Becoming

Author's Note: Many thanks to my beta for this chapter, Angel.

Chapter 14 March 20th, 2000

There was no reason for the eight hundred count Egyptian cotton sheets that surrounded my body to be itchy, but they were. With every minute that ticked by I grew more and more uncomfortable in bed, but I couldn't seem to draw myself away from it. After leaving the Burrow Saturday evening, I wandered the Manor gardens for hours, wondering how Harry's wedding was progressing and whether or not they were already off to some romantic honeymoon location. I didn't even know what sort of travel Harry had done in the past, or what sights he'd like to see on such a special vacation as that, but for some reason I couldn't stop imagining him in well fitting swim trunks, lounging on a towel in the sand.

I could clearly picture a whitewashed beach house nestled in a forest of palm trees, with giant windows on one side that overlooked the crystal blue ocean. I could hear the seagulls calling him into the warm water and I could even feel the blazing sun bearing down. Although, in my mind, it wasn't a feisty redhead that accompanied him on this tropical trip, it was me. It would be my pale skin that Harry lathered with sunscreen so that my fair complexion didn't burn to a crisp; it would be my hands that pulled him playfully into the surf and my lips that he would lick the salt from. It would be our beach house and our vacation and our happily-ever-after. But alas, after trying to win Harry's heart for more than a year, I had failed in the ultimate way and would soon be bombarded with news articles and magazine covers featuring the new happy couple: Mr. and Mrs. Potter.

I had easily found the grave marker placed in mother's favorite rose bed, the one that had my father's name engraved upon it. He wasn't buried there of course, his body was still in an Azkaban cell, but we felt his spirit was here with us. He used to walk the vast Manor gardens with mother all the time, they both found the air and the aroma of blooming flowers to be their only respite from the hectic life of the Pureblood elite. Although, I always believed that father was there more for the company than for the roses.

"You'd be so disappointed in me, Father," I told the solitary granite monument, tracing my fingertips along the words carved there. 'Lucius Abraxas Malfoy' it read, 'Beloved husband and father'. He was beloved, even if he was a generally bad and manipulative man. Had he been alive and with us still, he would have prevented this tragedy between Harry and I. He would have pulled me aside in the beginning and blasted me for even having an inkling of kind emotion toward Harry Potter. He would have called Harry a meddling brat and I would have been indignant at first, but in the end I would have listened, because I always heeded my father's words.

"I went and fell in love, even though I knew it was doomed from the very start," I told the stone. "He's so perfect for me, though. I think, had you had the chance to know him, you might have thought so, too."

I knew that was a lie. Father's prejudice against Harry ran through his very blood, stemmed from a time when I was just a baby and the green-eyed boy had conquered our master. His master, I corrected myself silently. Voldemort never was mine. I only liked to use stories about him to make my classmates fear and respect me, although that was until I met the fearsome creature. The moment I saw what Voldemort was truly like and viciously capable of I stopped speaking of him altogether out of fear for my own life.

"I suppose you needn't worry, though. He's gone forever for me now. He's married another and left me broken. Oh, Father," I sobbed, falling to my knees in the dirt and leaning my head against the gravestone. "You would hate me for how weak I've become. You would cast me out and disown me as your son. How could I have strayed so far from your path in so short a time?"

I started when I felt a cool hand on my shoulder, but I recognized my mother's perfume even over that of the roses. "Your father will always love you, Draco, just as I do. We would have eventually accepted anyone you brought home to us as long as they made you happy."

I laughed, a harsh a bitter sound, but my mother remained unaffected by it. "It's easy to say that now that he's no longer here to defend his views. Please, do not try to placate me with lies, Mother. I knew my father and I know what he would say to me now if he were here."

"I knew your father, too," she replied, her haughty tone returning. "You'd be wise to see that I knew him longer and far more intimately than you, my Son. I cannot count the nights he laid awake worried over you."

"Worried that his only son would bring shame to the Malfoy name," I sighed, no longer containing the energy to spout the words as the venom I thought them to be. "I've certainly done an excellent job at that."

"Your father sullied the name 'Malfoy' the moment he put it in league with Tom Riddle," she replied sharply. "There was no name left to tarnish by the time you took the mantle, so I wouldn't worry over it too much, Draco. What's important now is that I love you and you'll always be precious to me, even if you think yourself broken."

She left after that, not one to prolong sweet sentiments and endearing gestures. I wish I had inherited either of my parent's polished marble facades. It would have made coping with my heartbreak over Harry much easier. As it was, I left my father's grave, trying to trust in my mother's words that he was, in fact, more proud of me than disgraced.

Once I made it up to my room Sunday morning, I never left again. Mother called on me a few times but I never answered the door for her. I couldn't bring myself to have a conversation while my heart felt as though it was splitting into a thousand pieces. All I could do was lie in my plush bed and think of Harry Potter. His eyes, his smile, the way he ran his hand through his already messy hair, the way he chewed on his bottom lip, the way it felt to kiss those perfect lips. I was sunk, and there was no way out for me.

