Written for a challenge on the (revived) FictionNet ( http / sycotic . org / fnet ) Say euterpe sent you, if you decide to join :P Or, Cosmic Angel; they'll know who you mean. Thank you muchly to Lexi for betaing.
Challenge was to write a fic inspired by a givenquote. The quote I chose is given below, before the fic starts. All opinions welcome, to the extent of begging for feedback, hehe.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Until next week, when I shall own a copy of the Half Blood Prince! (Cue maniacal laughing.) All characters and places etc are trademarks of JK and her army of publishers. When she takes over the world, this makes sure I don't get sued.
6-7 days and so many hours until the book! Until then, let the fics tide you over ;)
Have fun!
Appearances often are deceiving.
- Aesop (620 BC - 560 BC), The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
The first time I saw you, it was in Diagon Alley. You were having your robes fitted at the same time I was. Do you remember? Of course you do. You're a Malfoy. You'd never forget.
I thought, then, that I'd seen everything there was to see. In that one brief encounter, you'd shown yourself to be arrogant, bigoted, and an annoyance. For a moment, I wished I didn't have to go to Hogwarts, just so that I never had to see you again.
Funny how things change, isn't it?
Quidditch, and two brooms hurtle side by side into the clouds, each chasing the Snitch. One eye on the golden speck that darts in front of them, one eye on each other, grins on their faces as adrenalin rushes through their veins. Fingers stretch, brushing each other as they fight over the snitch; and then Harry's fingers close around it, Draco's over his, and for a moment they are not enemies.
'Gryffindor wins!' The exuberant shout echoes above the mad roar of the crowd, and six red-robed figures are on top of Harry, screaming madly. Harry is their captain, and he has not let them down yet. The Quidditch Cup is theirs again, and the Slytherin team land sullenly, sneering at the Gryffindors.
Harry is carried on their shoulders, his face red with embarrassment and laughing in happiness. He meets Draco's eyes, and gives a smile that says good game, and Draco smiles back. You too. In this world, there are few things that draw smiles from either of these boys.
Dumbledore notices, and he too smiles. Perhaps there is hope. He presents the Cup to Harry, and Harry turns. Next to him, Ron is beaming, and they each take a handle. Raising the cup above their heads, they cheer and shout along with the crowd of students, and all is well in the world.
Sometimes I think back to that first train ride to Hogwarts, when I turned down your friendship. I wonder if things could have been different. Would I have been made a Slytherin? Would you have become a Gryffindor, or friends with Ron and Hermione? Would you have come into the Chamber of Secrets with me? Or the Department of Mysteries, or followed me to the Philosopher's Stone, or helped me fight Sirius Black? Of course, I thought then that you wouldn't. You were a coward - look how quickly you ran in the Forest in our first year. I thought you would never amount to anything except a Death Eater. After all, you're a Malfoy.
Thank you for proving me wrong.
Class, and Professor Snape is closing the final lesson before NEWTs. Both Harry and Draco have stuck it out, determined to reach whatever goals they are aiming for. Harry is well on his way to becoming an Auror; Draco seems to be successful in his classes.
'Pack your stuff away,' Snape says in a cold voice, and Harry hurries over to wash his hands. They are sticky from the ingredients, and the water is cool and refreshing. A pair of hands are thrust next to his, and Draco stands next to him, coolly ignoring him.
'Bet you're glad to be out of here, Potter.' It is Draco who starts a quiet conversation, and Harry raises an eyebrow at first, surprised, and then nods.
'Too right,' he says with muted feeling. 'I just hope I get the grades I need. If I ever have to sit through another Potions class again, I'd be tempted to slit my throat.'
'They aren't that bad,' smirks Draco, and there's a hint of a genuine smile there. 'Snape just favours us over you. Of course, as we Slytherins are superior in every way...' His voice trails off, and the class throw shocked looks at the two as Harry splashes Draco with water, laughing and mocking offense. Things like this are rare. Snape tells the class to hurry and finish up, and Draco turns to go back to his desk.
'Hey, Malfoy?' Harry isn't sure what he's going to say, or why he's saying it, but he's going to say it anyway. Draco does turn, and raises an eyebrow expectantly.
'Good luck.' It's not what he wants to say - why were you such a git? what's changed? will the next time I call you a ferret be in a battle? - but it sums it up. Draco nods thanks.
