Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of the related characters, events, etc.
A/N: This one I started thinking up in the shower. As soon as I was dressed again I rushed over and started typing it. After that, it just sort of wrote itself. Please review with any comments you wish to make, and any suggestions. I'm still trying to decide Harry's fate in this piece, so all the suggestions I get are helpful. Thanx. –Miss Laine
Title: Torn Illusions
********************************
My father has told me the plan.
He has told me how it began. How it proceeds. And how it will end.
The ending is the part he loves the most. His eyes glitter as he speaks of it. His voice rises in pitch as he relates to me how it all will end. He tells me the conclusion with a smile and enthusiasm. He knows how it will end. He knows that it will end in his favor. He knows…
…when he does not know the story.
I know the story. I know it better than most may think.
They assume that my bias means that I only see what I want. That I act on narrow views of things. They would never believe that it could be an act. An act so well done that I fool myself on many occasions.
The only ones that are not fooled are too wise to say a word. They watch me as I watch them. Blue and green eyes watch me.
Gray eyes watch them back.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I am a Malfoy. Of course I am a Malfoy in name. But I am a Malfoy in character, more importantly.
I do not follow.
I do not give allegiance to anyone but myself.
I do not have loyalty, nor the bravery and foolish integrity of the hero.
But I am alive when most believe I should be dead. That is what matters to me, in the end. That I am still living. That I am still standing on my own two feet.
My father, despite his name, is not a Malfoy. He is weak. He lets an inhuman creature cow him. He is wrapped in an illusion of power given to him by his master, but I see right through it. There is no power to be had in the ranks of the Dark Lord's followers. There is only pain, stupidity, death. Nothing I wish to receive.
My father believes completely that I want to be a death eater. He believes it so much that one day the shock of the truth will probably kill him. If the Dark Lord does not…
I will say I'm sorry, father, but you see, I am a Malfoy. I am no man's slave. Hell, I am no man's friend. I am me, and I will continue so until old age or an assassin claims me. He will gape, in shock at my blatant 'betrayal' and then he will run to his Lord. His merciful Lord, who will probably torture him to death for his son's errant ways.
I should feel guilty, knowing what will happen.
I do not.
I am a Malfoy. And as such, guilt is beyond me.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He is watching me again. Those damn eyes are on me again.
No one else seems to notice. They do not see the way those eyes watch me when I eat. They do not see the way that those eyes take in my mood, my thoughts…sift through them, reach a conclusion.
Today, the conclusion is a small smile. Those damn eyes have seen that I am close to my decision.
It has been coming to this for some time. I will not remain unmarked for much longer if I do not act. My father says the Dark Lord has called together a meeting three days from now. I could be marked them.
I have no illusions of bravery. I know that if I went to that meeting and it came my time to be marked, I would let it happen. I would not fight back or declare my independence. I would take it, and from there plot my escape. It is ridiculous to fight when one could do much better biding their time, pretending to accept what they despise.
He has no choice. He thinks I do not know this. Or at least he lets me think that he thinks that I don't know that he has not choice. It is hard to know for certain…
His path was decided when he was a year old. Mine I decided for myself. I was given the opportunity. He was not.
No one would believe him if he said he wanted to join the Dark Lord. Not even the Dark Lord would even consider that. It would be too ridiculous, and too impractical. According to my father, the boy must die before the Dark Lord can gain full power. There was a prophecy…ridiculous, really…prophecies are for those that are afraid to seek their own fates.
But if they can so influence the world, perhaps they should be taken into consideration…after all, one cannot be too careful.
I will seek him out after breakfast has finished. He will be waiting, of course. Somehow knowing already that I want to talk with him. That is one think that I have not figured out. How he knows to be places. It is too much like the Headmaster. Too much like the 150 year old man for a sixteen year old. It is disconcerting to me.
He is eating again. Or at least to everyone else it looks like he's eating. He doesn't think anyone sees how he just pushes his food around, or every now and then banishes bits of it from his plate. He's so good at it that sometimes I am fooled. That is a feat. Fooling a Malfoy. Most cannot do it.
He has stopped now. He does not like lying. Such a Gryffindor… It's pathetic how straightforward he is, how noble. I sneer at that word. Noble. What the hell is that? Bravery is just rashness, loyalty is just indecision, and honesty is just stupidity. Nobility, though. I am not too sure on that one…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"You have decided," he says softly. I force myself not to start. He has surprised me today.
He is behind the door that leads to the main stairs. How he knew to be there, I am not sure. But he is here, as am I. It is odd… I realize that he has spoken and I have not responded. "I have," I say icily.
"Your father would have had you marked," he says softly. I do not ask how he knows this. I know it is truth, though. He does not lie.
Although, "Why didn't you tell me before?" I demand. He sighs.
"It was your decision to make," he says. "Your risk to take. I will not interfere in the independence of others."
"You would have let them mark me," I accuse. He smiles that very disturbing smile. He is seeing right through me, and I shift. It is not part of a Malfoy's demeanor to allow themselves to be taken apart by another. I cannot figure out how to avoid it, though.
"I would have let you choose your path," he says. "You would never have gone. I know that, and so do you," he tells me. The irritating part is that he is right.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It is hard to hate him anymore.
When I came back from the summer after fifth year, I hated him. I had told him he was going to pay, and that at least was true.
Certainly, it was not out of loyalty to my father that I promised that to him. It was because no one tarnishes the Malfoy name. Not while I carry it. After I am dead, they can trample it as much as they want.
My father disgusted me as much as I hated the boy. He was not fit, still is not fit, to carry Malfoy as his surname. He is a disgrace. An insult. A cow. A sheep. A pig, going to slaughter…
I came back expecting my rival to be much the same as when I had last seem him. A little pale, a little thin, but full of defiance and anger and righteousness.
