A/N: This is more for the idea than the writing. I've seen Draco turned good, as in Eliza Diawna Snape's series, but I've never seen Draco revealed as good throughout all the HP books. Maybe I'll re-write this later, in first person perhaps, but right now I am incredibly tired. So you'll have to live with this for now...
Disclaimer: The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. The plot belongs to me. The poem I REFUSE to claim. Yada, yada, yada. Please do not arrest me. (This is illegal, you know...) (Well, not for Harry Potter, but...) Colin Creepy is cool!
Draco Malfoy sighed theatrically, gazing up into the night sky. "Oh, if I only had a brain," he muttered, his mouth twisting into a smile. All of this was so crazy, so oddly romantic, like a fairytale...
He had, however, a good reason to sigh. He'd been hiding for so long. Hiding himself...
I never thought this would be so hard
, a voice whispered into his mind.Of course you did, idiot
, he told the voice. Please. Look, this isn't Quidditch, okay? We're dealing with Lord Voldemort here. Stop complaining.He had to admit that the voice could have been right, however. Maybe. Maybe. He was an actor, of course. He had known he could do the part. It was taxing, though. And he hadn't thought he would be so lonely. Hadn't thought he'd find himself liking The Boy Who Lived.
Dumbledore's face floated up in his memory...
Gravely, the man looked down at him. "Draco, we're losing. Lord Voldemort's getting closer. We don't know how to fulfill the prophecy. And if we can't...
"If we can't, we're gone."
Draco gave a small nod. A tiny one. His mind spun with ideas, all of them crazy. "Albus, let's look at that prophecy again. Maybe there's a clue..."
Wordlessly, Dumbledore strode to the shelf, his face grey in the dim light. The wrinkles in his face were deepening, and there were hollows under his eyes. Draco was worried about him...
From a secret drawer, the headmaster of Hogwarts pulled a sheet of thin parchment, rolled and tied with a purple ribbon. He untied it, and the scroll lay unfurled in his hands, on his soft pale skin. As Draco walked to Dumbledore, his feet stirred up great clouds of dust, temporarily clouding the room. When the air was clear, the two read the prophecy together.
Dark, dark, dark,
each time you kill
you will go free.
But beware
the Boy Who Lived.
Without anger,
he will be weak.
Without knowledge,
he will fail.
Without love,
he will burn.
Without pain,
he will die.
But beware:
he may have all four
and then you
will be the one burnt.
Draco stood silently for a while, staring at the words until they seemed to change before his eyes. He looked up at Dumbledore, but even he seemed helpless. The silence pressed on the two until Draco thought he would suffocate. So he broke it.
"Great poem, isn't it," he said, one side of his mouth raising almost invisibly in the largest smile the world had seen of Draco in months. Years, even.
"Yes," Dumbledore said glumly, still watching the words as if he thought they would reveal a new meaning if he looked for one long enough. "Prophets aren't great poets... at least we
understand this, though. It's a starting point...""Well, let's go over it again. Pain and love, Harry has, poor boy. Knowledge... Well, you've got Hagrid to get him to Hogwarts, right? And he'll learn here, if you have anything to do with it. But anger... It's there, but he's
not showing it. How are we going to make him angry? The students at Hogwarts are going to be in awe of him, which isn't going to do us any good.""The students at Hogwarts," Dumbledore mused. "The students at Hogwarts... Draco! I know you've gone through school already, but you graduated early, right? How old
are you?""I'm fourteen. I look younger, though... Wait! Albus, are you thinking what I'm thinking? If I pretend to be a first year..."
"Then you can provoke Harry!" Dumbledore breathed, his eyes lighting up. "Draco, that's
it!"So it had been. Draco hadn't understood what he was doing to help for a long while, until he realized that Harry's anger at Draco was driving him to do things he wouldn't otherwise do. Learn the patronous charm, for instance, long before he would have. And with that, he drove off the dementors to save Sirius from the Kiss of Death. And so on. It was only the fourth year, however, and Draco didn't know if he could continue this continuous acting. To not be himself, ever... What if Harry had seen the real Draco on that day on Knockturn Alley? What if Draco slipped up some day, and Harry saw? All would be lost.
He didn't know if he could do it.
But he had to keep on trying.