Looking back on life, Draco Malfoy realised that he'd made a lot of mistakes.
In fact, he'd made more mistakes than most people.
Some were small, like being mean to his house-elf. He'd actually liked Dobby very much, and was awfully upset when Harry Potter of all people had set him free.
Some were much larger, like letting himself fall into the standard mould set for Slytherins. He was mean to mudbloods and blood traitors, he thought he was better at everyone else, he was an arrogant posh twat and he never realised it.
But the one mistake he would never regret was falling in love with Harry Potter.
Because it wasn't a mistake. It had seemed like it at the time, but it wasn't.
Some people would say it was destiny. But Draco, being a Malfoy, would say it was just chance. Draco had never believed in soulmates and all that tosh. He believed only in arranged marriage to rich, pureblood girls, who could bear children who would carry on the family name.
It took Draco a while to figure out what he felt for Potter. And the last thing he had wanted it to be was love.
Draco had first met Potter at Madam Malkin's robes for all occasions. He knew he'd felt something, but vehemently denied to himself that it was anything like attraction.
It couldn't have been. Draco liked girls. He hoped.
But seeing Potter always made him weak at the knees, made his heart beat like a jack-rabbit in his breast. He couldn't explain it even if he wanted to.
He'd decided it was best to just leave it. He had figured that it'd go away soon enough. He took every chance he got to taunt Potter and his filthy friends, reminding himself of how stupid Potter was, telling himself that these were all reasons why he should not feel any attraction towards Potter.
When Potter got put on the quidditch team, Malfoy felt pride. He often wandered around the castle on his own, wondering what was wrong with him. He felt pride for Potter? But why?
And then, almost as soon as it had started, the school year had ended.
Griffindor had won the house cup, all thanks to Potter and his friends, stealing the winning title from Slytherin for the first time in 13 years.
Malfoy watched Potter from his space on the train. He could see the bright green eyes from miles away. Harry was standing with that stupid oaf, Hagrid. And the mudblood. Draco wondered sadly about how Potter would be spending his holidays. He saw Potter hug the oaf goodbye, and step onboard the train.
As Harry passed, Malfoy stood up. Everyone in the carriage stared at him. Then they started whispering.
Harry Potter passed by without a glance in Malfoy's direction. Malfoy sat down, disappointed. He would give anything for the chance to see those sharp green eyes, so full of life, one last time before the holidays. But he didn't. The journey passed by with muted whispers about Draco and Harry, all of which Draco ignored. But as he got off the train, Draco couldn't help but automatically scan the crowd on the platform for the gorgeously tousled, jet-black hair that belonged to the boy with the lightning scar.
But then Draco stopped searching as he caught sight of his mother and father's beaming faces, and rushed forwards to greet them with outstretched arms. As he told them all about the eventful year, and of Harry Potter, Draco hoped that six weeks away from Potter would help him forget all his attraction towards the boy who lived.
Oh how wrong he was.
The whole of the summer war was raging inside Draco's head. I don't love Potter. I don't. He's an idiot, why would I?
You're lying to yourself, Draco. It's not healthy. Your obsession with him will just grow and grow and grow, until you can't take it anymore and you end up making out with him behind the greenhouses.
SHUT UP! I DON'T LOVE HIM AND I NEVER WILL!
Ignoring his love for Harry was another mistake.
When Draco saw Harry again over the holidays, his heart positively leapt with joy. It took all of Draco's inner strength to stop himself running over and embracing the bespectacled boy. When he saw Lockhart, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher manhandle Potter that way, fury filled him inside, threatening to spill over and unleash itself onto Draco's next unsuspecting, innocent victim. Stop manhandling MY Potter, you filth, thought Draco, standing at the side-lines, still able to see everything around Lockhart. Shut up, he told himself mentally. Shut up, shut up, shut up! Stop thinking like that, he's the enemy!
He was going to talk to Potter, but Potter was with the Weasleys, and so Draco's father took it upon himself to insult them beyond belief, as was his annoying custom that would gain him a lot of formidable enemies. Long story short, words were exchanged, as were punches between Draco's father and the eldest Weasley. Just when it seemed as though spells were going to be used, that gigantic oaf Hagrid decided to step in and tear the two men apart. After that, Draco's father stormed out of the shop with a bloody nose. Draco cast a glance in Potter's direction. The 'saviour' had a thoroughly confused, yet slightly disgusted look on his face. Draco gave him a half-hearted sneer and walked out after his father, cursing himself for once again being a total prat in front of Potter.
