Summary: Potter and Malfoy have always been enemies. This time it starts out as just another fight. Just another attack. But something is different this time, and Malfoy doesn't know what, but somehow, even though it's wrong, it feels so good.
A pretty dark take on this pairing, sort of a "What if?" moment from anywhere after HBP.
Categories: Harry/Draco Characters: None
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Book 7 Disregarded, Character Death, Slash
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 2
Completed: Yes
Word count: 2457
Read: 9619
Published: 06/25/07
Updated: 07/14/07
1. So Good by Valentinia
2. Malfoy by Valentinia
Author's Notes:
Okay, I wouldn't say this is my best fic ever by a long shot - and it's my very first take on this pairing. But the bunny just wouldn't leave me alone, so here it is, the work of about an hour.
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it belongs to J.K. Rowling. It's as simple as that.
Oh, and I'm going to go ahead and dedicate this fic to my friend Cindy because it's all her fault I stowed away on this ship of which she might as well be first mate.
Potter
by Valentinia
“Oh yes, precious Potter, still mourning his precious Weaselby… Ever the hero, aren’t we Potter?”
“How dare you… How dare you insult her memory…”
“She was worthless, Potter. And you didn’t love her. I could see it, Potter, I could see how fake it was…for both of you…”
The rage “ he always was easily enraged “ is evident on his face. Self-righteous Saint Potter, ever the hero.
“Because you and Parkinson had such a meaningful relationship…” he tries to goad.
Ridiculous. As if it were that easy to get under the skin of a Malfoy.
“Was that an attempt at sarcasm, Potter? Because I’ll tell you freely that that slut meant nothing to me at all. She was easily thrown aside.”
“You’re disgusting. You really only care about your sick little self, don’t you? You just don’t give a damn, even about your so-called friends.”
He’s never really had friends, so he can’t tell if Potter might be right. He scoffs. Since when has Potter been able to tell him “ or anyone for that matter “ about emotions. Poor, abused, neglected Saint Potter with his scar and his famous parents. What does Potter know of real pain?
“She wasn’t a friend, even in the broadest definition of the term, Potter. She was there for amusement “ to be used and then got rid of. She served her purpose.”
“You’re pathetic, Malfoy. You think you’re tough “ but you’re just a Mommy’s boy, aren’t you? Always trying to impress your dear Death Eater daddy…”
“How dare you insult my father Potter! Worthless half-blood, you’re not worthy of licking my boots, no matter what some Muggle-loving idiot tells you.”
He can’t believe that Potter has brought his father into this. What does his father have to do with anything? His father who has fallen out of favor with the Dark Lord because of Saint Potter and his need to play the hero every chance he gets.
“Oh, you mean the Muggle-loving idiot you had to get Snape to help you finish off?”
This isn’t the way he’s supposed to react! Saint Potter staying calm? And how does Potter know about that moment of… of weakness? Of compassion? No. Weakness. It was weakness that stilled his hand and Potter has no right to know of… to speak of…
“Nothing to say, ferret boy?”
He has to say something, he can’t let Potter get away with knowing and with rubbing it in his face. He’s always had one over Potter, he’s always been the stronger, hasn’t he?
“I finished off the Weasley slut, didn’t I?”
He’s done it. With satisfaction he sees the anger alight in Potter’s eyes. It’s not true, of course, but Potter doesn’t know that now does he?
“You… you disgusting… pathetic…You’re just a… weak… sick…”
He grinds his teeth, because Potter isn’t even being coherent and he’s still making him furious. Malfoys are not weak. Malfoys are not pathetic. Malfoys are proud and powerful and even Saint Potter should have the sense to show some fear, damn it. Well, he’s played his trump and he’s going to get every second of pleasure out of it. It’s all or nothing now.
“Oh no, Potter, I am not weak. She screamed Potter, she screamed for you and where were you? Ever the hero and you couldn’t even save your own precious girlfriend.”
This is true, she did scream for Potter up until the end. Even he had felt cold when the Dark Lord had finished her off, even he had expected Potter to the rescue. But too late. Too late. And somehow he wanted her to live, but he’s relieved that she’s gone and it all doesn’t really make sense anyway. Potter isn’t responding. Good. He doesn’t know what to say. Malfoy can see Potter’s anger behind his bright green eyes and he takes pleasure in knowing that he caused it.
