Title: The Seven Sins of Draco Malfoy

Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

Pairings: Harry/Draco

Rating: Teen

Words: 3384

Warnings: Not overly angsty, but definitely not a happy ending.

Summary: He was meant to be Potter's downfall, but when had Draco's plans ever go as they were meant?

Author's Notes: The next in a series of song-based ficlets/vignettes. Based on Sin by Nine Inch Nails. Since the topic was sin, I also worked in each of the seven deadly sins and even a fairly obvious biblical reference. The italic text is Harry's dialogue during their final confrontation.

The Seven Sins of Draco Malfoy

"Yeah, true, according to your view, the mighty have fallen, and fallen quite far. But what does that say about you, Malfoy?"

The first thing he remembered when he thought of Harry Potter, was a bone-deep, gut-wrenching envy. A sick, curdled maleficence that overcame him, owned him every time someone mentioned the other man's name or a publication once again touted the wonders of his spirit, his magic, his parents' love and sacrifice for their only son and heir, for the kindness of his heart and the beauty of his smile. Every time he saw one more award lauded onto slim shoulders or that yet another organization had named a building, or wing, or park, or library, or hell, even a bloody toilet after him, it made his insides to seethe, to burn with a cold, dangerous fire.

It was especially prevalent after the war, when a broken and bleeding society turned to their boy savior to put them back together, passing legislation and decrees touted and approved by the boy wonder. To this day he still doesn't really understand how an eighteen-year-old could have held such sway over an entire society with nothing more than a bashful grin and a few quiet words; but Potter managed to take this shattered world and rebuilt it into the beginnings of a modern day utopia.

This, of course, was all before he married his childhood sweetheart and began popping out equally beautiful, talented children, who were adored and fawned over just as their father had been before them. The Savior's children – the next great hope and the new light of the Wizarding World; the bane to his existence. And he decided then and there that he was through with playing second fiddle to the boy hero and began to plot his downfall.

If only he could go back in time to stop that young, foolish boy, he might not be where he was today.

"You do have it all – the enviable ministry position, the perfect society wife, a beautiful, intelligent heir and the lapping adulation of the mindless masses. Bravo. Truly – it's everything you've ever wanted, and everything you thought I didn't deserve."

The next thing he recalls when the name Harry Potter comes up, is heat – a sweet, rich, blissful heat and an aching lust of the likes that he'd never imagined. It continues to haunt him to this day, flowing through his veins like heady wine, clinging to his lips like honey even as he lies with another – one who will never melt the chill that has since seeped into his heart.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

He began his attack slowly, stealthily, as any cunning Slytherin would, keeping his true intentions hidden beneath a bed of half-truths and a few well-placed, outright lies. He entered the ministry in a low-rung position, one that had nothing to do with the actual politics, but that was part of his plan. If he were to gun for those positions right off, people would get suspicious before he could work his magic, could charm them into complacency. This way they didn't see him coming until it was far too late.

So he worked in his thankless job, diligent, enthusiastic and generally affable, garnering the attention of those that mattered, shunting aside their praise modestly even as he ate it up, hoarding and storing it away for later consumption and analysis. These would be the beginnings to his inevitable climb in the ministry, and subsequently, his total domination of all things Potter.

In tandem to his rise through the ranks, he sought out his rival, the boy-who-fucking-had-everything and began to slowly cultivate that link, scoping him out for any potential weaknesses. It was during one of these many 'friendly' conversations that he noticed Potter's fascination with him, and while he'd never intended to go that route, it was just one more chink in his armor. Besides, there were far worse things in life than fucking the Savior – all that power, writhing and panting beneath him; well, who could resist?

It had taken him months of flirtation and maneuvering, but eventually he'd landed his prize – a beautifully flushed, tipsy, stuttering Potter splayed across his sheets, arching under the slow, deep thrusts of his cock, panting and writhing like a two-bit tart. It was a glorious feeling – all that leashed power under his fingertips and the sweet taste of his skin under his tongue – it was like ambrosia to his senses.

