All I have to say about this fic is that I wrote it in my notebook during several classes. I'm sure my teachers are proud of how I'm spending my education. :x
Want
by Lurrel
Draco wants. He wants shallow things. He wants bone-crushing victory over Potter, to execute a perfect feint that sends Harry sailing into the ground to a cracked jaw while Draco clutches a glittering Snitch in his palm.
He wonders what he will do once school is over. His grades, though never good enough for his father, are damn near perfect. He scores in the top five in every class, and tied with Granger for NEWTs. There used to be wizarding universities, he knows, Invisible Colleges and academies. He thinks he would like to go to one, as the only things he has ever known in his short life are school and his father's hands.
Draco wants, more than anything, to be a hero. The Dark Mark (which lurks on his thigh, a place, according to Lucius, much less conspicuous than his shoulder) itches through his robes. Snape realized the change in Draco's flesh immediately, before Draco could even muster up the strength tell him. He hopes he will be as strong as Snape when the time comes.
Draco hopes that when the time comes he will have the courage to stand up to Voldemort. He imagines himself straightbacked and proud in his refusal of the war, of the killing and the hate. But the name Malfoy is synonymous with coward, and he knows that if the moment occurs, it will be his father to cast the Killing Curse to erase it.
Dumbledore has already approached him and Draco has chosen his side. His father will not be pleased, but then, neither was Harry. 'I have to work with him?' he had said, his mouth twisted in anger. Draco had no clever retort.
Draco wants to think he has a purpose in life other than to die. He is attractive, willowy and long limbed (but short), with pale hair and silver eyes, and he used to think this meant he was destined for greatness. But so far, the only thing his porcelain skin has proved good for is bruising. It seems to be its purpose in his life, to break into rainbows of yellows, purples, and blues. He wonders if Harry ever thinks of the fingerprints that adorn Draco's hips like a signature. He thinks that when new ones are added the bruises burn like brands, and when a hand then brushes his thigh he knows he can compare.
Draco knows what he wants but he also knows what he can't have. He will never be allowed to win. He will never catch the snitch. In his blood runs poison, and tainted heroes are few. He knows Potter will never kiss and tell, but also that he will never kiss and keep promises. Sometimes in the Great Hall he sees Potter and Granger and Weasley, shining brighter than torchlights. There is a reason Slytherins are confined to the dungeons, he thinks, as he sits surrounded by people whose fathers are killers.
There is a circle in hell for traitors to their kin and Draco knows he will freeze there forever. Sometimes he feels frozen already, cold and unflinching. He their unlikely ally, but that doesn't mean he has to care.
All Draco wants is to be touched by light.