'You too,' he says, and both boys turn back to their respective desks, surprised to find that they meant it. Harry packs his bag and leaves the classroom without looking back. He doesn't need to look back; he will never say goodbye to Malfoy. In their rivalry, they have formed a bond deeper than words can explain.
Things started to change in sixth year. We spent the first four in much the same manner; you insulted us, we threatened to hex you, both of us got into trouble. In year five... I thought you were showing your true colours when you sided with Umbridge. I hated you then. But that didn't last into sixth year. Once Lucius was in Azkaban, once you had lost someone in the war... you seemed to change. I felt sorry for you. Out of all the people in the world, I'm the one famous for losing my parents and surviving.
But you had it worse, didn't you? You lost everything. Even your family name was tarnished. You became like the rest of us, and I nearly extended the hand of friendship, as you did in the first year. 'I can help you,' I wanted to say. I understood better than anyone. 'Come and be friends with me.'
I didn't, though.
Why did you change so quickly? I could have coped better if you'd stayed the same miniature Death Eater you always were. Why did the boundaries get so blurred?
Summer, and Harry is joining the Order. Hermione is sharing a last holiday with her family, in Italy this time, and Ron has already joined. The headquarters has been moved, and a weary Dumbledore has sent Tonks to take Harry to his room.
'Your stuff should be up here already.' Tonks has changed her hair to be black, like Harry's, and her eyes are green. She could pass for an older sister, and Harry likes the thought of an older sister. 'Ron's sharing with you, and Ginny's staying across the corridor with Hermione, when Hermione gets here. I don't need to tell you not to tell Ginny Order stuff, do I?' She leans against the wall outside Harry's room, and winks. 'See you later.' Harry enters the room and sighs.
The war has truly started, for him, and now there is no going back. He must kill Voldemort, or be killed by him. He wishes he were back in Hogwarts, where all he had to worry about was keeping Ron from hexing Malfoy.
For the first time, Harry is afraid he might die.
For the first time, Harry misses Malfoy.
Night-time, and Draco is watching the moon. He is to become a Death Eater soon, even though he doesn't want to. But what choice does he have? If he refuses, he will be hunted down and killed. There is no safety for him; who would save a Malfoy?
He sighs and throws himself down on his bed, and stares out of the window. Why can't he fly to the moon? Nobody could get him there. He would be safe- free, even, if he dares to think the word. But he does not dare.
He closes his eyes, and wishes he were back in Hogwarts. For him, the war has started, and he wishes it hadn't. If he were in Hogwarts, all he would have to worry about was whether the Trio would hex him or not.
For the first time, he misses Potter. Potter was a decent enemy; not like the ones he had now, who pretended to be on his side. He could argue with Potter and not fear for his life.
An owl is tapping at his window, and he opens the window to let it in. It is a snowy owl, a beautiful bird, who impatiently thrusts out her leg and clicks her beak.
He unties the letter, unscrolls the parchment and smiles. Potter's handwriting is large and messy and hurried.
I still hate you, Malfoy.
And the letter is more than simple; it is a conviction, a truth, a friend, an enemy, an offering, help and freedom and the lines are drawn, waiting to be crossed, waiting for Draco to accept or decline help.
Draco turns the paper over.
I hate you, too, Potter. And he knows now that if he wants, he can get out. Friends come and go, but enemies last forever.
Why didn't you get out then? When you could have? Yes, they'd still have been after you, but they wouldn't have been able to find you so easily. We could have kept you safe. Instead, you joined them; you signed your own death warrant. You're not supposed to die, Malfoy. You should know that. Neither of us are meant to die. We'll still be fighting in twenty years time. You can't die.
Shopping, and Harry is weaving through the crowds in Diagon Alley. Every now and then he is stopped by a member of the public, his hand shaken vigorously, and a beaming face says breathlessly how it is a pleasure to meet him. Only half of them mean it, the others wanting to brag how they 'shook the hand of the Boy-Who-Lived'. Harry is looking for a place to sit and find a cup of coffee, and can't seem to find anywhere. Coffee is what keeps him awake, these days, as well as Hermione's well-timed pinches in Order meetings. He hasn't slept properly in a month, trying to pinpoint Voldemort's location. He knows that Voldemort is doing the same thing. He knows this because Draco told him.
Of course, neither of them says anything outright, or anything that will sway the war in the other's favour. They send only brief, bragging letters, trying to outdo each other, trying to keep the rivalry going because it gives them something normal to cling on to. Victories may be won and failures may be reported, wars may be won or lost on a word of theirs, each day they may die; but they both know that, deep down, the other person is a bastard. This is what keeps them sane.
