The Education of Draco Malfoy
By Jaimeson Rose
Warnings: Slash, lime situations, slight OOC, original character
Pairings: HP/DM, established RW/HG
Chapter One
It was a dark and stormy night.
Harry Potter, better known as the Boy-Who-Lived in the Wizarding world, sighed as he eased himself slowly upon his bed at 12 Grimmauld Place. The rest of the occupants were also getting ready for bed, or fast asleep. Harry's best friends and year mates, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, were in their respective rooms close to Harry's. They were going back to Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in less than a week to finish up their final year at school.
His green eyes stared at the blank ceiling. He was already eighteen. The school had closed down in the latter half of his sixth year when the War that would change everything finally started. He himself, at the tender ages of sixteen and seventeen, led several of the battles. It was battle colored by victory with too many losses. The emerald eyes closed tightly as he remembered the friends that he had lost in the war against the Death Eaters. Several classmates at his school had been killed, murdered heartlessly by the minions of the crazed man whom many feared. Many of the families that were attacked were of the Gryffindor house from Harry's school, or prominent members of Wizarding society who proclaimed their neutrality towards Muggles in the first place.
Thankfully, Harry and his close friends came through unscathed physically, though their emotional wounds left much to be desired. Every single one of his friends had matured greatly, and even felt the guilt in their hearts. Harry felt it the most. His mind began to wander, remember the very first time that he heard about the fantastical world of wizards and witches. It seemed like only yesterday when Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Key and Grounds at Hogwarts, saved him from his personal hell and torture from the Dursleys. The thin boy with the lightning bolt-shaped scar went from being treated as scum to a celebrity overnight. He soon began to hate the fame and status for something that happened when he was a baby. What if his parents had survived the attack with him? Perhaps then Harry would be the son of The-Couple-Who-Lived. But still, Harry was forever grateful of the half-giant for coming at the nick of time. Perhaps it was why Hagrid's death hit him so hard in the first place.
A sharp stab of pain interrupted his thoughts. The migraines never seemed to stop. His fingers brushed against the slim frames of his new glasses. A pair with a stronger prescription replaced his last pair. He had tried to pass it off as his nearsightedness worsening with age, but everyone knew: Harry's body was breaking down. What was originally an inconvenience became a loathed handicap. There were countless of times that his glasses were knocked askew, rendering him sightless and dependent on his well-honed reflexes. Once, the legally blind vision made him miscalculate and a heavy price was paid. Harry closed his eyes even tighter at the memory, wishing the headache would disappear. Hermione and Ron had tried to transfer most of the burden from his shoulders to theirs, but Harry's body grew thinner still. He lost his appetite and sleep danced at the edge of his mind like a teasing spirit. The Boy-Who-Lived would have died by the hand of malnutrition and exhaustion rather than the Dark Lord.
Yet, The prophecy came true: Voldemort was defeated by the hand of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and six times defied the Dark Lord.
Harry knew that he couldn't sleep with all of the thoughts jumbled up in his head and decided that he needed a snack of some sort to settle his stomach. Mrs. Weasley wouldn't complain, seeing as she was on a campaign to fatten the youth up. As he crept out of his room, the old grandfather clock, a rather recent addition to the home, chimed as the hands moved to midnight. As he passed the Muggle mirror in the hallway, he couldn't help but stop and look.
Over the past year, his thin face became gaunt from the lack of appetite. The high cheekbones that were prominent before stood out like a beacon, accenting the brilliant green eyes that were clouded by a haunted look and the crop of messy black hair that Harry could never tame. The tip of the infamous scar poked out from underneath the fringe but had faded a bit, though still distinct. He wasn't exceptionally handsome, but he was good looking enough, as gathered from the few admirers that he had had. Perhaps it was the fact that he was the Boy-Who-Lived. His lips curled into a humorless smile as his eyes ventured downwards, examining the rest of his slim figure. He still wore Dudley's hand-me-downs, having no time to go shop for clothing that fitted him better in style and in size. The self-defense training that he forced himself through and the Quidditch practices from before had toned and strengthened his lean and wiry frame. He was quite a bit stronger than he looked, considering that he could carry and support Lupin when the werewolf was stuck by a stray curse on the battlefield. He turned away from the mirror and resumed the trek downstairs.
He wasn't too surprised to see the light in the kitchen on. Harry had seen Hermione and Ron nurse a cup of hot tea or milk during many sleepless nights. A stab of resentment made him swallow. He didn't want to share the kitchen with anyone right now, especially someone who was close to him. Harry was about to turn away when his stomach complained by sending its message through his nervous system. The twinge in his stomach was too strong to ignore. He swallowed the bitterness flooding in his mouth and stepped through the kitchen door.
Draco Malfoy was sitting at the table.
Harry narrowed his eyes out of sheer reflex. A year could not erase the five years of scathing remarks and harsh quarrels that often rang through the hallways of the school. The blond Slytherin was drinking a mug of tea, sipping the hot beverage slowly as not to burn his tongue. Malfoy's dispassionate gray eyes eyed the dark haired Gryffindor warily, if not with an impatient manner.
