Behind Blue Eyes
by Miaka Kennyuuki
(Song Fic) Slash - Draco/Harry PG-13
Summary: Draco contemplates how his life has been lived, and the one reason he wishes to change.
//No one knows what it's like, to be hated, to be fated, to telling only lies//
"Behind Blue Eyes," Limp Bizkit
*Draco's POV*
They were looking at me again, those stupid Gryffindors. I could see the sympathy in their eyes. The hate. The pity. They probably thought they knew how I feel, how it felt to be destined to a fate as bleak as this. Well, no one knows what it's like to be fated to only telling lies, only living through an elaborate facade. Did they have any idea how hard it is for one such as me to act against my will, my character, for all these years? I suspect that Potter is the only one who caught a glimpse of the real me.
All those years ago, in Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions, when I met Potter for the first time, I treated him as an equal, and he treated me as a new friend. I know most think I was being a snobby git back then, but that was how I was at the time, a spoilt child on a regular visit for new robes, excited about his trip to Hogwarts. Yes I was snobby, and yes, I was condescending, but don't most children parrot their parents when they meet new people?
I was trying to impress Potter, make him become my friend as so many others were. I didn't even know he was the Boy-Who-Lived at the time. All I saw was a scrawny, malnourished, strangely endearing boy in oversized clothing and a nervous smile. He intrigued me as no other could. And yet, as usual, because of my blasted father, I fucked it up. I insulted one of Potter's only friends, that half-Giant Gameskeeper Hagrid. That was strike one for me.
Strike two was insulting that pauper, Weasley. How was I to know that the Weasel's mother had assisted Potter throught the Platform entrance? Truthfully, I rather liked Mrs.Weasley, but I'd never admit that to anyone I know, nor any of the Weasleys and their friends. I would have nothing to do with Weasley's if I could. They were the reason I was such a bitter, cynical person, not counting my father.
Ronald Weasley, the bane of my existence, first caused me trouble when he turned Potter against me. Though I can admit I drove the stake in further when I denounced the Weasley family in front of Potter, it wouldn't have been half as bad if the Weasel hadn't filled Potter's head with horror stories about Malfoy's. The simpleton was merely repeating rumors about my father, but the Weasel just had to throw my full name into every equation.
Once again Lucius Malfoy had struck, and I was dragged down with him. My reputation was either in tatters or always shadowed by his, and all my respect came from fear. A person would never guess that I am actually a loving, caring person who enjoys the little things in life like sunsets and walks around the lake simply to enjoy the autumn day. No one would guess that my favorite season is autumn, or that I had a strange craving for parsnips when it rained. They would never think that I liked coffee with a dab of chocolate to substitute milk, or that when it rained I would sneak out and dance in it, letting all the joy I wasn't allowed to show free from me for those precious moments.
My entire existence was one big farce. No dancing in the rain for the Malfoy shown to the public. No laughing at the antics of those Weasley twins, who I rather liked. Nope, not for Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Ice Prince and blue-eyed Tormentor of All Things Good. No, I was evil incarnate, Death with a body, sinister souls corporealized. I was the poison in a condemned man's drink, the fungus that ate through the floorboards, the noose that dragged the life out of the innocent. Poetic, yes, flattering, no.
I don't wish to be remembered as the boy who was so evil Lucifer bowed to him as he passed. I wanted everyone to know me as the boy who preferred apple juice over pumpkin juice, as strange as that seems. Or the boy who, when he was five, teased a Devil's Snare and became entangled, crying for his mummy in his childish way and having a tantrum. But I guess living a lie is as much a life as one such as I am allowed. I guess it is my fate, to always be someone I'm not.
Maybe I should envy Potter, simply for his freedom.
***TBC***
(Song Fic) Slash - Draco/Harry PG-13
Summary: Draco contemplates how his life has been lived, and the one reason he wishes to change.
//No one knows what it's like, to be hated, to be fated, to telling only lies//
"Behind Blue Eyes," Limp Bizkit
*Draco's POV*
They were looking at me again, those stupid Gryffindors. I could see the sympathy in their eyes. The hate. The pity. They probably thought they knew how I feel, how it felt to be destined to a fate as bleak as this. Well, no one knows what it's like to be fated to only telling lies, only living through an elaborate facade. Did they have any idea how hard it is for one such as me to act against my will, my character, for all these years? I suspect that Potter is the only one who caught a glimpse of the real me.
All those years ago, in Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions, when I met Potter for the first time, I treated him as an equal, and he treated me as a new friend. I know most think I was being a snobby git back then, but that was how I was at the time, a spoilt child on a regular visit for new robes, excited about his trip to Hogwarts. Yes I was snobby, and yes, I was condescending, but don't most children parrot their parents when they meet new people?
I was trying to impress Potter, make him become my friend as so many others were. I didn't even know he was the Boy-Who-Lived at the time. All I saw was a scrawny, malnourished, strangely endearing boy in oversized clothing and a nervous smile. He intrigued me as no other could. And yet, as usual, because of my blasted father, I fucked it up. I insulted one of Potter's only friends, that half-Giant Gameskeeper Hagrid. That was strike one for me.
Strike two was insulting that pauper, Weasley. How was I to know that the Weasel's mother had assisted Potter throught the Platform entrance? Truthfully, I rather liked Mrs.Weasley, but I'd never admit that to anyone I know, nor any of the Weasleys and their friends. I would have nothing to do with Weasley's if I could. They were the reason I was such a bitter, cynical person, not counting my father.
Ronald Weasley, the bane of my existence, first caused me trouble when he turned Potter against me. Though I can admit I drove the stake in further when I denounced the Weasley family in front of Potter, it wouldn't have been half as bad if the Weasel hadn't filled Potter's head with horror stories about Malfoy's. The simpleton was merely repeating rumors about my father, but the Weasel just had to throw my full name into every equation.
Once again Lucius Malfoy had struck, and I was dragged down with him. My reputation was either in tatters or always shadowed by his, and all my respect came from fear. A person would never guess that I am actually a loving, caring person who enjoys the little things in life like sunsets and walks around the lake simply to enjoy the autumn day. No one would guess that my favorite season is autumn, or that I had a strange craving for parsnips when it rained. They would never think that I liked coffee with a dab of chocolate to substitute milk, or that when it rained I would sneak out and dance in it, letting all the joy I wasn't allowed to show free from me for those precious moments.
My entire existence was one big farce. No dancing in the rain for the Malfoy shown to the public. No laughing at the antics of those Weasley twins, who I rather liked. Nope, not for Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Ice Prince and blue-eyed Tormentor of All Things Good. No, I was evil incarnate, Death with a body, sinister souls corporealized. I was the poison in a condemned man's drink, the fungus that ate through the floorboards, the noose that dragged the life out of the innocent. Poetic, yes, flattering, no.
I don't wish to be remembered as the boy who was so evil Lucifer bowed to him as he passed. I wanted everyone to know me as the boy who preferred apple juice over pumpkin juice, as strange as that seems. Or the boy who, when he was five, teased a Devil's Snare and became entangled, crying for his mummy in his childish way and having a tantrum. But I guess living a lie is as much a life as one such as I am allowed. I guess it is my fate, to always be someone I'm not.
Maybe I should envy Potter, simply for his freedom.
***TBC***