The war was so intense; still is, even now that it's over. Voldemort is gone, and only the Death Eaters are left to round up and try. You did this, you know. You helped us win this war, despite your best efforts to prove otherwise. You have to acknowledge it someday. From the first moment I met you, I hated you. Please let me be able to go on hating you. The war is over, Malfoy. You don't have to hide anymore.
Hogwarts, and it is here the deciding battle of the war takes place. It is here that Harry slays Bellatrix Lestrange; he says he slayed her because she was a monster; only humans can be murdered. You slay a dragon, he said to the media in a rare moment of good humour, and the quote has circulated, being told over pints in pubs. It is at this battle that Pettigrew is exposed, and Sirius' good name is finally cleared, close to ten years after his escape from Azkaban. It is at this battle that the Dementors desert - and return to Azkaban, choosing Harry and the Order over Voldemort.
Voldemort is furious, of course, but nothing can be done, because this battle has left him alone and unsupported. The giants had been won around by Hagrid and Madame Maxime, the dementors supported Harry; only Voldemort and a few Death Eaters are left.
Draco is one of them. On the battlefield he meets Harry's eyes, a sneer and an apology passing between them. I'm afraid, Draco's eyes say as clearly as his shouted curses. I'm too trapped to escape.
And Harry casts a Protego around Draco's victim - Kingsley - and his scowl tells Draco plainly, you've run away before, ferret. Do it again. Draco curses fluently, turning his back on Harry to disappear as the battle is lost.
Harry hopes he can depend on Malfoy to do the cowardly thing and defect. He doesn't know if he will, but there is still hope, and that is what is important to them both. Voldemort may be Harry's nemesis, but Draco is Harry's enemy, and Harry likes knowing who his enemy is. He hopes he can know his enemy for many years yet.
When did we start to get on? Why did I offer to help you? I don't have any answers to these, Malfoy, so you'll have to give them. You do so love to answer back, don't you? But then, you love to be a mystery. Appearances often are deceiving, and you deceived me wholly. I saw you as a spineless coward who would sell their soul for power.
Who would have guessed that you would help me?
The battle, and Voldemort is trying to hex Harry. But Harry is fast, and young; Voldemort is old and growing weary from the stress of trying to recover from the damage of the last battle. He will not recover for a while yet, and Harry knows this. That is why he has chosen to strike now.
Ron, Hermione, and scores of old school friends - once Dumbledore's Army, now Harry's - are around him, keeping the Death Eaters away from the centre of the field. Dumbledore is there, although he really shouldn't be; Harry wishes Dumbledore would listen to advice and stay in the Hospital Wing, but nothing stops the old man when he wants to do something, and he wanted to see this battle.
A whoosh and a jet of red light flash by, and Harry rolls to his feet and the spell is bursting from his wand before he is upright. Voldemort takes a hit; not direct, but his arm begins to bleed, and Harry is satisfied. Even if he dies, he does not care any more, because he has drawn the first blood.
He can hear his friends falling, and wonders how many of them are left alive. There are casualties on both sides - nobody expected any less. Those who die today will be heroes, Harry said that himself to the Aurors as they got ready to invade Voldemort's camp. What he hadn't said was how many he thought would die. A spell catches his stomach, winding him, and Harry knows Voldemort wants to see him suffer before he joins his fallen comrades.
They circle, Voldemort hissing under his breath. 'You're going to die today, Potter, just like your parents did.' The mention of his parents sets fire on a course through Harry's veins and he feels angry, his blood boiling, and he tries to cast the Cruciatus. He means it, he wants to see Voldemort hurting, rolling in agony on the floor and screaming for Harry to stop, just so that he will stop, but his spell barely grazes Voldemort.
You have to want to see them hurt, and Harry doesn't like to see people hurt, no matter how much he pretends. Instead he throws a dolor at Voldemort, a less Unforgiveable spell for causing pain, and it hits Voldemort hard. He doesn't need so much willpower to keep this up for a while, but he has to stop sometime.
He thinks he is going to lose.
Voldemort shakes off the curse. It takes him a few minutes, but he does it, and before Harry can realise what has happened, Voldemort is casting a Crucio straight at him. Time seems to stand still for a moment, and all he can do is try - too late - to run.
But the curse doesn't hit him.
