were over, Dumbledore let us come back.
I am nineteen years old, the current holder of the most nominations for Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor, heir to the Malfoy fortune, former Slytherin prefect, Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, and Seeker, son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa D'Voire.
Three guesses as to who I am.
~*~
My name, as well as that of my father's, has finally been cleared by the public.
They have forgiven.
But the Malfoy name still reigns supreme over the wizarding world. How could it not? Our ancestors were the dukes, lords, and kings of France, England, and Normandy.
Our name is still highest-ranked and known among the ancient, pureblooded wizarding families.
I have been invited to the du Parc family's masquerade two nights from now.
I have just returned from America yesterday, and have already received six applications for Quidditch teams and three modeling jobs.
As if a Malfoy could ever be caught playing sweaty, professional Quidditch or doing modeling jobs for the wizarding branch of Armani.
Though I do like their fashion.
Which is why I just bought some Armani robes for the du Parc masquerade.
I do hope that Pansy won't be there.
~*~
It's lonely in the Manor; no one is here. The house elves bustle around in the kitchen, and occasionally the hallways, but there is no one to talk to me.
I play the piano and the violin, listen to the wizarding radio, take walks in the garden, and visit the menagerie, but none of it compares to having talks about politics with Father in his private study.
I miss him quite a lot.
When I was young, Father would let me sit on his lap and he would read stories to me. He would show me how to practice my instruments, show me various spells, and bring me down to his private potions laboratory.
I always did have a special talent for potions.
When I grew up and entered Hogwarts, he would send me presents. For my birthday, right after Yule, he would hold huge parties at the Manor. One of my presents in first year was an Invisibility Cloak. It had been specially weaved for me, as Father has several demiguises in the menagerie.
I had ever so much fun with that Invisibility Cloak. It was rumoured that Harry Potter had one, as well.
I miss those times with Father.
I do not even know if he is still alive, or if he's still in England.
I wonder, if I have been allowed to come back, shouldn't Father have been, as well? And if he was allowed to come back, why is he not at the Manor? Why is he not here with me?
I admire him. He is the perfect Malfoy – cold, beautiful, aloof, and proud. How I wish to be like him when I inherit the Manor and all the Malfoy funds and estates.
I respect him. He has shown me so much of life, and told me so much about how to live it. He holds power over everything – everyone. No matter who they are, they fear him with a frightened admiration and acknowledgement.
I honour him. He is my god, my master, my bringer of life. Without him, I would not be here. He has worked so hard to preserve the Malfoy legacy and funds; our fortune is nearly twenty billion Galleons now. That is not counting precious gems, artifacts, etc.
I love him. He is my father.
~*~
I am dressed in resplendent silk robes of midnight blue edged in silver velvet lining. My cape billows out behind me in a manner reminiscent of Professor Snape, and my polished black dragonhide boots fit almost up to my knee. My pale grey coloured breeches fit snugly, and I noticed quite a number of lustful eyes following my lower back and figure. The white collared shirt I have on inside has the first few buttons undone, revealing my alabaster white skin.
My mask is charcoal black lined in elegant quicksilver.
The music has begun. It is a slow and classical.
Pairs of witches and wizards begin filtering out onto the large dance floor, and I idly comment to the young Mr. Rhayne du Parc, who is around my age, about what a wonderful environment they have set up. The wine is simply divine, I compliment.
He blushes beautifully and says a polite thank-you. His mask is a stunning green colour trimmed in emerald. Though I know I am bisexual – most wizards and Malfoys are – I would not dream of seducing Rhayne. He is merely a friend to me.
A young lady, pretty in a gown of gold, asks me to dance, and being the perfect gentleman with all the polite upbringing I have received, I oblige. She is a skillful dancer, and as this dance is one in which partners are continuously switched, I am swept into many unknown arms.
One pair is muscular and soothing, and I look up into the owner's face. Though it is partly obscured by the mask, I can see the melded angles of the person's neck from beneath his collared silver and green robes. His skin is paler than moonlight in contrast to the Slytherin colours, much like my skintones are.
He holds me more closely, intimately, than is required, and I find myself flushing involuntarily. I chastise myself – Father would be ashamed, for Malfoys do not blush.
When the dance is over, the man bows graciously and straightens up again. I return the favour and see that his hair is a silken blonde colour. Like gold, I muse.
"You are a wonderful dancer, sir," I compliment politely.
"As are you, little one. You are beautiful, as well."
I receive those compliments regularly, and know of my beauty.
"Would you care for a waltz?" the mysterious man asks.
Smiling, I reply, "Of course." He takes my arm tenderly, as if I might break at any moment, and wraps his arms around my slim waist. It feels as if it belongs there – his hold is strong and comforting. The expensive fabric of his robes is soft against mine, and makes barely a sound as we dance elegantly to the music.
Many pairs of eyes are glued to us as we make our way around the dance floor. I must admit, he dances extremely well, and I harmonize him nicely.
The man nods good-naturedly at everyone once the music has ended, accepting comments graciously. He smiles surreptitiously at me before grabbing my hand and drawing me out onto the veranda overlooking the gardens.
"Have I mentioned that you are beautiful?" he whispers softly.
"Yes. But how would you know if I wear a mask?" I asked slyly, smirking.
The mystifying man snickers quietly, as if amused. "I have a penchant for lovely things, dear." He then pulls me in for a gentle, chaste kiss, only lips and breath and tenderness and purity. My breath is nearly stolen away as I feel an electrical jolt shoot through me, and I, far from unskilled in the arts of love, open my mouth in submission. I feel the man smile against my lips and ever so gently let his tongue into my mouth.
It's fiery hot and icy cold all at the same time; gentle and probing and fervent. He battles with my own tongue, licking softly at the caverns in my mouth. The wine I had just drink leaves a sweet aftertaste of grapes, and I can taste champagne in his mouth as well. "Delicious," he murmurs softly against my lips.
We kiss until we are out of breath, and I find that his body has been reacting. As had mine. There is a very noticeable bulge in his lower areas, even though his robes are billowing and conceal much. I can tell he is well endowed.
The clock strikes ten, and a cheering goes up. Ten is the time for everyone to be unmasked, and then to continue dancing. I am eager to find out who this man is, and ask breathlessly, "You or I first?"
"I shall," he says, with an imperious toss of his golden head. He unties the strings of his silver mask and reveals his face.
It takes all the composure I have ever been taught to not keel over in surprise.
The enigmatic man is my father, Lucius Malfoy.
~*~
Authoress Note: Please, please review!! This is my first time at a Lucius/Draco fic… If you think: Ick! How on earth could you make Lucius and Draco go together?! Please refrain from flaming. You were warned about incest and slash, and if it makes you feel any better, Draco did not know he was actually kissing his father… Should I write a sequel or not? Feedback is greatly appreciated…