Harry Potter Day

"I'm sorry, Mister Malfoy," his father's solicitor was saying. "I'm afraid your family vaults have been sealed, in accordance with the Ministry. Until your father is released from Azkaban, there's no touching them."

"So I've got no money, then? Nothing for school?"

"Of course the Ministry will give you and your mother a small stipend with which to live." He sounded bored.

"My mother will use it all on clothes," he complained. "This won't do."

"My apologies again, Mister Malfoy." He paused to look at Draco appraisingly. "Say, you do realize I charge by the hour? This is costing you fourteen galleons---"

"Sod off!"

He turned around and stomped out of his office, resolute to try the bank. His grandmother had given him a trust fund when he was a baby, surely that could be accessed?

---

"No, sir, I'm afraid every single Malfoy vault has been frozen."

Draco gritted his teeth. The beady-eyed goblin was giving him murderous impulses. "It's my money! I have a right to it. What, do you think the Dark Lord sits around and deposits money into our vaults? Be serious here!"

"This is not Gringotts' concern," the goblin bleated. "Take it up with the Ministry."

"How am I supposed to live?" Draco wailed. "I'm going to have to start cooking our house elves!"

The beastly little thing sighed. "Well, as I understand it, a Wealthy Student at Hogwarts has set up a help service for Needy Students."

Draco nearly choked. "Charity?! You have got to be kidding." The goblin didn't even blink. "Who is it, then?" he snapped. "Who am I going to have to avoid the whole year?"

The goblin looked down to check his papers. "Aha. Here it is." He held out a small white card. Draco tried to take it from his fingers without actually touching the creature.

'HARRY POTTER - HELPING THE HELPLESS.' A tiny animated lightening bolt flashed at him. Draco yelped and dropped the card as if he'd been burned.

"He always was such a brave little lad," the goblin sighed.

---

The first day of term found Draco self-consciously tugging at his robes (from last year! the horror! he was out of season!) and wishing like hell he wore Crabbe's size. It did not help, either, that Pansy had heard of his predicament and was harping on about it loudly enough for the whole train to hear.

"Oh, Draco," she whined, "I missed having you along for lunch, but mother said letting someone in without proper wardrobe was like fornicating with a Hippogriff."

"I'm sure your mother is an expert on the subject," he muttered, although Pansy didn't notice.

"Theodore came over instead," she continued, oblivious to his glare, "he's so clever! He was telling me about how he once tricked these Muggles into thinking he was a pot-bellied pig---"

"That's clever? For Merlin's sake, Pansy, I could convince Weasley I was a pig if he was hungry enough."

She cooed and patted his arm. "Don't be bitter now that you're common, dear."

"A Malfoy," he said, scandalized, "is never common."

"I'm sure once your dad gets out of Azkaban things will return to normal." Her voice dropped considerably. "You know, I have heard... of this service."

"Oh?" He tried not to act interested.

"Yes. Apparently... Harry Potter's got this fund---"

"YOU LITTLE BITCH," he shrieked, "I am NOT asking Potter for money."

"What's the matter, Malfoy?" he heard Potter's voice drawl lazily (DRAWL! That was his trademark!) from where he stood, just at the entrance to their compartment. "My galleons aren't gold enough for you?"

"I'm not taking your Mudblood money," he growled.

"Come on, Malfoy." He sounded tired, weary, selfless. Draco wanted to bash his head in. "It's just money. You need it. I can give it to you."

"I WOULD RATHER FUCK YOU, POTTER, THAN TAKE YOUR GODDAMNED MONEY."

Pansy gasped and shrunk back in her seat. Potter shrugged. "Suit yourself." He turned to leave, but just as he did something fell out of his robe pocket. "Whoops," he laughed, bending over and retrieving... the very same dragon-hide wallet Draco requested for his last birthday. The one you had to SPECIAL ORDER. "Damned thing is so new and slippery; it falls out all the time."

Pansy giggled. A few galleons had fallen to the floor. Potter picked those up in turn. "Here," he said, after studying the coins in his palm for a moment. "Pretty token for a pretty girl." As Draco gaped, Potter threw a galleon at Pansy. "Don't spend it all at once!" he kidded. And winked.

Winked. Draco was sure he was dead and in hell. Potter finally left him alone with Pansy, who was turning the galleon over and ogling it like she'd never seen one before.

"Well, I guess Gryffindors are good for something," she giggled again. "Merlin, did you see now nicely Potter filled out? And he's rich!"

Pansy talked about him the whole ride to Hogwarts. Draco began to plot not only Potter's death, but Pansy's and his own.

---

He was, Draco realized, receiving some awfully odd stares as he took his place in the Great Hall. He wondered if they'd heard about his financial status.

"Did you hear?" someone in Gryffindor whispered. "Malfoy's fucking Harry." Draco choked. "For money."

Everyone at Draco's table scooted away from him, though they all looked impressed against their will.

"Tell Potter's catamite to pass the salt," Nott sneered.