"Are you waiting for an invitation, Potter?" Malfoy said with a sneer, all traces of apathy disappearing as soon as he opened his mouth. The sneer twisted Malfoy's aristocratically handsome face into something ugly.
Harry ignored the blond and went to the pantry. There were a few packages of the crackers that Harry was particularly fond of, and he grabbed one of the packages and opened it easily enough. He took a bite out of the salty treat and chewed, green eyes roaming across the spotless kitchen as he did so. Harry's gaze fell upon the unwilling houseguest seated at the table.
While Harry managed to gain a few inches during the past year, Malfoy remained fairly short, standing at one hundred and sixty five centimeters exactly. Harry knew that the petite height of the Slytherin wouldn't last long, seeing as both Lucius and Narcissa both were tall and slender in build; Draco would most likely end up taller than Harry by the time they graduated, but for the time being, Harry enjoyed looking down on the blond. Not to mention insults and threats weren't as effective when they were coming from someone a good half a head shorter than him. The trademark white blond hair of the former Malfoy heir had darkened several shades to an ash blond. The darker hair and the firmer jaw made Malfoy look more boyish than the effeminate way his impossibly light hair did. Over the past few months, Malfoy gained in weight, building up muscle mass, but still remained lean, not as thin as Harry was, but small nonetheless. The hands that gripped the cup were calloused in the same way Harry's were, from Quidditch and gripping the wand with a deathly tight grip.
The Boy-Who-Lived chewed his crackers slowly, almost thoughtfully, as he thought back to the day that Dumbledore dumped Malfoy on the doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place unceremoniously and left to attend to business. Harry's antagonist looked almost frightened, if it weren't for the haughty way that he held himself. Old habits tend to die hard, as proved by the scathing remark Malfoy said only moments after stepping through the doorway. Never mind his mother was a Black; the blond hated the Black family home. The Slytherin Perfect stayed in his room most of the time, taking his meals only after everyone else had left the table. No one seemed to mind his odd habit, and allowed him to dine in peace. Harry felt a pair of eyes watching him and reality came back into focus as he realized that Malfoy's mouth was moving.
"Seriously, Potter, what is there on my face?" Malfoy spat unpleasantly.
Harry remained silent and continued to eat his crackers. He knew that his studying Malfoy was unsettling to the blond so Harry did it as often as he could without making it seem like he was interested in the Slytherin. Heaven forbid if Harry should ever be attracted to a student of the rival house, though he was known amongst the students as a shameless flirt and a flamboyant bisexual. It didn't bother Harry too much, and there were always willing bed partners, both male and female, on the days that Harry did feel lonely and tired. The Gryffindor never bothered seducing anyone who wore green at his school; it was too risky and too dangerous.
"Nothing, Malfoy," Harry replied in a low voice. "Just checking to see how much prettier you became."
Malfoy turned red from either anger or embarrassment, Harry could never tell. It was always amusing to see the pale aristocratic blond flush red after a snide comment from Harry about his appearance. If there was one thing that Malfoy hated the most, it was being called "pretty." Harry knew that Malfoy was extremely insecure about his sexuality whereas Harry was comfortable pursuing genders of both sexes. Lucius Malfoy was a known homophobe, and Malfoy wouldn't let Harry forget it.
"At least I'm better looking than you are," Malfoy grounded out, the hands around the cup tightening as he threw his retort back at Harry.
The brunette enjoyed making Malfoy squirm. "You'd look so much better in leather," Harry said with a slight purr. This is too fun, Harry thought as he watched Malfoy darken several shades.
The Slytherin stood up suddenly, depositing his cup in the sink and almost ran out of the kitchen. Harry couldn't help but smirk again. "Point for Gryffindor," Harry said with a grin as he sealed the package of crackers and placed them back into the pantry. Deciding that his stomach was now satisfied, Harry made his way back up to his room. The door to Malfoy's room was now shut, and without a doubt, locked as well. Harry decided that he would terrorize the youth another night. Fun could be had when one had an arsenal of unlocking spells up the sleeve of one's robe.
The Boy-Who-Lived found that he couldn't fall back asleep once he returned to his room. He looked out of the window. The night seemed even darker without the moon present. Even without seeing it, Harry knew that it was almost full. Professor Lupin looked even more tired and worn out than ever, if it were possible, and Snape already started to brew the wolfsbane potion. Professor Lupin would turn into a werewolf within the week for sure. He returned his attention to the torrents of rain pelting down onto the earth.
The sky was crying again. Harry watched as the small rivers ran down the panes of glass. Harry hated the rain. It was raining the day Hagrid died, the day that so many of his companions lost their lives in the most unfortunate manner. Harry closed his eyes. The sky hadn't stopped its weeping since the day Narcissa Malfoy died.
Author's note: First HP fanfic. Heck, one of the first fanfics that I wrote in a damn long time (I think since.. ninth grade. Yeesh). Feedback is greatly appreciated.