Fandom/Pairing: Harry Potter, HP/DM
Summary: Draco reminisces, and thinks of how things might have been.
Word Count: 1,478
Feedback: I adore it.
A/N: Written for freeversefic. See snippet of poem at the bottom. :D
It had been seven years since Draco had first laid eyes on Harry Potter. Seven years since he'd been caught against his will by messy black hair and the greenest eyes he'd ever seen peering at him from behind thick, badly patched glasses.
Eleven is a young age to find your soulmate, but Draco had always had to do things faster than everyone else. Of course, at the time he hadn't known who the boy was, or more importantly, who he had become to one Draco Malfoy. All he had known was that the other boy was beautiful, and Draco would have him.
Being young and a Malfoy, Draco had been certain that acquiring the boy's friendship would be no problem. All the other boys his age that he knew were quite desperate to be his friend, and Draco really couldn't see any reason why this wouldn't be true for the boy that he'd met in the robe shop as well. It came as quite a shock later when the boy-who turned out to be Harry Potter, of all the bloody people in the world-refused his offer of friendship with a look of distaste and scornful words.
In hindsight, Draco supposed that he shouldn't have made it sound as though he only wanted the other boy's friendship because he was the Harry Potter...and perhaps he should have kept his opinions of the Weasley family to himself; but honestly, the red head had laughed at his name. What was he supposed to do, sit there and take it? Laugh with him as though his name really was a joke? Draco had more pride than that, thanks...even if that pride had cost him the friendship of a boy he really thought might understand him, just a little.
It hardly mattered now, at any rate. Draco gave a sad smile as he recalled the past seven years. That one meeting had set the stage for their next five years at Hogwarts. Years in which Draco, furious and hurt at being rejected, had tried constantly to trip Potter up and make him fail. Of course, his schemes never worked, and Potter, along with his stupid little friends, always got the best of Draco and always got the prize.
As the years went by, Draco grew more and more bitter, and his lashing out at Potter became more violent, as well as more public. It only escalated, starting with petty taunts about Potter's friends and ending with Professor Umbridge and her Inquisitional Squad.
The anger and violence would only have continued, except Potter no longer paid any attention to Draco. He hardly paid any attention to anyone save the Weasley's, Granger, that oaf Hagrid, and occasionally Dumbledore during his sixth year, and after the deaths of both Hagrid and Ginny Weasley he cut himself off from everyone.
It had been seventh year, and Draco knew he had no reason to be noticing Harry Potter. His own life had gotten pretty complicated, what with both of his parents on the run, N.E.W.T.'s coming up this year and his own future as a Death Eater looming on the horizon. Students had begun disappearing at an alarming rate, and everyone was hard-pressed to tell which ones left under their own power. So, no, Draco had too much on his plate to bother with noticing Harry Potter...but notice Potter he did, and what he observed worried him. Potter no longer smiled. His eyes were dark and haunted and he had stopped attending classes. But what worried Draco the most was taking a stroll aroud the lake one bright Saturday morning, and spotting Potter torturing a spider to death with the Cruciatus curse, a strange, twisted smile on his face as he released the spider from its torment , and watched it scuttle for freedom only to curse it again just when it looked like the spider might make it to safety. Draco had gone back inside the castle feeling sick, his day ruined.
After that little show, it hardly came as a shock to Draco when Potter suddenly stood up from his bench in the middle of dinner one night and strode through the doors of the Great Hall, with what was left of the school following after. Granger had disappeared the night before, and for once there was no doubt in anyone's mind what had happened to her...just as there was little doubt what Harry was planning on doing about it. A few people tried to talk him out of it ; going after the Dark Lord was a serious step and Harry was so obviously not ready.
Potter brushed the words away with a wave of his hand, and the glare in his eyes dared anyone to try and stop him. Those eyes met Draco's for one second, and in them he saw pure murder. He stepped back, his words dying in his throat, and was mortified to discover that he was shaking. But he wasn't the only one. Everyone who met Potter's gaze dropped their eyes quickly, faces pale and solemn. Even Professor Snape, who could always be counted on to put Potter in his place, backed down when his eyes met Potter's. The only one who tried to stop Potter was Dumbledore, who got blasted into the wall for his trouble.
Potter glared at everyone around him one final time, and then turned to leave. Unbidden, the words that Draco had found himself unable to speak earlier ripped from his throat.
"Be careful, Potter!"
Potter turned around and met Draco's gaze squarely. For the first time, his eyes had softened, and he'd given Draco an almost imperceptible nod before leaving.
The whole school had waited helplessly for three days with no word. Classes had all been canceled, and the students that remained at Hogwarts were given the opportunity to return to their homes until the outcome of this final battle was known for sure. Surprisingly, nost of the remaining students chose to remain at Hogwarts, and unsurprisingly, the entire Weasley clan soon showed up at the castle to wait with everyone else.
It was on the third day of waiting, when nearly everyone had given up hope, that Professor Snape let out an almighty scream of pain and fell to the floor, clutching his forearm. When he'd finally stopped screaming and hexing anyone who came near him, they found that his Dark Mark had disappeared, and the whole school sat in stunned silence.
Silence that hadn't lasted long once everyone figured out what the disappearing of the Dark Mark must mean. Potter had won. The Boy Who Lived had triumphed over the Dark Lord in the end, and saved everyone. Soon the castle was filled with happy, cheering students and hesitantly smiling staff. The nightmare, it seemed, was finally over.
Out of everyone, only the Weasley's and Draco himself remained subdued. They kept a vigil for Potter for three more weeks, and although Granger eventually showed up, bloody and bruised but unmistakably alive, Potter had not.
At the end of the third week, what was left of both Voldemort and Potter's bodies were found, and soon after a wake was held for the boy hero. Nearly the whole wizarding world attented; the women had cried while the men shook their heads sadly-it was such a tragedy, really. Weasley held Granger while she sobbed, his jaw clenched and his eyes unseeing. Draco had stayed for as long as he could, but left when his stomache threatened to rebel.
Now he sits on his bed at the manor. His now, as his mother and father had been found dead shortly after Potter. It seemed they had committed suicide after Voldemort's demise; evidently feeling death to be more kind than Azkaban. No great loss, really.
He sits, and he thumbs slowly through a scrapbook he'd started keeping at eleven years old. Pictures of Potter look back at him, some smiling, some not. Draco trails his finger over a picture of Gileroy Lockhart trying to draw a powerfully resisting Potter into view, and smiles. Turning a few more pages, he skims over a few of Rita Skeeter's news articles from fourth year, and shakes his head sadly.
Sighing softly, he shuts the book and stares at it a long time, before pulling out his wand and setting it on fire, trying to get past Potter's death the only way he knows how. Telling himself that the other boy is dead, and there's no use torturing himself with what might have been.
If only he hadn't been such a bastard the first time he'd met Potter. If only Potter had accepted his offer of friendship. If only Draco had pulled his head out of his arse and told Harry how much he'd meant...how Draco had loved him, in one form or another, since he was eleven years old.
Images used in decades past (or even yesterday), may not be used today. Label them cliché, old-fashioned, passé; leave them in old chests with words of love and unrequited passion.