“Nothing to say, scar-head?” he taunts, mocking Potter’s earlier attempt at wit.
Suddenly, Potter’s wand is up against his throat. He hadn’t seen that coming. Why not? Malfoys are always prepared, and he’s been trained by the best, hasn’t he? So why could Potter, Mr. Rash, take him by surprise? The wand is biting into his sensitive flesh and he hates the feeling of weakness.
“You’re lying. You’re lying,” Potter grinds out. Malfoy is surprised he can even get words out in his righteous anger.
“You’ll never know will you, Potter?”
He can’t help shaking a little bit, because he knows that Potter is near using an Unforgivable, and because of something else, but he’s not sure what it is. His anger at Potter, his enjoyment in watching the filth squirm… it’s different now. More personal. It’s not just Saint Potter he’s going after, it’s Harry, of the bright green eyes.
Where the hell did that come from?
“I’ll kill you, Malfoy.”
He knows that the Gryffindor Hero isn't brave enough, no matter what the Sorting Hat thought. He knows that Potter is just as weak as he is, he knows that Saint Potter could never kill anyone. He knows that Potter is just talking, that he would never. That he is too weak. But is he? Is Potter really weak like him or is Potter truly compassionate?
“Do it then, Potter,” Malfoy hisses, knowing that he won’t, and almost hoping that he will, but mostly just beyond caring.
“I will, I’m warning you, I will…”
Malfoy just laughs because he knows that Potter doesn’t have the guts, that Potter is just as much a coward as he is. And it’s so good to know that Saint Potter is just as useless, just as weak, just as scared.
Here he stands, quivering a little, Potter standing over him, holding a wand to his throat but shaking just as much. And he doesn’t really know what makes him do it, because he knows that it’s wrong and it’s disgusting and he isn’t like that , and especially not with Potter.
And he tells himself that he’s just doing it to get Potter to lower his wand, but somewhere, a part of him is yelling that no, this is right, no, this is courage, no, this is good.
And that part wins, and even when the wand is thrown aside, he doesn’t stop, and when Potter opens his lips, Malfoy doesn’t really care if this is wrong or right or disgusting or beautiful, and he doesn’t care what his father would think and he doesn’t care about being powerful anymore, even.
He just knows that he’s kissing Potter. And that it feels so good.
“Oh yes, precious Potter, still mourning his precious Weaselby… Ever the hero, aren’t we Potter?”
He hates the other man for even saying her name, because her name makes him hate himself too, because he didn’t save her. Because he should have. How can he say her name without flinching? He feels the rage building in himself, and he hates the other man.
“How dare you… How dare you insult her memory…”
“She was worthless, Potter. And you didn’t love her. I could see it, Potter, I could see how fake it was… for both of you…”
It wasn’t fake, he knows it wasn’t fake, he knows that they loved each other, he knows that what they had was real. He left her for her own protection. But sometimes he wonders if it would have worked “ could have worked “ if she had lived. And then he hates himself for his relief that they didn’t have to work it out. But it’s not like Malfoy of all people can tell him about love. Malfoy, the spoiled pureblood, what does he know of true love?
“Because you and Parkinson had such a meaningful relationship…”
“Was that an attempt at sarcasm, Potter? Because I’ll tell you freely that that slut meant nothing to me at all. She was easily thrown aside.”
How can it be so easy for him to talk about her? How can he admit that he didn’t care for her? The slime ball really feels no emotions, he decides, he doesn’t even know what loyalty or friendship mean.
“You’re disgusting. You really only care about your sick little self, don’t you? You just don’t give a damn, even about your so-called friends.”
“She wasn’t a friend, even in the broadest definition of the term, Potter. She was there for amusement “ to be used and then got rid of. She served her purpose.”
It’s awful how Malfoy can just shut people out. He hates himself for almost wishing that he could be the same, that he could just not care, could just use people and be over with it. And he hates Malfoy for being so disgusting “ so pathetic! “ but he hates himself even more for almost envying him for it. Almost.