And if he were to admit it only to himself, it had been the best sex in his life; he didn't know if it was the way their bodies fit together, or the play of their magic against one another, but whatever it was, it was hotter than fiendfyre and twice as destructive.

"But what you never realized, is I never wanted it in the first place. All I wanted was to be left in peace; to have a family and a job I loved, to finally enjoy the life that was stolen from me as a child."

Had he been a better man, he would have ended it there; but high on his victory, he kept taking everything he could, heedless to the consequences. As people have always said, you reap what you sow, and he had always been a greedy little bastard who'd felt entitled to the world. What a sad, misguided, spoiled brat he had been; some days it sickened him to look in the mirror and see his time and care worn face staring blankly back at him, mocking him with everything he'd lost.

That one night would have been enough to implode Potter's world, especially if it had been mysteriously leaked to the Prophet, but he pressed on, wanting something much more public. He didn't want a minor, unseen incident that could be denied or explained away as a drunken mistake or error in judgment. And Potter was so golden, he practically shat sunshine to these people – who would believe a Malfoy, even a reformed one, compared to that?

No, he wanted complete and utter destruction of his greatest nemesis.

Besides, he wasn't done with Potter just yet. He was enjoying those hot, desperate nights between the Savior's thighs, slick bodies pressed together, moving in tandem and chasing that white-hot lust that only the raven could provide. He loved holding Potter down and pounding into him, listening to those sweet kittenish noises he made in the back of his throat.

And while he had the Golden Boy, sated, distracted within the confines of his bed, he continued his silent campaign, building up his reputation, hoarding away contacts and discreetly placing a nugget or two of dissension within the ranks that would set the whole of it in motion once he decided on the right time. It was beautiful really – he was a rising star within the Ministry, had the good will of all he met, and the pinnacle of it all, the Savior of the entire fucking world was in his bed. He, Draco Lucius Malfoy, was sitting on top of the world.

Which is when it all began to crumble, of course; because nothing stable or lasting could be built upon sand.

"So yes, I concede. You seemingly have it all; at least everything I had and you so desperately coveted. But what you don't yet realize is, it's all a pack of lies. Your life is a house of cards that will eventually topple, and when you finally pull free of the rubble, you'll have nothing to show for it. You will be alone and wanting and it will be then that your juvenile vitriol will come back to haunt you."

It was inevitable that Potter's conscience would kick in and he'd try to call things off. For the most part, Potter was the honest, honorable sort and not one to hurt others, especially his pretty, little redheaded wife, no matter how distant they had grown. He had seen it coming long before Potter had said anything, evident in his elusiveness and the way Potter weakly attempted to fend off his advances. But at the time, it hadn't mattered to him because he was in the perfect position to put the final pieces of his plan in motion and it was time to end the charade.

He relentlessly and unsympathetically lured Potter to his doom that night, stating he'd just wanted one last moment with him, a final hurrah before they parted ways, guilting the Gryffindor easily with a few well placed words and soft touches. It had been another of those boring Ministry gatherings that were required of Potter and what better way to liven an otherwise dull evening than a clandestine meeting in the back? Potter never even suspected that the intimate moment would be forever immortalized in print as he'd lead him behind the curtain; one that would soon be lifted and expose Potter to the world, as he'd carefully positioned them to be center stage.

Potter froze as the first flashes of lights caught his attention, standing there stony-faced as he took in the cameras and gaping faces as whispers began to circle the room, all the carefully placed lies coming out of the woodwork as their co-workers began to speculate on the rumors they'd heard. Ones cemented when he shoved Potter away, swiping a hand over his mouth in disgust, loudly proclaiming that he was sick of Potter harassing him and if Potter didn't stop coming on to him, he'd file a complaint, scorning the man in front of hundreds.

It really was that simple.