---

Potions was supposed to be his refuge. Potions was supposed to be where he could throw things at Gryffindors and get fifty points for each perfect shot. Potions was, he reflected, not supposed to be like this.

It started simply enough. He threw a beetle into Potter's cauldron. Snape saw. "Twenty points from Slytherin, Mister Malfoy."

Draco froze. "S-sir?" He couldn't believe it. "Did you say something?"

Snape sneered. "Ten more for impudence."

"I..." Pansy reached over and elbowed him in the stomach. "Yes, sir."

"You'll stay behind after class, Mister Malfoy," Snape instructed, pinning Draco with a level stare. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir." He sunk down in his chair.

---

After all the students cleared out, Draco gingerly stood up from his table and went round to Snape's desk. The professor sat grading papers but looked up at Draco's approach.

"Mister Malfoy."

"You... you wanted a word, Severus?"

Snape's lip curled. "Mister Malfoy, it would be wise to refer to me by my proper title. 'Professor Snape.'"

Draco shrunk back as if slapped. He'd been calling Severus SEVERUS since he was four years old and could manage the inane syllables. "Of... of course, sir. Um. You wanted to speak with me, professor?"

"Yes." He dropped his quill and crossed his arms. "I'm afraid that under the circumstances, your status as a Prefect will have to be revoked."

Draco sputtered. "What? But why?"

"This school does not set examples by putting the children of criminals in power, Mister Malfoy."

"Children of criminals?! But you're a..." he lowered his voice to a whisper, in case anyone was listening. "You're a Death Eater, sir! You support our lord!" His tone was turning frantic.

Snape frowned. "Not for a great many years, Malfoy. Voldemort received word of my treachery this last summer. I no longer have to play the part."

"You--- you---" As Draco was trying to decide exactly what Snape was, Harry Potter knocked.

"Hey, Sev," he grinned, striding in like a great big stupid Gryffindor ponce that Draco wanted to kill. "You busy?"

"Not at all, Harry." Draco's mouth dropped to the floor. Neither paid him any mind. Instead, they gave each other a complex-looking series of high-fives. "Hey, you've got something on your..." Snape pointed to a spot on Potter's jumper. Potter looked down. Snape poked his nose. "Haha! Wotcher, Harry."

"I... I..." Draco stuttered. "I have to get... out of here." He grabbed his satchel and shot out of his chair, streaking past them.

"Malfoy," Potter shouted, "hold up!"

He wouldn't have stopped if he wasn't afraid Snape would take more points. The man was insane. INSANE! "What is it, Potter?" He was clutching his satchel close to his chest, arms crossed over it. He felt all of five years old.

"It's..." Potter sighed. "You know. About your being poor now."

Hotly, Draco snarled "None of your business."

Potter sighed again, putting a concerned hand on Draco's shoulder. His green eyes were wide. "I know what it's like. I grew up... underfed. Wearing hand-me-downs. I know the shame. The complete, utter shame." Draco wrenched away, horrified, and began running. "YOU MUST KEEP ON LIVING, DRACO," Potter yelled after him, "EVEN WHEN YOU WANT TO DIE."

---

When he returned to his common room, there was a whole group of people huddled in the corner near the fireplace. Draco sat down his satchel (which was now rather rumpled) and wandered over, trying to take his mind off things.

"No, no, you've got it on the wrong side," a second-year grunted, gesturing to Crabbe.

"No, I've got it!" Crabbe grunted.

Another second-year snickered at him. Draco used his elbows to work through the small crowd. "That looks nothing like it, Vince."

"Does too!" Crabbe snarled defensively.

"It's like a lightening bolt, not... steps."

The words made Draco's blood run cold. He pushed at Crabbe's shoulder, and when the other boy turned around...

"What the FUCK?" he managed to squeak.

Crabbe blinked at him, eyes magnified underneath his round black spectacles. A blue smudge (very much resembling stairs) marked the left side of his forehead. "It's Harry Potter Day tomorrow," Crabbe explained. "We're all going to dress up when he gets his award."

"Award? Award? What award?"

"It's new," Crabbe said, scrubbing at his blue "scar." "Dumbledore's giving it to him. Uh, Award of Bravery, or something. Since you can't give students Order of Merlin's."

Draco forced himself to very calmly walk away.

---

What they had failed to mention is that Harry Potter Day took up ALL day. Classes were cancelled, Quidditch practice was put on hold, life was held up for Harry Bloody Potter and his Day. Draco saw him prancing about the school, waving to people and giving statements to what press had already assembled.

To make matters worse, there was a newsletter. Hogwarts had never officially gotten a school paper, and it seemed the very first issue of Hogwarts Press was to commemorate Potter's... Potterness. He found a copy in the boy's showers (!!!!!), filled with facts and tidbits and pictures. The pages he'd been able to stomach went something like

"DID YOU KNOW?????? HARRY'S MIDDLE NAME IS JAMES, AFTER HIS FATHER!"

"DID YOU KNOW????? HARRY'S FAVORITE ICE CREAM IS CHOCOLATE!"

