A Malfoy By Any Other Name

Chapter 4

"And where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury."

― William Shakespeare, Taming Of The Shrew

He was doing it again.

Potter was staring.

It seemed to be all he was capable of; Draco wasn't really surprised that Potter could barely string two words together, especially not to Draco. Heaven forbid the saviour should associate himself with an ex Death Eater.

And yet here was, having stumbled in late, looking across at Draco. Like he had when they had left English. Like he did every English lesson, when he thought Draco wasn't paying attention. Even when he was saying his lines he was still staring at Draco out of the corner of his eye. It was like sixth year all over again. Potter hadn't known Draco had noticed his surveillance then either.

Draco didn't dare think he did it out of genuine interest. Like every single fucking person in this school, he was watching Draco carefully as if he might suddenly start shooting Killing Spells. Just because he'd been forced into that lifestyle... Oh god, I'm not going down that line of thoughts again, thought Draco.

No, Harry Potter clearly felt it was his duty to keep an eye on dangerous Draco Malfoy.

Harry Potter, forever the protector.

Whilst Draco had thought this, he hasn't realised he hadn't looked away from Harry. God. He dropped his gaze and followed the scratches in the desk with his eyes.

It was just embarrassing to be caught staring someone, never mind the boy he was supposed to be completely opposed to. His enemy. His opposite. The Yin to his Yang.

It was almost poetic,really. Out of a school of over 500 students, Harry and Draco had found each other in first year, and marked each other out as equals. No other pupil even came close. When Harry was shunned for entering the stupid tournament, it had been Draco who had been waiting in the tree to taunt him.

When Draco had broken down in the bathroom about that bloody Bell girl, it had been Harry who had confronted him. Against all odds, it was always the other one finding him at a pivotal moment. Almost magnetically.

Like he said, poetic. As if it had been deliberately written for some poem. If it was a poem, the theme would be 'contempt'. Draco knew it. Well, from Potter's point of view it would be.

And on the top of all that, even after saving each other's lives, they'd only been paired together as fucking Romeo and Juliet. As lovers. How ironic considering Draco had been in love with Harry since age eleven.

Which was exactly why he couldn't be caught staring at him.

.-.

As they left Transfiguration, and Harry shot him another glance as Draco swept by, something snapped.

"I'm not a fucking liability, you know." he spat, before storming away with his heart thumping. He heard outraged voices, of course; he'd fucked with Harry Potter - fuck with him and you get the whole school by default. Funny, he didn't think he could hear Harry's voice amongst them.

It was lunchtime. Not that this was particularly a relief to Draco. It wasn't as if he had friends to talk to, or relax with. Just like in lessons, he was alone. At least during lessons no one bothered him.

Sitting with older years attracted snide comments and jeers, and although Draco was more than capable with giving as good as he got, and willing, it was just easier to sit with people too young to know what he'd done. Too young to know they should hate him by default.

It wasn't even as if food held any interest for him. It was overly hot, overly rich and he hated the sickening sheen food often had. He missed the house elfs's cooking at the manor. He usually just ate an apple here, by far his favourite food. He was wasting away, he could see that somedays when he looked into the mirror. He was past caring; there was absolutely no one left in the world to look presentable for.

He'd even let his hair grow past the short cut he'd been maintaining recently. It made him more look youthful. He was sick of looking in the mirror and being reminded of being sixteen and seventeen.

There was an outbreak of laughter in front of him, and he didn't need to look up to know it was the Golden Trio, with their fucking perfect lives. Granger and Weasley were even a couple now. Draco briefly thought of Pansy, and what her reaction would have been. He pushed that thought away. How's that for a fucking happy ending for them.

Nobody cares what happens to the bad people in fairytales. As long as good triumphs, the lessers can just fade into the background. Bad people didn't get their happy ending. Draco included.

.-.

Another day. Another rehearsal.

Draco rose early as usual, to avoid making contact with anyone else, particularly happy Gryffindors.

There had been no room for Eighth Years in the usual common rooms, so they'd been given their own one, an unused room and dormitories in a far flung tower.