Sleep never came to me, even though I could feel the harsh sting of the still air on my unblinking eyes as I stared up at the ceiling above me. I wasn't sure if sleep would be a blessing or a curse. On one hand, it might be just what I needed to blissfully depart from reality for just a while, but on the other hand, it might only serve to make my nightmares of Harry more vivid and impossible to cope with. I couldn't decide which was worse, the images I had of him lounging in the sun, or the night terrors I would surely have of being forced to watch him marry that bint?

Before I knew it, the sun had come up and it was morning again and I hadn't slept a wink. I could see the amber light streaming in through the cracks of my drawn curtains, casting the room in unwanted light. Darkness would do just fine for my wallowing mood; the sun could call on me on another day. When I heard a soft knock at the door I ignored it once again, hoping mother wouldn't be too terribly offended. I wasn't going to be good company for anyone, not anytime soon at least.

Although, she was rather persistent this morning it seemed, and it wasn't long before her powerful wand broke through my simple locking spells and she came bustling into my room with a tray. She placed it by the bed, ignoring my scowl, and set about pouring two cups of tea. When finished, she sipped upon one, while letting the other hover over to where I had turned away from her.

"There was a very entertaining article in the paper this morning," she noted casually, the teacup still nudging my back. "I thought you might want to have a look."

"Doubtful," I muttered, pulling the covers over my head to escape her.

"Oh, Draco dear, do stop being so melodramatic. Perhaps it's simply a picture of the Weasley girl falling as she made her way down the aisle," she chuckled.

The image of Ginevra in a pristine white gown, floating toward the altar and her waiting fiancé came unbidden to my mind. Then it quickly morphed, and Ginevra was toppling down, having tripped on an invisible foot -probably mine- and sent sprawling for the entire congregation to see. The fall was soon followed by my pinning and strangling her, but I took a deep breath and shook my head. "Sorry, Mother. I'm afraid not even that will cheer me today."

"Draco, I demand you turn over this instant," she commanded, her tone that of a woman who refused to be trifled with. "Have a cup of tea and read this paper."

I rolled my eyes and luckily I was still turned away so that she wouldn't see, before doing as she asked. I propped myself up on my pillows and jerked the hovering teacup from the air, spilling a bit of it on me in my haste. I downed the contents in three gulps and held my hand out for the paper. Mother looked on as if I'd sprouted three heads for having such atrocious manners, but placed the folded parchment in my hand regardless.

There, in full color brilliance, was a picture of Harry walking out of the wedding and a sobbing Weasley girl falling into her angry brother's arms. What in Merlin's name had happened after I left? The headline stated the obvious from the photographic evidence provided, 'Harry Potter Leaves Ginevra Weasley at the Altar'.

I nearly whooped for joy in that same instant, but held my tongue before I read further. Who knew how accurate the photo or headline actually was. Reporters were always trying to drum up scandalous news on their reluctant hero.

'Harry Potter, best known throughout the world for his defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was scheduled to marry his fiancée of two years, Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley just after the stroke of midnight on the first day of spring. The wedding, it appeared, wasn't meant to be.

Witnesses report the groom looked antsy as he made his way to the altar, and even though his bride came down the aisle looking radiant in a custom St. Pucci gown, his demeanor didn't lighten throughout the ceremony. The openings were read, vows exchanged, but when handed the rings, Mr. Potter was reported to have gone mad. No one in the audience heard the exact exchange of what made Harry Potter leave his soon-to-be wife, and members of the bridal party have been unavailable for questioning so far. It was said, however, that Hermione Granger, purported best friend to Mr. Potter and wife of his best man, Ronald Weasley, chased after the fleeing groom.

Many have speculated that Potter and Granger have been carrying on a secret affair behind their partner's backs. This reporter is ready and waiting for an announcement that my loyal readers will know I predicted when Harry Potter was merely a boy of fourteen.

Rita Skeeter, Witch Weekly'

I shuddered for Harry, knowing that this article would serve to worsen his relationship with the Weasley family, even more so than running out on their youngest member had surely done. It was horrid timing, although, if I had my way Saturday night I would have taken him away with me, which wouldn't have been much better for poor Ginevra. Now the she was no longer clinging to Harry's hand and name, I found that I didn't hate the girl so much as I used to.

"So?" Mother prodded. "Good news, yes?"

"I suppose," I conceded, "but I have no idea why Harry left, and that was in the early hours of yesterday, suppose he's gone back to her already, or maybe there really is some truth to the bit about him and Granger?" I added with another shudder.

"Rubbish," she replied, as if she knew something that I didn't. "My Galleons are on the fact that he left her for you."

"Now you're being ridiculous, Mother," I chastised for getting my hopes up for even a second. "If that were the case, why hasn't he been to see me?"

