Just a Draco drabble I wrote a long while ago.

For Nikki. Why? Because I love my George

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Underneath His Clothes

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No one could imagine what Draco Malfoy his beneath the surface; the surface of his clothes, the surface of his skin, the surface of his soul. First, second, and third impression would say that he's a foul boy, a rich boy, a lucky boy with a nasty attitude that'd had everything handed to him, everything easy. Everything gone perfect from the day those icy gray eyes opened to the magical world around him.



He was the handsome boy, the surreal boy with the pale skin, pale eyes, pale hair. Ice and granite. Slate and snow. He surrounded himself with coldness, with arrogance, with an almost bitter hatred of any and all that crossed his privileged path. But why?



But, why?



Had no one asked? Had no one cared? For surely some had to wonder. Perhaps it was fear. Perhaps it was indifference to the winter snob. But, whatever it was, no one had tried to get to know him. Ah, ah, not really.



No one had been persistent. No one dug and dug relentlessly to be let inside. And, perhaps that's what Draco wanted most of all; for someone to see something there -- something no one had seen before and tried to bring out. Perhaps it would take that relentlessness to show him that someone really cared about him, wondered about him and not who he fronted as.



Maybe, it would take that to make him realize that HE wanted to be seen as something more then just a bitter, bitter boy.



Maybe someone would ask him what he liked -- what he was into, things he cared about, because surely he cared about something, didn't he? He had to. He was human, after all.



Imagine if they knew that he kept a small muggle teddy bear hidden in his trunk. Imagine if they knew he got queasy at the sight of eggplant. Imagine if they realized that he'd read at least a thousand books, and that at least half of those he'd read twice.



What would they think if they heard him telling his mother he missed her? What would they think to know his father left anxiety burning throughout his body -- left scars on the surface of the skin, hidden safely beneath the material of his school uniform?



Yes, Draco had many secrets -- secrets he wanted to share when no one was around, when he was alone in his bed with only the sound of sleep whispering in his ears. Secrets he forgot about when he was surrounded by students, faculty, and the keen hours of day light.



Would Draco always be so rude? So pratty? So grievously arrogant? Of course he would. But, that didn't mean that he would keep it up if he was feeling less then that. It didn't mean that he couldn't feel a little more like himself. It didn't mean he wouldn't open that rusted gate to his soul and let someone in to share.



Draco was just a boy. Just a boy who felt pain. A boy who suffered like everyone else. Even if it was in silence.