Draco was only in the tower when he was sleeping; otherwise he avoided it at all costs, which he knew suited every one fine. They'd all seen Voldemort hug him. They all knew which side he'd been on. He was the one that let Death Eaters into their precious castle, after all. Draco might as well have a sign around his neck: 'avoid at all costs'.

Draco shook himself; thinking such morose thoughts was hardly productive. But he couldn't help it; he usually went entire days without talking to any one - an internal monologue was inevitable. With no one to distract him, his thoughts spiralled into dark areas more often than not.

He walked down to breakfast slowly. He wasn't wandering, he assured himself; he may have lost many things, but his Malfoy aura was not one. He still sauntered and strutted around the castle haughtily, pushing past people rudely. He was Draco Malfoy, after all. He suspected it was so deeply ingrained in his body that he couldn't stop it if he tried.

The only people in the Great Hall were the young, eager mini Granger's, who considered a moment not learning a moment wasted. It was like this every morning, and meant that for the most part, Draco could sit where he wanted without being disturbed. He was tired and irritable as a result of his early risings, but it was worth it.

Older years started trickling into the hall all too soon, and Draco turned his gaze down to the table. He felt someone push past him, and his body jolted into the side of the table painfully.

"Watch it, arsehole!" he snapped at a smirking sixth year. Who did he fucking think he was? It was Draco's job to push past people and smirk like that. When did he turn into the victim and not the perpetrator?

"You going to make me?" the boy asked, with a raised eyebrow. Draco drew out his wand.

"Yes I fucking am!" Draco snapped back. This was good. A fight might distract him. He had raised his wand when he felt a hand tug him around. He raised his fists up, ready to punch which ever of the boy's friends was trying to distract him.

It was Harry Potter. Naturally.

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco snarled. But he already knew. Harry Potter, the famous saviour of the underdogs. He had come to the sixth year's aid, like an overbearing guardian angel. Draco told Harry as such.

"No I didn't, you tosser." Harry snapped back. "I came to save you. You say you're not a liability? You're about to prove everyone right and make yourself a liability, unless you stop."

Fuck, he was right. Draco stared furiously at him, grey eyes boring into calm, green ones. He lowered his wand and put it back into his robe pocket. He slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Thanks, Potter, but I don't need to be saved by you. I think you've lost on this one. Fuck off." he added for good measure, sneering. He stalked out of the hall. He still had half an hour before English, and now he had nowhere to go.

He walked aimlessly until he found the alcove on the seventh floor he had sat in so frequently in his sixth year. Near the Room of Requirement. He sat in there, his bag nestled in between his legs.

Draco thought longingly of life when he was younger. Life seemed so easy; go through school, find a suitable girl, marry and produce an heir. The end.

As far as school life was concerned, that was easier too. He had many friends, and was at perfect liberty to taunt Potter whenever he wanted, without being considered a danger to him. He thought back to third year, playing out scenes in his mind as he did so many times in English, for lack of other things to do.

They were standing in the paddock for Care Of Magical Creatures. Draco was scoffing at their biting books. "I think they're funny." retorted Granger.

"Oh, yeah. Terribly funny. Really witty. God, this place has gone to the dogs. Wait until my father hears that Dumbledore's got this oaf teaching classes." Draco replied coolly, turning to Crabbe and Goyle for their appreciation.

"Ha ha ha ha!" Crabbe guffawed.

Draco watched as Potter got visibly more irritated.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" he said warningly, walking threateningly past Granger and Weasley, up to Draco. Draco smirked and started up a mocking "Ooooh!" He turned to Crabbe and wordlessly let his bag drop into his hands.

Draco swaggered forward, still smirking like the confident, self assured third year he was. He met Potter's eyes as they stood a foot apart. They were so close he could see the lighter parts in Potter's eyes. He could see every freckle and mark on his face, including that stupid scar. Hm.

But he couldn't stand here staring forever, much as he may want to. He faked panic and stared at the leaves above Potter's head.

"D-D- Dementor! Dementor!" he stuttered, pointing and staggering back. He saw, with satisfaction, Potter whip around in panic.

The Slytherins, led by Draco, burst into laughter. Draco impulsively heaved the hood of his robe over his head, and was pleased to see his friends follow suit. "Oooooh!" he called, pretending to be a dementor, and they did the same. Spasms of irritation crossed Harry's face and he smiled in satisfaction. It was so easy to wind Potter up in those days.

Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like that.

.-.

Draco settled into his normal position in English; feet up on the back of someone's chair, head tilted away from Potter. He vaguely wondered when it had been that they could sit in chairs next to each other and not curse or insult each other. Probably during the war.

"Mr Malfoy?!" Are you even listening?!" a voice exclaimed. Draco blinked; he had glazed over again.

"What?" he snapped at Daley. This lesson was even worse than when the werewolf had been teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. He hadn't known that was possible.

"This is scene three!" she said, expecting this to be enough to prompt Draco. He scowled at her. She sighed impatiently.

"This is where Juliet first comes on." she said slowly.

Fucking hell. This was an absolute disgrace. He, Draco Malfoy acting as a Muggle girl in a Muggle play? He began to suspect there was a God. A God that was clearly on the side of Harry Potter.

Draco gracefully slid out of his chair and sauntered to the front, scowling all the while. Daley shrunk back a little at his fierceness, especially when she realised she was about a head shorter than him. It paid to be tall, Draco thought smugly. He joined Brown and Granger on the stage.

"Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me." cried Brown. Draco rolled his eyes. Some people just couldn't act. But apparently not for lack of trying.

"Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! what, lady bird! God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet!" Granger read.

Draco had to credit her; she read it well. Not that he had much to compare her to; so far her and Brown were the only people he'd bothered to listen to.

Everyone on stage looked at him expectantly. He scowled back.

"Mr Malfoy it's your li- where is your script?" exclaimed Daley. She really was ridiculous, Draco thought.

"He borrowed it in the first lesson." he said, nodding towards Potter, who looked sheepish.

"I've- er- still lost mine, so I'm still using his." Potter told Daley, steadfastly not looking at Draco. As if he cared. Daley sighed yet again. "Share again then, boys."

Draco felt a strange shiver as he watched Potter walk over and hand him his script. He didn't forget to sneer, but it was only halfheartedly. Some days it was harder than others to pretend he only hated Potter, and nothing more.

When he'd received his script, he read in a monotone, "How now? Who calls?" There was absolutely no way he was putting any effort into his lines. That would teach Daley. Hopefully she'd replace him.

"Your mother." Granger told him. She looked at him somewhat apologetically and Draco knew why; she was worried. Worried for his feelings. Stupid Gryffindor. As if he couldn't cope with the word 'mother' seeing as his had died a few months before. Whatever.

Draco visibly rolled his eyes. "Madam, I am here. What is your will?" he said listlessly.

Brown spoke up enthusiastically, almost cutting off the end of his sentence in her haste. "This is the matter: Nurse, give leave awhile, we must talk in secret...

Nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age."

Draco gave Daley and the room at large an evil look at the last sentence. He did not need to be reminded he was playing a pretty daughter, no matter how handsome he suspected he was.

"I can tell her age unto an hour." Granger spoke coolly.

"She's not fourteen yet." Brown spoke. Draco spluttered.

"Wait. She's fucking thirteen? Thirteen? I'm not playing a fucking thirteen year old girl! I thought she was at least my age! You said there was a sex scene!" he accused, staring at Daley, who quailed under his stare.

"Well-no- this was old times, remember- quite acceptable for a girl to be married and have children by that age..."

"This is fucking sick." declared Draco. He saw Potter smirking at the back of the classroom.

"Something funny, Potter?" he demanded. He felt a thrill of adrenaline when Potter stood up, matching his glare.

"Yeah. You. Acting like a petulant little child, as ever." Potter said, his green eyes flashing. Draco tried not to look at them. They were dreadfully distracting.

"Is that right?" Draco drawled. He was thoroughly enjoying this. Unless he was mistaken, Potter was too. Draco could see the entertained gleam in his eyes. It would seem these familiar insults were a relief to him, too. Draco drank in the sight of Potter staring at him unabashedly with those eyes trained on him. They were standing straight opposite each other.

Yin and Yang reunited once more.

I thought it would be interesting to write an entire chapter from Draco's point of view, so here we are. Draco uses a lot of italics, did you notice?:)

reviews are loved.