He forced himself to put it back when "DID YOU KNOW????? HARRY'S STARTED A FUND FOR UNDERPRIVALEDGED STUDENTS AT HOGWARTS!" Underneath there was a picture of Potter, smile gleaming and hideously mussed hair stirring in the wind. It was a bloody catastrophe.

The cover, which was the most accessible thing and was plastered everywhere on class notice boards and the like, had the headline: HARRY POTTER - THE HUNKIEST, HOTTEST, MOST HEROIC, AND BEST SEEKER ANYWHERE.

Suicide was really looking like the best option.

---

"And now I present to you, Harry... James... Potter!"

Next to him, Pansy screamed and erupted into applause. Draco buried his head in his hands.

Potter took the stage, beaming as cameras clicked and reporters spelled their quills to dictate. "Thank you, everyone. I can't say anything but what an incredible honor it is to be given such a reception."

More applause. Draco distinctly heard Pansy lean over to Millicent and whisper, "he's so beautiful."

"I don't deserve it, really. People have sacrificed so much more than me. I'm just a kid." Draco snorted. "I'm just... a face to this war, this war fought against darkness and evil and hate. But we must always remember... sacrifices are made on both sides. We must keep a human face on the opposing side," he said firmly. All the reporters nodded. "Take, for instance, the family of those lost to Voldemort's greed."

Murmurs, probably from the Dark Lord's name being spoken aloud. Pansy was sobbing. SOBBING!

"Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe... their fathers are in Azkaban, falling for a worthless, bloody cause. But most of all. Draco Malfoy. He's rendered poor and dependent, at the mercy of those he despises. He is human. He is... broken." Potter looked so painfully sad.

"THAT DOES IT," Draco screamed. Heads turned, cameras clicked anew in his direction. He stood up and smacked the table with his fist. "THAT'S RIGHT. MY FATHER IS IN AZKABAN. I'M POOR. BUT YOU, YOU SLIMY LITTLE GIT, PARADING AROUND WITH YOUR GOODNESS AND YOUR HUMANITY. TELLING ME I'M HUMAN AND... AND... TRYING TO SAVE ME. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! NO RIGHT!" He glared fiercely at the crowd. "AND I AM NOT A CATAMITE."

He sat back down and stared at his plate.

---

"What was that all about, Malfoy?" Potter hissed, shoving him against a wall.

Stones dug into Draco's back but he relished the feel of them. "Oh, so there IS an end to your famed kindness," he sneered. "And here I was, lied to all this time. Break my young heart."

"You!" He leveled a finger at Draco, then poked him squarely in the chest. Draco DID NOT like having Potter up in his personal space! "Don't be such an idiot. I'm trying to help you, you know!"

"That's the sodding point, you great beast," he roared, shoving Potter away. "I don't want your money and I don't want your kindness. What I want is my father out of jail, my robes specially made, and everything back the way it was."

Potter's eyes seemed to darken. "I know," he whispered, and hung his head. "Nothing can ever be like it was. I..." He bit his lip and scooted closer to Draco, who watched him warily. "I lost, too. My godfather. Sirius. I know what it's like. I mean, aside from my parents being dead, I know. Um. I know doubly. Er. Again."

"Oh, spit it out, you lunk."

Potter collected himself and looked Draco in the eye. "You don't want my help? Fine. I can deal with that... probably I can deal with that better than you can with being poor." Draco sneered but it was perfunctory. "Anyway. I guess... that's it." He sighed. "Well..."

"Well?" Draco shrilly demanded.

Potter moved even closer. "Um, Malfoy. When you said you weren't my catamite..."

He was closing in. Draco could count how many ruddy freckles the git had. He was licking his lips. "Oh EW, you're disgusting," he groaned, trying to shove Potter away with one hand. "This is not happening!"

Potter made a sound like a kicked puppy. "But Malfoy! You're so pretty. With your... hair. And you're pointy. I..." he turned soulful green eyes on Draco, begging silently.

"NO NO NO ABSOLUTELY NOT."

"But you said---"

"I know what I said, you... you... pouf!"

"Draco. Let me just..."

"AAAAGRAH!"

---

Draco woke with a jolt, panting. He cast a glance about his bedroom --- only it wasn't his bedroom, per se, it was his room as a Prefect.

"Well," he said, a bit dazed. "That was suitably horrifying."

Then he fell back asleep.

---

The next morning, Draco was alone helping himself to some porridge and generally feeling good about the world when Crabbe and Goyle took their seats next to each other.

"Morning," he chirped, on account of the universe not imploding with Potter-love. "Porridge?" He licked his finger (sugar had gotten on it) and turned his eyes on them.

Then he choked.

"Morning," Crabbe grumbled, reaching for some. He handed honey to Goyle and sniggered dumbly. "Your scar is on the wrong side, loser."

"Oh, man." Goyle scrubbed at it, trying to see his reflection in the back of a spoon. "I thought I fixed it."

"Uh..." Draco swigged some pumpkin juice. "Why are you. Why do you have a scar like Potter's?"

Goyle blinked at him. "Didn't you know? It's Harry Potter Day."

Draco screamed.