Title: Capturing Happiness
Author name: triola
Category: General
Sub Category: Romance
Rating: T
Summary: Some choices have to be made, no matter how hard they seem. But in the end, it might yet turn out ok. Happiness is where you least expect it.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author notes: I'm not quite sure what this is, but it just came to me, so I had to write it. I am afraid it is rather unbelievable, and somewhat silly. It's the fluffy version of Draco joining the light side. With a rather strange Harry. All my Harry's turn out strange, I don't know why.
Warning: This story contains mild slash.

Capturing Happiness

How I wish I could walk through the doors of my mind;
Hold memory close at hand,
Help me understand the years.
How I wish I could choose between Heaven and Hell.
How I wish I would save my soul.
I'm so cold from fear.

I guess it's time I run far, far away; find comfort in pain,
All pleasure's the same: it just keeps me from trouble.
Hides my true shape, like Dorian Gray.
I've heard what they say, but I'm not here for trouble.
It's more than just words: it's just tears and rain.

– Tears and Rain, James Blunt.

Draco was depressed. There was no other way to say it. He had been feeling down for weeks, but nothing seemed to be able to cheer him up. He'd tried everything. And with everything, he meant everything. At one point he'd even gone so far as to attempt to skin Millicent's cat alive, because surely the death of that calamity of a fur ball would bring a smile to his face. Or at the least a smirk. However, he had no such luck. For one, Millicent found out about it before he even managed to get his carving knife out, and secondly, although the cat did look somewhat hilarious tied to a chair, the scared expression on its face just didn't do it for Draco. Not anymore. A year ago, hell, even a month ago he would have cackled in glee at the mere prospect, but now it just made him feel nauseated.

Draco didn't know exactly what was wrong with him, but he knew exactly when it had begun. Over the Easter holidays. It had started out normally with him taking the train back to London and then being picked up by a car. He had arrived at the Manor well enough, but from there everything was different. His mother hadn't been there to greet him like she usually was, instead he was ushered into his father's study by an overexcited house-elf who couldn't string two useful words together to save her life. From the way the house-elf was acting you would think there was something important going on, but when he arrived at the study he found it empty. Of course, being the well-bred Malfoy that he was, he didn't let that dishearten him so he sat down in one of the chairs and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. He waited for seven hours, forty-six minutes and two seconds before he got tired of it and went to bed. After that things started going downhill.

At four o'clock in the morning Draco was abruptly awakened by his father. His enraged father. The man was standing over him, his arms flailing around him like the blades of a windmill, his face red with anger as he yelled at the top of his lungs. Draco was having a hard time understanding what he had done, his father was hard to comprehend when in this mood, but in the end he managed to decipher it. Apparently, he had failed. By going to sleep in stead of waiting up for another hour, he had failed. The Dark Lord had granted Draco a great honour by coming to the manor to inspect him himself, and Draco had not even managed to stay awake to show himself worthy of that honour. He had failed.

That night was the first time Lucius Malfoy ever used the Cruciatus curse on his son.

Draco would have liked to say that he stoically took his punishment like a man, never once letting his father see the pain he was causing, but that would be a lie. The Cruciatus hurt. It hurt like nothing Draco had ever felt before and he screamed his throat hoarse begging for it to stop. Then it suddenly did. And as Draco lay there, a shivering bundle on the floor, his father just stepped over him and told him to hurry, the Dark Lord was not a patient man.

So he did. He hurried like he'd never done before, not even to professor McGonagall's classes. He dried his tears as he ran down the corridor, wiped the blood stains from the side of his mouth as he rounded a bend and straightened his clothes as he entered the study. Then he fell to his knees. Because that was what was expected of him. He didn't look up until he was spoken to, and he didn't speak unless he was asked to. When he looked back on it, Draco couldn't remember much from the meeting at all. Everything was in a haze, except for one thing. The irony. The dreadful irony that while Harry Potter's eyes were Slytherin green, Voldemort's were red. Gryffindor red.

As Draco walked slowly down the path towards the Quidditch Pitch, he shuddered at the memory. The redness of those eyes was really quite striking. If it had been any other colour, Draco would have been amazed of the clarity of them, and maybe even gone as far as to call them beautiful. But Voldemort was anything but, and the red colour was revolting in its unnaturalness. Draco had never liked the colour red. It represented everything he had always been against. Love. Gryffindors. Blood. But lately, only the blood part had seemed important. To avoid it, at all costs. It wasn't just the colour that made Draco queasy, it was the whole idea. To bleed, or to watch someone bleed. To see that last drop of life just flow out of someone, and then nothing. Nothing but an empty shell, a hollow void of nihility. And Draco didn't think he could do it. To deprive someone, anyone, of that last drop of life. To just stand and watch as it ebbed away, knowing all the while that it was his fault. That he did it, his hands, his wand, his knife, his decision.

It was unbearable.

