This Isn't Happening

This Isn't Happening.

Draco Malfoy was not annoyed. He was not irritated. He was, however, bloody furious. And, as usual, it was the fault of a Potter. Bad enough that Harry fucking Potter had to be the bloody Savior of the wizarding world, then go and do what everyone expected and marry the Weaselette. But it was just adding insult to injury that his fucking daughter should send him—Draco Malfoy, their bloody enemy, for crying out loud!—an owl, asking for his help! He unfolded the piece of parchment he had crushed in his hand, and read it once more, but the words hadn't changed.

"Dear Mr. Malfoy," the letter read.

(Mister Malfoy! Not even Lord Malfoy, but Mister! Oh, the insult.)

"As you may know, my mother, Ginevra Weasley, recently passed away. Since that time, my father, Harry Potter, has been missing, despite constant searching by his fellow Aurors. My mother left a letter for me indicating that there might be some sort of relationship between you and my father. She asked me to tell you that she's leaving Father to you, if you'll still have him, and that you were right all along. I hope you understand what this means, as I haven't the foggiest idea.

"At any rate, I sincerely hope you can help us. All attempts to find my father have failed, making you my last hope. Please don't let us down. I think Father might need you. I think, in fact, we all need your help if we're ever going to find him.

"Sincerely yours, Lily Luna Potter."

It was absolutely absurd! Him, a Malfoy, agree to help a Weasel who was a Potter to boot? Unheard of. Not after what Potter and the Weaselette had done to him after the war.

(Flashback to May 2, 1999)

"Potter! Wait up half a second!" The lanky, dark haired youth turned to see who was calling him, his eyes narrowed. He recognized that voice, and soon caught sight of the face that went with it, weaving through a crowded Great Hall. A special dinner had been held that night at Hogwarts for all of their class to celebrate the anniversary of Voldemort's death, and of course the one person he least wanted to see had the gall to show up.

"Malfoy. What do you want?" Oh, sure, Malfoy was supposedly on the side of Light now. At least, he hadn't been thrown into Azkaban with the Death Eaters who'd managed to survive the final battle. But that didn't mean Harry was going to be friends with him. No matter how gorgeous he looked… No! Bad brain. Those weren't things he needed to be thinking about his arch-rival of six years.

By that time, Malfoy had caught up with him, and, grabbing Harry's arm, was dragging him towards the doors of the hall. "Malfoy, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing? Let go of me!"

"Sorry," Malfoy muttered. It came as a shock to Harry that the boy was actually apologizing to him, but he didn't have much time to reflect on it, as the Slytherin had continued speaking. "I just…need to talk to you about something. And I can't do it in front of all these people." He dragged Harry out into the entrance hall, and dropped to sit on the floor in front of the hourglasses that kept track of each house's points. Harry leaned against the closest wall, and stared at the Malfoy, waiting for him to explain. When Malfoy finally spoke, it was in a quiet voice, so different from his usual snobbish tone.

"I…wanted to apologize. I've been a right git for…well, since I met you. Damn if it was what I wanted, but you were the Boy who Lived, and my dad was Voldy's right hand man. If I had had my way, things would have been different. I just thought you might want to know that."

Harry stared at Draco for a long moment. Finally, he couldn't help but ask. "Just…how different are we talking, here? Like, not mortal enemies?"

Draco laughed bitterly. "As long as I'm being honest…like, lovers. If I'd had my way." For a moment, he could see a flash of undisguised longing in the Gryffindor's face, but then Harry shook his head.

"I almost wish. But there's no way that can happen now. I have Ginny to worry about."

Draco could feel his accustomed cruel sneer coming back over his face, to hide the hurt he felt. "Of course you would choose the Weaselette over me. Forget I ever said anything, Potter. You won't have to look at me again." He turned and stalked off, turning a deaf ear to the other boy's protestations. It served him right for opening up to someone.

Draco shook his head to clear out the unwanted memories, but it was too late. The next scene was already beginning to play in his mind.

(Early July, 2005)

The very last person Draco had expected to run into in Diagon Alley was a very pregnant Ginny Weasley. And he certainly hadn't expected her to sit down at his table at the small café he frequented there and strike up a conversation as though they were the best of friends, rather than almost complete strangers. But he wasn't at all surprised when she steered the subject of the conversation to the very last person he wanted to talk about: Harry Potter.

"He talks about you sometimes, you know. To Teddy—he's Harry's godson, but of course you knew that already. Remus and Tonks' son. You remember. Well, anyways, he's always saying how you can't judge a book by its pictures, or some silly Muggle saying like that." She laughed, as though she had just made the wittiest joke in the world, and Draco suppressed a groan. He would not let the infernal woman see how much she was trying his patience.

Suddenly, Ginny's face turned serious. "Some days, I wonder if it's you he loved, and not me at all. The look on his face when he talks about you…" She trailed off, and it was a good thing she seemed distracted by her thoughts, because the fabled Malfoy composure cracked a little at her words. He had no trouble pulling his customary sneer back onto his face at her next words, however.

"Ah, well. He still chose me in the end, so I suppose it doesn't matter, does it?"

Draco stood, his contempt clear on his face. "Just because Potter wanted to do what was best for everyone else, it doesn't follow that it was best for him. He would have chosen me, if you hadn't taken a tumble in the hay and gotten yourself knocked up like the tart you are. And we both know it." He stalked off, resolving to find a new café to frequent.

Draco smirked slightly. At least the Weaselette had finally admitted that he had been right about her erstwhile husband, even if she hadn't had the guts to admit it to him face-to-face. Then too, it was nice for people to recognize that he alone was suited to certain tasks, even if those tasks happened to be finding run-away wizards. And the girl had said that he was their last hope. He scowled across the room, as though the bookshelves lining the far wall had offended him somehow, and collapsed into the overstuffed armchair that he reserved for his heaviest thinking. Was he actually considering helping the Weasels? After everything they'd done to him? And Potter, too. Potter certainly didn't deserve his help. In fact, he deserved to be condemned to the deepest depths of Hell.

He sighed softly. He was going to end up doing it anyways. Damned if he was going to enjoy it, but he would end up doing it. Even after the rejection, and all the intervening years, he still had a soft spot for Potter. And besides, it just might be worth it to see the look on the faces of the Weasel clan when they saw who the youngest had brought in to find their precious Harry.

Before he could change his mind, he summoned parchment, ink, and quill to himself, and scrawled out a brief message.

"Miss Potter:

"Loathe as I am to associate myself with your family, I owe your father a debt for freeing myself, and the rest of the Wizarding world, from the Dark Lord. Thus, I will reluctantly agree to aid you in your search. Please call on me at Malfoy Manor at your earliest convenience, and be prepared to supply such details of your father's disappearance and the search so far as you are able to obtain.

"-Draco, Lord Malfoy."

Rolling up the parchment, he stalked out of his office and up a flight of stairs to the Manor's owlery. Selecting a regal-looking eagle owl that usually carried his business correspondence, he fixed the letter to the bird's leg, and instructed it to deliver it to Lily Potter. The owl gave a soft hoot that sounded to Draco like an agreement, and took off.

I just hope I know what the bloody hell I'm getting myself into. Associating with Potters and Weasels. I must be mad.

A/N: Dates are estimated based on timelines and other information from the Harry Potter Lexicon. If I made any mistakes calculating, please feel free to correct my math.

Animegurl008 : Thank you so much for being my first review! I hope you continue to enjoy the story.