Draco's screams of pain fill the air as he takes the hit meant for Harry. Harry's eyes are wide as Draco starts twitching, blood runs from the corner of his mouth as he tries to stop himself from giving Voldemort the satisfaction of hearing him screaming. He opens his eyes - once - and his grey eyes bore into Harry's, saying do it, do it now, and Harry shouts 'Expelliarmus!', catching Voldemort's wand with practiced ease.
Now Voldemort is unarmed, and floored, and afraid, and Harry can cast the final spell without fear of reciprocation. He touches the wand to Voldemort's chest- the heart- and the confidence in his green eyes clashes with the fear in Voldemort's red ones.
'Avada kedavra,' he whispers, a whisper that stops all fighting around them. Time seems to slow, and as the green light explodes from his wand, creating a halo around the end of his wand that matches the colour of his eyes, everyone seems to draw breath.
Voldemort falls backwards, dead, and everyone cheers. Harry has won. And he couldn't have done it without Draco.
He thinks he hates that.
And now everything is good.
Why did you do it? You never said, never told anyone why; and then they caught up with you. You wouldn't let us keep you safe until they were all gone, because you were too proud to accept my help. That's why you're here, you know. You're stupid, Malfoy. You couldn't accept help from a Gryffindor and now you're in a coma. I bet you can't even hear me, can you? I'm here, pouring my heart out to your ungrateful ears, and you're not even listening to me. You should be listening, Malfoy, you should be awake and listening and smirking.
Is that too much to ask for? For you to wake up and tell me how I'm still a pathetically sentimental Gryffindor? For you to wake up and brag about how you got one over on me by saving my life, like you used to do in your letters?
How can I hate you if you won't wake up? You're not supposed to die, Malfoy. You're supposed to fight with me.
St. Mungo's, and Harry is sitting by Draco's bed. Draco is comatose, after an angry group of rogue Death Eaters found him. So far, he isn't responding to treatment, but this doesn't surprise Harry. He knows Draco will eventually wake up and mock them for not doing it right.
He doesn't understand Draco. Ron and Hermione, as much as they try, don't understand why Harry is still sitting with Draco, either. They know that Draco helped Harry in the war, know that at the last moment he changed sides, and they appreciate that. But some things never die, and they still loathe him.
Harry doesn't loathe him. Harry hates him. He hates that Draco's bragging kept him sane in the war. He hates that Draco had to help him in the end. He hates that Draco is lying here and expects Harry to stay here and talk to him. And Harry would leave, but what he hates most is knowing that Draco isn't going to be there to argue with. He needs his friends, he needs his life- but he needs the stability more. He needs it to be him against Draco, flanked by their friends, because that helps him remember who his friends are and who his enemies are. It helps him remember what is right and what is wrong, and what is wrong is Draco lying so still and helpless in a bed. It is right for Draco to be sitting up, smirking that annoying smirk and telling Harry to 'stop wasting my oxygen, it's for Purebloods only.' It is right for him to hate Malfoy, and it is wrong for Malfoy to not be there to hate.
You're an idiot, Malfoy. You pretended all the way through to be a coward, and then you have to go and be a hero just to prove me wrong. Appearances may be deceiving, but now I know you, Malfoy. I know you're just lying there enjoying the attention. I know you'll wake up and mock me again.
You might look like a hero, you might have looked like a coward, but deep down you're a Malfoy, and I hate that you won't wake up and let me hate you. Please wake up, Malfoy. I haven't shouted at you for pushing your way into the fight yet. I haven't tried to punch you for making me look like an idiot. I haven't done anything yet, that's why you need to wake up. You can't die yet. I hate you too much to let you die on me.
You just had to go and make me your enemy, didn't you? You had to go and always be there, always be reliable even when Ron and Hermione weren't. You know we have a bond - I hate you for that, too, and I know you hate it as much as I do. You can't break this, Malfoy. You had to be the one stable thing in my life, and now you have to go and shake it up, don't you? Well, you got one over on me, Malfoy. Now wake up, so I can shout at you again. Wake up, Malfoy. You've had enough attention. Wake up and tell me I'm an idiot. You have to wake up. You can't die. I hate you too much to let you die. Wake up. I don't know what I'll do if I can't be enemies with you.
Wake up. Please?
... fin! Don't attack me for the cliff :P Make up your own minds: does he wake, or doesn't he? Tell me what you think, on that and on the fic