Pansy kept saying that he'd gone soft, that he was turning into a Gryffindor, and maybe he was. Not that he'd admit that to her of course, but somehow he thought that being a Gryffindor had to somehow be better than being a killer. Anything would be better. And maybe that was the core of the matter. He was beginning to doubt. Both his father and himself, but mostly his father. He did not doubt the cause, no, never, but he doubted his father. And his father's Lord. Wasn't there better ways to achieve pureblood dominance? Did it have to be through killing? Because surely, that didn't make them any better than those savage Muggles, now did it? No, it made them just as bad. Just as bad.

And Draco didn't want to be bad, he never had. Everything was fine as long as he could believe what his father told him, that in reality, they were on the light side. They were the good ones, saving the world from the horrid influence of Muggles. Everything would be fine, if he could just believe that again. He had, once. Before Easter. He was almost ashamed to admit that his rosy red dream of joining the Dark Lord was just that, a rosy red dream. It was never reality, it never had been. And now he knew. Now he knew. And he knew he had to get away. He had been thinking about it for the last couple of weeks, and his plan was finally in motion. At least the first part of it. Approaching Harry Potter.

He had done a bit of research and his sources told him that Potter would be at the Quidditch Pitch now, alone. And Draco needed him alone, he couldn't bear the thought of telling his sob story in front of Granger and Weasley, and he knew he would have to spill. They would never trust him otherwise. He'd even loaned a small vial of Veritaserum from Severus, just to be on the safe side. Of course, Severus didn't actually know that he had loaned it, but he had every intention of giving it back. Minus a couple of drops. Hopefully the Potions Master wouldn't notice it.

As Draco took off from the main path and over on the one that would lead him directly to the Pitch, a single drop of water fell down and landed on his nose. Looking up he could see the clouds gathering above him, each one bigger and darker than the next. Soon it was pouring down and he increased his pace, hoping he would reach the shelter of the Quidditch stands before he got absolutely drenched. He ran the last couple of metres and when he finally was safe from the deluge he slowly pulled his wand out and performed a couple of drying charms, all the while looking up into the air for the flying figure he expected to find there. However, Potter wasn't in the air at all.

As Draco looked around, he finally located him in the middle of the Pitch. He was standing there, all alone, his arms spread out at his sides and his hips swaying slightly as to a melody only he could hear. His face was turned up to catch the rain, each drop exploding in a million smaller ones as they hit him, only to gather up again and flow down his neck, soaking the shoulders of his thin sweater. Draco could only watch mesmerised as the lithe figure turned around in slow circles, his black hair falling wet and soft, curling slightly as it met with a white neck. Small droplets ran enticingly down the slender column, only to be absorbed as they met with fabric at the base. The cloth continued down, the moistness making it cling to the shape underneath, revealing a muscled body so perfect it could have been chiselled in marble. Draco was captivated.

Then, as quickly as it had started, the rain stopped. And with it, Harry. Draco felt a strange sense of loss, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. He would deal with it later, now he had more important business to attend to. Moving hesitantly onto the field, he waited for the other boy notice him. He didn't. He just stood there. His arms had moved to wrap around his middle and his face was still turned towards the sky, as if waiting for the rain to come back. He stood completely still, and if Draco hadn't known better, he would have said it really was a statue. Carved in the finest marble.

At loss at what to do, Draco took a couple of more steps forward, bringing him a mere three metres away from the black haired boy. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he shut it again. What could he say? 'Hello Harry, I've seen the wrongness of my actions and have come to join forces with you'? No, that just sounded silly. Even in Draco's own head, which meant it definitely sounded silly if he said it out loud. Fortunately, Draco was spared the humiliation, because in the next moment Harry's soft voice reached his ears in the form of a greeting.

"Draco." That was all he said. But as he said it he turned around so that he was facing Draco and opened his eyes. There wasn't a smile to be seen on his face, but somehow, Draco still knew he was smiling. His eyes betrayed him, the smile was there, dancing in the corners of his mouth. Just close enough to shine through, but not powerful enough to breach the outer mask of indifference.

"Harry." Draco inclined his head slightly.

"I knew you would come." Harry smiled a soft little almost-smile. Not big enough to quite express the smile inside him, but still a smile.

"You knew? How?" Draco furrowed his brow, the confusion clearly written on his face.

"I know a lot of things." Harry smiled again and looked at him with those clear, green eyes, and for a moment Draco felt utterly exposed, as if all his deepest secrets had been torn away from him and laid out for all to see. Then it passed.

"Then you know why I'm here?"

Harry nodded, and Draco felt a surge of relief pass through him. If Harry already knew, he didn't have to explain. And if Harry already knew, and he still was smiling at him, then didn't that mean…? But then Harry spoke again.

"Did you bring the Veritaserum?" Draco didn't know how he had known he would bring it, he could only nod mutedly. Harry smiled again. "Severus thought you would."

"Severus? But…" Draco trailed off, his eyebrow knitted in confusion once again.

"Oh, I forgot." Harry looked vaguely guilty for a moment, before he shook his head and smiled once again. "Not that it matters, if you don't give me the answers I want, I will just obliviate you." He nodded to himself before looking up at Draco again. "But you will give me the right answers, won't you?"