Draco stood on the platform, his eyes again raking the crowd for a glimpse of that raven-black hair that belonged to his Potter. No Draco, he mentally told himself. Potter is not yours, he never was and he never will be. Just forget about him.
And so at school, with Potter around him again, clouding his thoughts, the war raged on inside Draco's head. Draco sided with the ones that knew that Potter was an idiot, that Draco didn't love him. But the Loving side was determined not to be bested, and pushed for victory inside Draco, so often coming to the point when he had to be excused from lessons courtesy of a pounding head.
Draco had noticed that nothing had changed over the summer. Potter was still the golden boy to all, except Draco, Professor Snape and most of the Slytherins. Potter was especially favoured by the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lockhart, who always pulled Potter to the front of the class so that Lockhart could demonstrate one of his 'heroic deeds.' Draco took every chance he had to make mockery of the bespectacled 'saviour' and his stupid little band of friends. For the first couple of weeks, everything was exactly what you would have been expecting if you were planning on trying to teach a group of near adolescent children magic.
After the first quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, in which Potter had caught the snitch when it was, literally, right behind Draco's ear, the war was still being fought inside Draco. When Draco found out that Potter had lost all the bones in his arm due to a rogue bludger and Lockhart's dodgy wandwork, Draco's first thought was, Oh no, Poor Harry! I hope he's alright, maybe I should go check on him, see if he needs anything.The side that thought he loved Potter. His second thought was Potter hates you, idiot. Why would he want to see you, except to gloat about catching the snitch so easily whilst you just hovered there throwing insults. Besides, he deserves it. It's his fault the whole of Slytherin house hates you.
The hatred didn't last long though, and soon Draco was back in his usual standing, everyone laughing at the jokes he made about 'precious Potter'.
Then there were the attacks. Potter could always be connected to each one, so everyone thought he had done it. Especially when it was discovered the saviour could talk to snakes. People were avoiding Potter as though he had a nasty bout of wizard's flu, thinking that he was going to curse them all, thinking that he was Slytherin's heir.
Draco didn't believe for one minute that Potter was capable of being so evil. Potter was a goodly soul, so different from the people Draco had grown up around. What the hell was his brain spouting? Potters soul isn't goodly! So just get over him.
Draco had asked his father via owl several times if he knew anything about what was happening in the castle, but the questions that were asked never received any answers. His mother would tell Draco nothing either.
Now every chance Draco got, he'd make a mockery out of the other boy. Somewhere, deep down inside him, he knew he shouldn't have teased Potter, especially not now of all times. It's not nice, and it's not fair on Potter. What's he ever done to you? But then Draco remembered: he wasn't nice, and he didn't care about the stupid boy saviour. He was the Silver Prince of Slytherin, ruthless and uncaring. He was so much better than Potter ever would be.
And thinking that had been another of his many mistakes. There would come a time, when he was older, when he would reflect upon all his mistakes, and see what a foolish youth he had been, interested only in fame, rather than the more important things.
Now the whole castle was certain: Potter was the heir of Slytherin, and he was controlling the attacks. Draco knew this wasn't true. There was no way Potter would hurt anyone. Potter was too good.
For the first time in his short life, Draco was worried for someone other than himself. He was worried for Potter. He didn't want Potter to be attacked, or worse killed. He cared about the Harry. Not Harry, Potter. And he didn't care, so why did his brain lie to him?
It was Christmas! Draco had already received several presents from his parents all satisfying enough, but the one thing he wanted most was the one thing he knew he would never have: a raven-haired boy by the name of Harry Potter.
Crabbe and Goyle were acting weird one night. Draco paid very little attention to it.
Suddenly the attacks stopped. Then word spread round. Harry Potter had saved the school again; he had defeated the evil beast of Slytherin. Draco felt like celebrating. He wanted to find Potter, to thank him for his life, to kiss him! Yuck, was Draco's initial thought. Then he warmed to the idea. The rest of the year, which passed quickly, for there were no exams as they had all been postponed in light of the recent events, was spent with Draco holed up in his dormitory, imagining the taste and feel of Potter's lips on his. He no longer denied it. He loved Potter. No, not Potter. Harry.