"Well, he's here now," she informed me.

"What?" I gasped, my heart racing as my mind tried to play catch up with what she'd just said.

"He arrived an hour ago. We've been having a little chat, he and I, and I believe he has some things to tell you," she explained.

"Why didn't you tell me?!" I shouted, pulling off the covers and running for the door.

"I did." Her tone was both haughty and slightly offended, but I had no use for trying to make her feel better at the moment.

"You could have led with that bit of important information," I hissed, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror and pausing in my tracks. I looked dreadful, there were dark circles under my eyes, my hair was disheveled and greasy looking. I was a mess, and I didn't want Harry to see me this way.

"You likely would have passed him off if I hadn't made you aware of his wedding cancellation first," she noted wisely. "If you still thought he was married, you wouldn't have wanted to see him."

Her logic was sound, but it didn't matter. I wasn't actually angry with her; I wasn't capable of being angry with anyone at this very moment.

I cast a series of cleansing Charms on myself, while I ran to my closet, tearing it apart looking for the right thing. What did one where to meet the man of his dreams when it turned out his dreams might have come true after all? Honestly, it would serve the git right for everything he had put me through if I were to make him wait downstairs while I took a nice, long, luxurious bath. Let him sit and wonder if I had changed my mind about him for once, but I couldn't bring myself to delay any longer, so I slipped into a pair of well-fitting denims and a deep gray jumper and sprinted down the stairs after kissing my mother quickly on the forehead.

I stopped when I reached the last step and took a slow, deliberate breath; around that corner would be Harry, and I had no idea what to say to him. My hand shook like autumn leaves as I took that final step and rounded the corner into the small sitting room off the foyer. He sat in an armchair facing the door but his head was down, so he didn't see me at first. His hands fidgeted blindly in his lap and then his head came up sharply, meeting my gaze.

"Draco," he whispered, as if awed by my very presence. I nodded and slowly made my way to a chair across from him, but I didn't sit down, I stood behind it, using the upholstered furniture like an emotional shield, waiting for the moment he told me my mother had misunderstood him and that he was in fact still in love with Ginevra, or some tripe.

"Harry," I greeted in return, unsure of what else to say.

"I suppose you've already heard?" he asked awkwardly.

"About the wedding?" I asked, and he nodded. "Yes. I've heard."

He stood then, and walked over to stand in front of the chair I was clinging to the back of, its brocade fabric and strong wooden frame the only thing between us. "I'll have you know that it's all your fault," he whispered, a subtle smile curling at his lips.

"Is it, now?" I asked him, my own smile betraying my joy at his words. How was it I was able to forget all the bad and feel nothing but warmth from his gaze? I suppose that's what father was referring to when he told me that love would make me foolish. "I wasn't even there."

"Yes, you were," he corrected, his eyes lighting up like brilliant green flames. "You're always there. I can't stop thinking about you, Draco. I couldn't marry Ginny when I think about you more than I think about her."

I held my breath, hoping that I wasn't imagining this sudden admission of affection, wishing that he would just shut up and kiss me already. "Just so you know, I don't forgive you for returning my ring and breaking my heart," I told him, though my tone was playful. I did forgive him; I could forgive him anything if he promised to want me forever.

"That's okay," he replied, his face still shining with happiness, "I don't forgive you for ruining my wedding."

I laughed then, and left my shield behind as I went to his side, my hand extended for him to take. So many times this simple gesture had been tested; so many times I had felt the sting of rejection as he passed me aside for someone else, but not this time. Just as he held me the afternoon that Dementors took my father's soul, he held me now. His hand was strong and warm in my own and I pulled him close to me, relishing in how well our bodies fit together. "Maybe we can talk about it over breakfast?" I suggested, pulling him beside me toward the dining room, but Harry seemed to have other plans.

He stopped us in the hall and cupped my face in his strong hands, watching closely as my breath quickened. "I love you, Draco Malfoy," he confessed, and my heart fluttered violently at the sentiment.

"I think you're alright, too," I told him, my mirth at his second of doubt showing clearly on my face. He expertly wiped it away with his lips as he pulled me into a blinding kiss. Stars burst behind my eyes and my whole body responded to his touch like no other.

Our tongues danced for dominance, Harry easily winning, but I didn't mind. I melted against him, knowing that he was finally mine, knowing that this would only be the first of many kisses to follow. I moaned for him and his hands darted from my face to feather through my hair, before slipping down around my waist and pulling me closer, as if he were trying to pull my body inside of his.

I was out of breath when we broke apart, but I smiled at him, a smile that for the first time in over a year wasn't tinged with sorrow. "Okay, so I suppose I love you, too," I conceded, laughing at his boyish grin.

He took my hand; pulling me in the direction I had been leading us before. "Now that we have that settled, where is this breakfast you spoke of?"

Author's Note: Aw, so I could just end it there, what do you say? More? lol. Well, I'm writing more anyhow...