He'd placed the right nuggets of misinformation, into the right ears about Potter's supposed activities, and it swept across the Wizarding World within hours, people tsking in disgust that Potter could throw away a perfect, fairytale marriage; that he would stoop so low as to break up the marriage of another co-worker at the same time. People who wondered quite loudly how could he do such a dishonorable thing. In the matter of days, Potter's favor plummeted as the fickle public judged him and found him wanting, and proceeded to hound him on all sides for his deviant nature.

It should have been a resounding victory, but the moment fell flat as bright, verdant eyes filled with betrayal and he'd realized in that moment, that far from being victorious, he'd just committed his greatest folly – but the wheels had been set in motion and there was no turning back.

"I feel sorry for you, really. True, you destroyed my marriage, made me the laughing stock of the Wizarding World and have taken my job from me, but I will be the one laughing in the end. Because so long as I retain my heart, my mind, my soul, I will come out the victor. I can remake myself, can you say the same?"

It was a media circus. What wasn't when it came to Potter? People gorged themselves on the misfortunes of the fallen Savior, himself included. And while he hadn't talked to the so-called press, he hadn't needed to – the stories spun out of control, each successive rumor more fantastic than the last, painting Potter as the unwanted aggressor and he the hapless victim of a schoolboy obsession.

It was oddly ironic that they'd actually gotten the gist of the story correct – just not the parts.

But rather than correct any of their assumptions, and redeem himself somewhat by admitting he had been in the wrong, he'd fanned the flames, eating up each word that cemented his favor, while others systematically tore down his nemesis in the same breath. For once, he was the center of attention, everyone's favorite and if he felt the deeper chill of this marriage bed after the heat of Potter's flame, he brushed it aside as a consequence of ending an elicit affair. Anything would seem dull after the excitement of sneaking around for months.

He watched, smug at the time, as Potter's life exploded first in the very public resignation of his job, as he couldn't get any of his subordinates to listen to him or the people to trust his word, followed by the spectacularly heated break up of his marriage. They weren't kidding when they said that redheads had nasty tempers and the littlest Weasley was no exception; in fact, she had enough of a temper for all over her brothers combined, all of who were noncommittal to the whole fiasco.

Vindictive witch that she was, she'd even tried suing for full custody of the children and the entirety of Potter's vaults and holdings, claiming it was her just dues, but that never saw the light of day, halted by angry Molly Weasley, who slapped her daughter resoundingly across the face for even mentioning it. And then Mama Weasley told her daughter if she even thought of hurting Potter that way, she'd declare her unfit and sue for custody of the children herself. But the resulting strife only fell onto Potter's shoulders once more, the public finding fault in his inadvertent involvement in the family argument and casting him as the villain of the piece for bringing such stress and dissent within the family that took him in as a child.

Potter's friends also held off judgment, watching him with suspicious, accusatory eyes, and made a public showing of supporting Potter; they even tried to hold onto their friendship regardless, but with all contention between him and the Weaselette, it made visiting difficult and eventually Potter stopped going to the Burrow altogether, growing ever more reclusive until finally, one day, he was gone.

"Enjoy your short-lived victory, Malfoy. I hope it keeps you warm at night when you're staring into the cool, emotionless eyes of your wife and facing the spoiled, disdain of your only child. And remember this..."

And then there was silence and an emptiness so unfathomable that it ate him up inside, replacing the envy that had once curled around his blackened heart. With no Potter, there was nothing to measure himself by and nothing to overcome, nothing to fulfill, and it was then that the raven's parting words struck home – what had he truly built in his life?

He'd spent so much of his life and energy focused on petty revenge that he'd failed to make measures for what would come after his supposed victory. What was the point to the cushy ministry position without Potter there to lord it over. What was the point to all the fame, if the person you wanted to acknowledge you most, ceased to notice your existence? What was the point of working towards the next goal, when there was no worthy competition?

