Author's Notes: Inspired by Cecilegrey's prompt for Draco's birthday drabble-a-thon: Draco-centric, best son you can be
Happy birthday, Draco! Thanks to diabolica for the speedy beta.
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Of Love and Perfection
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Draco has never been a perfect son.
A perfect son would have caught the Snitch against Potter.
A perfect son would have bested the Mudblood in class and settled the score in the fight of Malfoy against Weasley.
A perfect son would have found a faster way to do the Dark Lord's bidding.
A perfect son wouldn't have lost it when they sentenced his father to twenty years in Azkaban without parole.
A perfect son would have been able to defend his mother from the scum that attacked her in Diagon Alley in broad daylight.
A perfect son would have found measured words for his grief instead of kneeling at her grave, ruining his last set of good robes on the rain-sodden ground.
A perfect son wouldn't have lost the manor in a futile attempt to fight for justice for his parents.
A perfect son would have found the perfect wife and sired a perfect grandson, instead of bending over for another man, taking it up the arse. He would have never resorted to crude language either.
When Potter tells him that Draco did it all out of love, Draco has a hard time believing him, even though he suspects it's true. He is grateful that Potter is willing to repeat himself, willing to reassure Draco again and again. Draco is so damn grateful that he wants nothing more than to start a fight. A Malfoy shouldn't be anything but self-sufficient.
But Draco is too spent to start a fight. And besides, what is the use of pretending when all he has left is the knowledge of who he is?
So he allows Potter to hold him a little longer, to tuck Draco's sweat-soaked hair behind his ear. Listens to Potter murmuring promises of a better time to come.
A time when Lucius Malfoy will understand that, while Draco has never been a perfect son, he has been the best son he could be.