“You’re pathetic, Malfoy. You think you’re tough “ but you’re just a Mommy’s boy, aren’t you? Always trying to impress your dear Death Eater daddy…”
He knows that that blow is below the belt on some level, but Malfoy has already thrown all rules to the wind. How dare he have mentioned her! He deserves every moment of torment Harry can give him.
“How dare you insult my father Potter! Worthless half-blood, you’re not worthy of licking my boots, no matter what some Muggle-loving idiot tells you.”
How Malfoy dares insult Dumbledore is beyond him. Dumbledore, who would have saved the ungrateful arse. Dumbledore, a powerful wizard, a caring man, a wise mentor, a brilliant fighter. The entire world is mourning Dumbledore, and he just stands there, his would-be murderer, calling him childish names. Some how, Harry isn’t even that angry anymore, just disgusted with the ease with which Malfoy talks of Dumbledore. Malfoy, the cowardly Slytherin who couldn’t even finish the job he set out to complete.
“Oh, you mean the Muggle-loving idiot you had to get Snape to help you finish off?”
Malfoy says nothing, and he feels a moment of triumph. He, too, has grown up and he knows that Malfoy doesn’t know how to answer to that. A dose of his own foul, Slytherin medicine.
“Nothing to say, ferret boy?”
“I finished off the Weasley slut, didn’t I?”
And suddenly every feeling of self-control is gone, gone with the words that just left that disgusting mouth. He killed her? Him. It was him. It’s all his fault. The thought reverberates in his heart, even as his brain tells him that Malfoy is lying, that Malfoy is too weak to have commit murder. His fault, his fault, his fault. Somehow, it helps, to think like that. His fault, his fault, his fault. How dare he?
“You… you disgusting… pathetic…You’re just a… weak… sick…”
He feels satisfaction seeing Malfoy grinding his teeth in frustration. He was always sensitive about his precious pride. Why? Why, when all the world knows how weak he truly is?
“Oh no, Potter, I am not weak. She screamed Potter, she screamed for you and where were you? Ever the hero and you couldn’t even save your own precious girlfriend.”
No matter how much is a lie, this, he knows is true. And it hurts him. It hurts, knowing that Malfoy is right, knowing that he should have saved her. He saved a girl he didn’t even know when he was fourteen, didn’t he? He rushed to Sirius’s aid when Sirius didn’t need him, didn’t he? He was responsible for that death, and for hers too, because he got there, but too late, too late. He misses her, and he knows that he should have saved her. And he hates Malfoy for smirking in his face while saying it, telling all the world of his own weakness, of his own failure. He should have saved her! He should have…
“Nothing to say, scar-head?”
Something inside of him just cracks. He isn’t thinking anymore, really, he just wants everything Malfoy is saying to be a lie, he just wants her to be alive again, he just wants to hurt the man who has done his best to ruin his life for years.
He surprises even himself, disarming Malfoy, and holding his wand against the pale white throat. A part of him wants to kill the cocky arse, who still doesn’t have the decency to look afraid. But really, all he wants is for it all to be over, for it all never to have happened, for him to be lying.
“You’re lying. You’re lying,” he manages.
“You’ll never know will you, Potter?” comes the mocking taunt.
No, he won’t know, will he? He’ll always wonder… but he still wants the satisfaction of seeing ferret boy suffer. Seeing him in pain. Killing… He isn’t thinking straight he knows, but something about Malfoy’s face just makes him feel such anger, such rage, he feels he could do it. He could kill.
“I’ll kill you, Malfoy.”
“Do it then, Potter.”
He hates how calm the other boy is remaining, he wants him to be afraid, he wants him to show the cowardly side that has always dominated his weak character. He wants to feel power of him. And somewhere, a little bit of him hates himself for thinking like that, but mostly he just doesn’t think anymore, because it’s too far gone for that, really.
“I will, I’m warning you, I will…”
Suddenly, he feels Malfoy’s mouth moving against his, and without thinking he gives in, throws his wand aside, knows that he is safe for this instant, here, with Malfoy. He doesn’t really know why he doesn’t pull back, only that this feels right, in some way.
And he’s seen too many deaths to kid himself, he knows that this is war, that his life could be over tomorrow, that this could be his last night, his last moment, his last kiss.
Yet somehow, there is a feeling of life growing in him that he has seldom felt before. This might be his last kiss, but to Harry, it is the first.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.