Fairytale, his mother used to tell him those before he went to bed. Every night, his bedroom would be filled with knights in shiny, silver armors fighting against dark wizards, or beautiful princesses trapped in castles by evil queens. The dragon would fly across his bedroom and horses would gallop across his bed as images flowed out of his mother's wand. He would try to touch those shimmering illusions and they would turn into sparkles, falling gently down on to his hands, emitting a warm radiant before fading away.
He loved to hear all those stories that his mother told him, and in all the stories, there would always be a prince and a princess, and they would always live happily-ever-after. Always.
Every time, before his mother blew out the candle, he would ask, "Does every body really live happily-ever-after in the end?"
"Of course my dear, and you will too." His mother would smile and say, as she kissed his forehead gently. "Sleep well, my dragon."
He had believed it then, believed that he would grow up to be a knight, fighting dragons and dark wizards, and saving princesses trapped in tall towers. But now, as he grew older, he knew that it was far from the truth. Fairytale were just lies. Illusions created by muggles to keep their children happy. There wasn't happily-ever-afters. Not for him.
But for Harry Potter, it was a different matter. He was born a hero. A hero that every one adored and loved. Eyes turned to him like flowers to the sun where ever he went, and every body wanted to know him.
Harry was the hero. He was not.
He was the dragon, and he wanted to be the hero.
"All right, we're going to end this once and for all." Harry said, as he glared at Draco, eyes filled with determination.
"You know that this isn't going to work, Potter. Why don't you save your breath and spend it on scrubbing the prefect's toilet floor instead? Because if you don't let me go now, I'm going to Professor Snape."
"Why are you always behaving like a bastard, Malfoy?"
"Don't act like you know me, Potter." Draco hissed. "You know nothing about me. Nothing at all."
"Then tell me."
And Draco slammed Harry against the wall -- and kissed him.
And it doesn't matter any more that he's not the hero, because Harry was kissing him back.
But like in all other fairytale, there was also a princess. The prince would come and save her from the clutches of the dragon and they would fall in love with each other.
"I don't love her," Harry said, "You know that."
"And would you prefer a deatheater's son instead?"
"Draco..."
"Go marry the Weasley girl. Have lots of babies. Forget about me."
No one spoke for a long time, but both of them knew what they should do.
"I'm sorry, Draco." Harry whispered before he left, and it was sometimes later when Draco finally remembered how to cry.
The hero soon married the princess and both of them lived happily-ever-after. But for him, there was no happy-ending, because the dragon always dies in the end.
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