I, a Malfoy, was surprised. I will never admit that again.
At first I did not recognize him. I looked for him in the great hall at the welcoming feast. He was not there.
But when I did see him, I was surprised. Shocked, really.
He was not the proud and angry boy I had last seen. Here was an old man. An old man with smooth skin but aged eyes. Dark circles dragging under them.
Only the hair and the scar were the same. Even his green eyes were no longer the correct green. They changed. They are deeper now, deeper and smarter. It is too much like the Headmaster. They know much more than they should.
It only got worse from there. My rival aged before my observant eyes. He thinned. He weakened, paled. Scars appeared on his limbs and torso. Then there was one on his cheek, ugly and bordering on disfiguring.
Irritatingly, that only seemed to draw more girls to him. He turns them all away. Even the ones he really does like…
I have not missed how my godfather makes him cringe. How my godfather's voice makes him tremble and draw away. Because my godfather is a death eater. A spy, actually.
But he is a death eater. Even if he thinks he is not.
Because he tortures the Dark Lord's prisoners just as much as my father did. For the light, he would say. So that someday the Dark Lord could be killed.
He is wrong. Perhaps my rival has mercy for my godfather, but I do not. Malfoys do not show mercy. They would never forgive or forget. They cling tight to grudges and exact cruel and extreme revenge at their leisure.
It seems that the green-eyed boy has forgiven him though. How do I know?
My godfather won't look him in the eyes.
That is they way that I know. If he had not been forgiven, he would glare angrily. Would demand with his black-blood eyes that the boy tell him that he understood.
But knowing that he is understood without having to explain a word is what bothers him. Because it bothers me.
Because those green eyes forgave me five years of torment in two seconds. Less than two seconds. He forgave me in an instant, without hesitation.
And a Malfoy is something else as well. A Malfoy remembers their debts, though they try to avoid them in the first place, and pays them in full. I will pay mine some day. The debt that I owe to my rival.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"You only have to forgive yourself," he says.
It is as simple as that to him. How could he possibly think it is that simple. I ask him that. He smiles.
"I am forgiven, I have been told," he tells me. "Yet it meant nothing until I forgave myself."
"You're being ridiculous," I accuse.
He just lies on the stiff hospital bed and smiles at me. "Ridiculous?" he asks. "I'm not the one that tried to kill me," he points out.
I turn away. That moment will remain forever burned in my mind. The moment in which I let my temper overcome me. When I proved that perhaps even I am not a perfect Malfoy. That perhaps I must work harder to become one.
He did not accuse me. He did not even glare at me. He just sighed, lying on the ground in a bloody pile. He did not say a word. Just waited for the Nurse to come and heal him.
He never betrayed me. Never told them that it was I that beat him within an inch of his life… That crushed his ribs and bloodied his face and broke open half-healed gashes. I did not even realized how much I had done until it was over.
When I was lying there with his blood on my hands.
It was Christmas eve. Merry Christmas… He was in the infirmary until break was over.
I visit him at night. I'm sure that the Headmaster knows that I do, knows that I was the one that had done this… But despite that I was not accosted. I have never been accused or expelled or even given detention. No one looked at me funny. Not even my godfather, who I'm sure knows. A Snape is almost as wily as a Malfoy.
But he just smiled when I visited the first time. Asked me if I was still angry about what he had said.
'You are afraid to take the step, Draco. You are afraid to step out from under the shelter of lies and declare yourself independent and free. You are no Malfoy.'
Stupid words. Ridiculous words.
Words that were enough for me to lose my temper and attack him.
Because they were true. Painfully true.
And I showed him the pain they caused. I almost killed him as the words almost killed me.
But he recovers, and I have already recovered.
"I'm not the one that destroyed my illusions," I tell him softly. He laughs weakly through his damaged body.
"Think of it as a gift, Draco. Think of it as my gift to you," he tells me. "My illusions were ripped from me as well…at least you got a chance to demonstrate how much it hurt."
I shift. I did show him how much it hurt. I beat a weak, injured boy almost to death. And yet he laughs about it and tells me that he has forgiven me already.
All that is left is for me to forgive myself…
*********************
A/N: If you didn't notice, Draco never uses Harry's name. I think that may have meaning to him…I just started writing this and Draco never seemed willing to use Harry's name in his thoughts. If he did, it would be an insulting Potter, I suppose. And I don't think he can do that anymore…
This one was more about Draco than Harry. Harry just gives Draco the push he needs. He is so sure he is a Malfoy, but in a few minutes he is stripped of his illusions and shown just how un-Malfoy he really is.
Well, coming up will be…well, someone else. A lot of people have asked for Hermione, but I don't think she's quite ready…
Also, I'm very sorry to those that have asked me if Harry's going to live. I'm not totally sure I should tell you how it ends, but I think it's kinda been pretty obvious where this is headed. I toyed with the idea of letting Harry live, but sadly I already wrote the last two sections. I just haven't written everything that leads up to them.
And I like them too much to scrap them entirely. One of them makes me cry, sniff, sniff. That means I really like it.
Please keep reviewing, and if someone really gives me a good argument about why Harry should live I might give in. I could see that ending as well, but I guess I just like my already-done chapters too much. Thank you so much to those that have reviewed, and I will try to answer all questions specifically after the next section.
Oh, except for Ash Knight: Just so you know, some of the questions you asked will end up answered in this piece. I can't say that all of them will…but you'll see. I'm still working on this. As for the power Harry has…well, that comes up later. I have my own ideas about that…
Well, I'll answer more things later, sorry but this A/N is already too long. –Miss Laine