In the void Potter's abdication of the Wizarding World created in his life, he fell into a slump and finally all the little voices, the ones that had tried to warn him against his actions, and he'd shunted blithely aside, were back in full force, whispering in his ears that he was a great fool. He resigned from his Ministry position to many protests, and the vindictive delight of the few that had always been in Potter's corner, and retired to the manor, completely and utterly lost.

And time passed and he was quickly forgotten as new scandals came to light and new faces took his place in the halls of the Ministry, and in the end, he wasn't even a footnote in history as he hadn't built nor created a thing in the entire time he'd been playing his petty, juvenile games. Potter would go down in history, forever revered and heralded as the man that freed them from tyranny, the creator of the known Wizarding World and the youngest Head Auror ever – a hero despite the scandal that tinged his last year of office.

And he – he'd be nothing more than a small notation in the Death Eater ranks. He could have been so much more, but his need for an unjust vengeance blinded him to his true potential.

And Potter was right – in the end he had the last laugh.

"You may have destroyed the life I built, but you will never destroy me."

The last thing he thinks of when the name Harry Potter comes to mind is pride. It's suiting though, isn't it? After all, 'pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.' And he had always been a prideful little twat, who always thought himself superior to everyone else – he was a Malfoy, after all. But looking back over the years, at all the pain and destruction those that bore his last name had wrought, he'd finally learned the true meaning of humility.

There was no pride in what his ancestors had done; no pride in what he'd done – destroying a man's life simply because he had been better than himself in every way, and without ever even trying. All he'd had to do was turn the other cheek; been gracious and distant when coming across Potter, but instead, he'd allowed his envy to rule his life and subsequently ruined it.

He saw it every time he stared into the cool, distant expression on Astoria's face, finding chilly blue eyes rather than fiery green; he saw it in the disdainful entitlement that he's unwittingly bred into his own son, marking him for the same hard life lessons that took him far too long to learn. He saw it in the disappointed gaze that traveled over him when his mother came in the room, her disapproval of his actions clear. She'd never outright accused him of ruining Potter's life, but she'd never had to; she had always read him like a book and seen things he wished he'd kept hidden.

And most of all, he saw it in Harry's eyes, the one time he ran into his beautiful raven, several years after Harry had fled from the Wizarding World for the Muggle world, while he had been on a family vacation in Morocco with Scorpius and Astoria.

The sight of those gorgeous green eyes and thick mass of black curls took his breath away, along with all that sun-browned, golden skin that literally glowed with health as he walked along the marketplace, his fingers twined with those of another man, who was busy haggling with a vendor. Jolting when that emerald gaze collided with his and widened in surprise, he'd hastily turned away, unable to bear the happiness that radiated within its depths and remember when it had once stared at him with the same softness.

Inhaling sharply, he'd turned back, unable to resist another glance at the form and face that had haunted him every day since the man had disappeared, and pain sluiced through his heart as Harry nodded, a soft smile touching his lips before he turned away and wrapped an arm around the nameless, faceless blond who was living his life, both oblivious to the shattered heart they'd left in their wake as the continued down the walk. Blinking back his tears, he'd watched until they were nothing more than a speck on the horizon, indistinguishable from all the other bodies moving through the market, and then turned away, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

Harry had warned him this would happen, had all but predicted where their lives would end up – that he would be forever stuck in a cold, lifeless marriage, with a spoiled heir that was far too much like his father to ever do him any good, while Harry reinvented himself, finding a new life and happiness greater than anything he could ever imagine. But in his arrogance, he took those words to be a man's vain attempt at saving face in the wake of the smoldering ruins of his life.

How wrong he was.

When this all began, he had been the ultimate Slytherin; he came up with with a cunning plan that he initiated and fueled ruthlessly, meant to bring down his greatest nemesis and he'd been successful. It was his own fault for realizing too late that his greatest enemy was himself.

"That is the true essence of victory."