He's Not A Boy That You Can Change
Chapter 1 - I knew you were trouble
"Draco!" There was no air, just a crushing weight pressing down on his chest. "DRACO!" he forced the words out, his brilliant red hair matted to his scalp, hands slick with blood. "God Draco don't, please oh god" Tears poured down his face mixing with blood and dripping onto the dirt. The blonde boy's body was still, closed eyelids a gorgeous shade of purple, skin white. The image of an angel with blood pouring from his chest. "Don't leave me" whispering the words his voice faltered, dissolving into sobs as he held the smaller boy in his arms, head resting on his un-moving chest.
six months earlier
Ron trudged through the mud irritably, rubbing rain drops out of his eyes. The water of the great lake looked black, tiny ripples running through it as he passed. He cast his eyes upwards to the sky, thick dark clouds were closing in and he could hear thunder in the distance. As he reached the doors to the entrance hall he remembered his broom, flung to the ground in anger where he'd left it on the Quiditch pitch; in weather like this it would get blown away. "Shit" he turned and started running, Ron was no good at summoning spells like Harry. In fact Ron wasn't very good at a lot of spells. Or books like Hermione. He'd thought maybe sports were the way to go but that wasn't turning out as planned either. He picked up the pace his Quiditch robes twisting and writhing in the wind.
It was just typical, wasn't it? Ron Weasley, poor family, poor grades. He thought of Harry, of the scar on his forehead that had brought him so much fame. Maybe if You-Know-Who had come to his house that night instead... Ron shook himself, he shouldn't think that. He'd seen what Harry had had to go through these past six years and it hadn't looked easy. Besides, what would he do without his mums cooking. But still, wistful nasty thoughts floated about his head as he ran towards the pitch. He was tired of always being second best, of always being the one everyone looked at last. For Merlin's sake even Hermione got more attention than him these days, what with that Mclaggen hanging all over her. Slimy git.
He could see the pitch now and picked up his pace, anxious to get his broom and head back to the dorms. Everyone else had left hours ago but he'd stayed longer to practice. Before Harry left he had come over and patted his back. Something about the gesture bothered him. Ah, there it was just where he had left it. As Ron reached for his broom something caught the corner of his eye. He looked up. There was someone there, dripping wet and whizzing through the air at a tremendous speed. Pale skin, white hair with robes billowing out behind them. They looked almost like an angel.
Ron saw it, the tiny flicker of gold whiz past. So they were practicing. Looking more closely his heart gave a leap of shock. Draco Malfoy. Ron's face burned red as he realized he'd just compared this ferret to an angel. As he was turning to leave he caught a look at the expression on Draco's face. Pure concentration. No lines of hatred that Ron was more accustomed to seeing on the Slytherins face, but smooth, eyes intent mouth slightly puckered. His face looked younger somehow, less hostile. Without knowing why Ron found himself reluctant to leave, he was actually enjoying it. Ron couldn't help but notice, and he did try, that Draco was extremely graceful. He looked happy, and not in the sinister 'I enjoy your pain' kind of way that Ron was used to. But really, totally happy. And free.
Ron didn't know how long he stood there watching him but as he made his way back to the castle he thought that the sun rise looked just beautiful.
Draco whipped round as the snitch flew passed him, his fingers brushing it's wings for a brief second. He'd been at it for a while now and still hadn't managed to catch it. Damn it. Why did Potter make this look so easy. Every evening he would sneak to the pitch and wait for the other teams to pack up before starting his own private training. He'd usually get a good few hours in but recently Weasley had been out practicing every night. Initially Draco had been half tempted to hex him for stealing his practice hours. Didn't the little weasel know Draco had the idea first? But, after a few nights of hanging about waiting for him to leave he had taken to watching him. Really watching him. And the more he watched the more he couldn't take his eyes off him. He was clumsy, that much was obvious. He was fast enough sure, but sloppy. He didn't seem to grasp the idea of defending all the goals instead of just one. He'd bewitched a couple of quaffels to try and fly through the hoops and more often than not they did. It was pathetic really. Once he even let the bludgers out, the idiot. If Draco hadn't intervened it would of taken the weasels nose off. A simple Locomotor spell that he of course cast perfectly.
Still, despite the idiots blunders Draco enjoyed watching him. He like the weasels determination. Night after night he'd be back, not that he got any better. And Draco would wait, watching him, after he left Draco would take up his own broom and begin practice. It had become a bit of a ritual. A good sistraction. And he sorely needed one of those.
Tonight was cold, worse that the others. A few times he had been tempted to come down, call it a night. "Malfoy's don't quit" his fathers voice whispered. Yeah right. That's all that coward had ever done. Just as he decided to call it a night Draco caught a glimpse of red down on the field. Well, well, well. Wasn't this a turn of events. The weasel had come to watch him. Draco allowed himself a grin, wondering how long he had been stood down there marveling at him. Draco threw himself into practice, determined to give a good show. He was after all, still a Malfoy.