A Good Reason

Author: Adrienne Wolter (catsncritters). You know, if you squish my real name together and put dot com at the end, it takes you somewhere. ::Grins::
Summary: Draco Malfoy muses about life and fascination.
Rating: PG
Warnings: implied slash/yaoi, between Draco Malfoy and another who you'll likely figure out before he's named. If you don't know what slash is, you probably don't want to read this. If you do, and like it, I'd appreciate feedback, for this is my first Draco monologue, but it's written for the enjoyment and practice in writing, not for entertainment of a reader, honestly. I may get into writing HPDM... I don't know, the pairing's appeal has just caught me. You can find my other stories in the HPSS or PWNL genres if you're interested.
Reviews: appreciated--but whether you like it or not, the story's written and as pleased as I am if someone finds enjoyment from something I've written, it was written to get the idea out of my head.
Archive: I don't really know how archiving works, since I've never had a story that's been archived. I'd certainly like to know if it is archived, however.
Noted: I rather like how this turned out, and how the title kind of just flows within the story. Someone once said my monologues were interesting, I figured I might apply it to the Potterverse for more practice on pre-developed characters.

.---.

I always get what I want.

I don't mind being so spoiled. In fact, I love it–opportunity and wealth handed to me on a silver platter. I'm so used to asking for something and then getting it. Or mentioning something and getting it. Or thinking about something and getting it. It's really not all that bad, though I guess it does tend to inflate some people. I would never admit that, though.

But getting everything you want does have a downside. You realize eventually that there are some things that just can't be bought. They're earned; and not knowing how to go about obtaining them just makes them fly further and further out of your reach. I eventually began to want things that were so outlandishly beyond my grasp. More... mysterious things. Questionable things. Things I shouldn't actually want. Things I can only earn, steal, or win.

And there's another downside. I'm not used to hearing 'no.' All my life, it has been 'yes,' 'of course,' 'why not.' Unless it was me saying no. I guess I do say no a lot, actually. But the first eleven years of my life, I didn't really ever believe anyone when they said no–mostly because either my father or mother got them for me anyway. I had my own broomstick and learned to ride it long before Hogwarts. But Hogwarts changed my perfect lifestyle. I was away from home, I didn't have unlimited funds at my disposal (though I could always owl for more), and from the very first day I got turned down. I wanted something that I couldn't have.

I offered my hand to him. But blast it, the weasel had beaten me before I even got there. One train ride with the boy and he would prefer him to me. And then, the mudblood who they despised at first for being so perfect... won his friendship too. For a while there, I was sure they despised her more than I. But I guess houses tend to separate students, don't they?

Friendship... I never really understood the concept in those first few years. It's an odd feeling, to watch Gryffindors and their endless supply of friends and followers, and compare it to my own Slytherin. I had followers, too. One could hardly begin to call Crabbe and Goyle friends, though. The Gryffindors call their friends by their first name. Slytherins rarely use any other name than an insult or a surname. Crabbe and Goyle–have I ever called them Vincent and Gregory? Not that I can remember. They're too slow and readily agreeable. Uninteresting. Boring, in fact. Him, though–he fascinated me from the very start. I watched from the outside as the weasel and the mudblood got what I had known I wanted from him even before they did–and I watched them suffer through every last of his endless adventures together.

Potter.

I had wanted to befriend him, at first. I was young and stupid and didn't know that being Slytherin is a game–a game of betraying others before they betray you, a game of blackmail and deceit and all the nasty things attached to the title of Slytherin. Not many realize how much we despise our own housemates, even beyond despising other houses' members.

I was scared. I needed to be a Slytherin, and learn to act the part–I would be in quite the mess had the Sorting Hat put me into Ravenclaw like I worried it might. Before Hogwarts, my Death Eater's children acquaintances taunted me about being as un-Slytherin as I could be. I was arrogant, I had that down. But I was always curious, and was constantly in trouble for it, though my mother rarely let Lucius know what I was up to. He was too involved in politics, anyway. I rarely saw him before I turned ten, and it sometimes surprised me, how different he looked between each appearance. When I turned ten, he became obsessed with teaching me the dark arts. He taught me about Slytherin, but I hardly understood. He taught me about appearances, and that was something I understood. Lucius then instructed me to keep a watchful eye on Potter, but not to become involved.

Don't let your presence be known. That was his command, and I knew I couldn't comply from day one. Potter was just too interesting, too completely different from everything I'd been told about him as a child. This child, my age even, had seemingly destroyed my father's boss, and yet he was no stereotypical hero by any sense. He was awkward, and people knew things about him that he didn't know. He was so fascinating, so different from myself, and so Gryffindor.

And during this, I taught myself to be a Slytherin. To build walls around myself. Everyone is supposed to hate us, and we're supposed to hate them back. We're meant to be their enemies so they have someone to blame, someone to hate, to throw hexes at between classes. We wanted to find some peacefulness, and we rarely instigated things. Well, things between anyone other than Potter. Our fathers were generally Death Eaters, and they told us that Potter was our bad guy. We believed them. What else did we have to believe?

I came to Hogwarts with my knowledge from Lucius, but at the same time I knew nothing. Sure, I had plenty of old and rare curses that proved to be my backbone to my threats. Another thing I learned; it was a necessity for Slytherins to be able to bluff, lie, and make empty threats on a whim.

And I came with the commands. To watch Potter from the shadows; watch but not be made a target. Don't let your presence be known. The words haunted me even as I tormented Potter to the extent of becoming his enemy. Lucius was most displeased when we became such. But he never asked for me to become his friend. That was all my idea, and all my failure.

But soon my watching became an obsession. To the world, I was Draco Malfoy, snarky git extraordinaire. Rich, popular, and assured victory in every aspect of his life. But to myself, I was Draco. Fascinated by Gryffindor and Weasel and Mudblood, but none so much as Potter.

But in my mind I called him Harry.

I felt overwhelmingly guilty until I reminded myself that I was supposed to be watching. Eventually, I gave myself a reason. I had a reason to be doing this. To report to my father, for this boy's downfall, even though I could tell he was as lost at Hogwarts as I was. Our difference? I was to proud to show it. I had a good reason.

My father told me to. Good enough for anybody who would ask, right?

Harry. So innocent but powerful. Lost but always ready to take charge. Selfless, blasted Harry who made me fall in love before I even knew what I was doing.

But I'll keep watching....