"Yes," croaked Draco, his mind reeling with the thought of being obliviated. He had known it might happen, of course, but he'd never really taken the time to consider it. What if he answered wrong on something? But no, he couldn't think like that. This was his only chance, he would answer right. He would.

Harry was grinning at him. "I knew you would. Always such a good boy, weren't you? Yes yes, I've had such faith in you for the longest time. The others doubted you, but not me, never me. I knew you would come, in the end."

"How? How did you know?"

Harry looked hesitant for a moment. "I… I know things. I see things. That night. I saw you that night, in front of Voldemort. I had hoped before, but I knew then. I knew you would come."

"Are you a seer?" Draco asked, his voice betraying the wonder that he felt. There hadn't been a real seer in wizarding England for two generations.

"No, not exactly." Harry seemed to consider his answer carefully before continuing. "My scar… it is a… connection. To Voldemort. And sometimes I am… in his head. I see what he sees. Sometimes." He looked at Draco closely as if to gauge his reaction, and when he didn't run away screaming he looked very pleased.

"Oh."

"Yes." Harry smiled and cocked his head to the side. "But now, the Veritaserum?"

Draco could feel his throat tightening at the idea, but he nodded his head bravely and carefully took the vial out from his pocket. Removing the cork, he brought it up to his mouth and tipped it over so that one single drop landed on his lower lip. Then he brought his lip into his mouth, running his tongue over it to remove the drop, letting it mix with his saliva before swallowing nervously. He waited for a while, his muscles tense, but when he didn't feel any different, he relaxed. It wasn't as bad as he had imagined.

"Is it working?" Harry asked, but Draco could only shrug.

"I don't know, I don't feel any different."

Harry pursed his lips before nodding. "You wouldn't. Only one way to find out, really. What is your name?"

"Draco Eugenius Nepotian Malfoy." Draco's nose scrunched up in disgust at his middle names, but he couldn't stop himself from uttering them. Which probably meant the Veritaserum was working.

"So far so good," Harry grinned. "Now, Nepotian, are you here of your own free will?"

Draco glared at Harry, who just laughed at him, before nodding. "Yes."

"And why are you here?"

Draco closed his eyes for a minute before wetting his lips with his tongue. The words came from his mouth before he could stop them. "I'm scared. I want – I need – to get away. Before it's too late." Wincing, Draco looked anywhere but at Harry, but the black haired boy would have none of it. With a surprisingly strong grip, he brought his hand up to Draco's face and forced his face around so that he had no other place to look except directly into the green pools of Harry's eyes.

"Why? Why are you scared? Why do you need to get away?"

"I can't do it." Draco whispered. "They want me to… expect me to… but I can't do it. I'm weak, flawed, and if they find out they'll kill me. I don't want to die, Harry."

"What do they expect you to?" Harry's voice was soft, coaxing, and his hand never left Draco's face, but spread out to cup his cheek.

"Kill. Torture. Muggles, children… they… children," Draco sobbed out, and for the first time since Easter, he allowed himself to break down. He didn't care that he cried his eyes out in front of what used to be his worst enemy, or that said enemy was hugging him close. He didn't care that he was clinging to Harry for all he was worth, or that it had started raining again. He didn't care that they both fell down on their knees, or that the mud stained his trousers. For once, he just didn't care.

After what seemed like an eternity, his sobs ceased and he calmed down enough to pull away from Harry and rub his hand against his eyes, helping the rain to remove any traces of tears. "I'm sorry." Draco mumbled, looking down at the grass.

"Don't be, you've answered every question so far just right. There's only one left." Harry gently tilted Draco's head up again, looking deep into his eyes as if searching for some unknown piece of information. His eyes were still searching when he asked his question. "How do you feel about me?"

Draco's eyes widened in surprise, and he opened his mouth to answer, before abruptly closing it again. What he had tried to say just wouldn't come out. His mouth wouldn't let him utter the words. Which must mean that the feelings his father had expected him to have, weren't his own. At all.

"I… I don't know…" Draco started hesitantly. "I want… no," that sounded wrong, he wanted, yes, but that wasn't all. "I yearn…" He swallowed. "I need…" He looked helplessly up at Harry, but the other boy only smiled down at him.

"Don't try to think Draco, just answer the question. How do you feel about me?"

Knitting his brows in concentration, Draco tried again. "I… I… I love…" Draco gasped and his eyes flew open in horrified astonishment. "I love you," he whispered. "Oh dear Merlin, I love you." He looked wide-eyed up at Harry, but the other boy only smiled down at him.

"Very good, Draco. You gave me all the right answers." The smile that had been threatening to break through at the beginning of their conversation now hit Draco full force, and he could feel himself smiling hesitantly back. "All the right answers." And then Harry gathered Draco in his arms again, just like he had mere minutes ago, and when he kissed him on the forehead, Draco, for the first time since Easter, felt happy. In the rain, in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, together with Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy felt happy. Truly happy.

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