Deadlines

Why does my heart cry?

Feeling's I can't hide.

You're free to leave me, but

Just don't deceive me and please,

Believe me when I say,

I Love You.

Tango De Roxanne, Moulin Rouge

-----------------------

Lucius Malfoy stared out his first floor window at the slender form of his son and a gentle scowl marred his aquiline features. There was no flaw in Draco that he could see; his son was the picture perfect, charming, young nobleman. His manners were perfect, his breeding impeccable; he'd had every possible advantage. To no avail, it seemed. The graceful figure on the broom dived suddenly for the floor and, though for a moment the sheer speed made the elder Malfoy catch his breath in fear, a second later it became obvious that the movement was as elegantly controlled as every other. If Lucius had been the demonstrative type he might have applauded his son's athleticism, but he wasn't, and he didn't.

Where was the fault in his jewel of an only child? Where had Lucius failed as a father?

Why had Draco spent the summer alone?

The boy was sixteen years old, about to enter his penultimate year of schooling, and though both his parents had made it clear that they didn't mind a houseguest during the holidays, indeed they almost expected it, no such visitor had been forthcoming.

It had been of passing concern in his fifth year. It wouldn't have been a surprise to either senior Malfoy had Draco chosen to invite his girlfriend home for the Christmas break, he'd been precocious in every other area, after all, but it was hardly letting the side down at just fifteen.

But, despite his fathers' subtle hints before he returned to school for his summer term, the boy had remained stolidly single all year.

There had been none of the expected guests. Indeed, there hadn't been so much as a hint of a romance, or even a failed affair.

It was troublesome.

His son was the future leader of all the pureblood families, the future Baron Malfoy. There were expectations, there were appearances to be maintained, there was the Malfoy reputation to consider.

Draco wasn't doing his job, and his father could only assume it was by choice.

There was no impure grain to his carefully polished diamond; he was athletic, poised, supremely intelligent - the straight O's he'd gained in his OWLS proved that - certainly attractive, his body straight and toned, his eyes a stormy grey that could mesmerise when they had to, his hair a pure silvery blond and beyond powerful as a wizard.

The lure was perfect, yet the prey didn't take the bait.

Sighing to himself, Lucius braced himself to speak to his only son on this most delicate of matters.

Draco would have to have been far less astute than he was to have failed to read his fathers' concern.

Hovering fifty feet above the immaculately tended lawn, he knew it was only a matter of time before his father called him into his study.

The opening moves had been made in this particular game almost a year ago, and the clock had been counting down ever since then.

There had been surprised shrugs when he'd come home from school alone during his fifth year, but he'd given the perfectly reasonable excuse that, with his OWLS that year, he didn't have the time or the inclination to begin the slow, courtly dance that seducing a pureblood girl would have required of him.

The excuse had proved true when he'd received his grades. Perfect O's, joint top of the year with Hermione Granger. He couldn't have done better, and even his father had acknowledged that his judgement had been good.

But the summer holiday... the subtle nudges of his parents hadn't been missed, and neither had the frosty reception when he'd arrived home alone.

He would be returning to school tomorrow, and he knew the conversation he'd been so dreading would have to be faced tonight.

His father dropped the bombshell rather silently after dinner.

Allowing his mother to leave the table, Lucius had silently indicated that he wished Draco to follow him into his study.

Once there he'd waved the boy to a seat before the fire and had handed him a glass of very dark scotch.

Draco hid his surprise; his father had never given him spirits before.

Settling himself into the opposite chair his father stared at him for a minute or two then closed his eyes briefly.

"I wish to speak with you on a matter of some delicacy."

"Yes, father?" Draco feigned ignorance, though he knew full well what his father wanted of him.

"This...chastity of yours is becoming a matter for concern, Draco. To have given no hint of interest in any girl by this point in your life is raising eyebrows."

"I have shown interest."

"Oh?"

"Pansy Parkinson. I took her to the Yule ball in fourth year...we kissed."

"Draco that was a year and a half ago. It's not enough."

"Enough for what exactly?"

"To silence the whispers that are beginning to fly. If you'd shown any further interest in the girl that would have counted for something, but one kiss proves nothing."

Draco winced. He and Pansy had been friends almost all their lives, kissing her had felt like kissing his sister; they'd released each other and cringed.

And though Draco couldn't help but acknowledge that the honey-blonde had become beautiful, it was aesthetic appreciation and nothing else.

"I agreed that you were better off without such distractions in your last year but it was a shocking error on your part not to rectify the situation over the summer. It can't continue. The pure blood world is a small one; there aren't ten families in the country who meet our criteria. Don't let false modesty turn their opinion against you."

"I don't understand what you're saying, father."

"To put it simply, Draco, you have an image to maintain, and so far you haven't been doing so. I expect this matter to be closed by Christmas."

"What are you asking me to do?"

Lucius leaned forward and met his son's eyes intensely. "I'm not asking, I'm telling. Either renew your relationship with Miss Parkinson or begin one with Miss Bulstrode, or choose some other pure blood girl to seduce, but I want the matter of your prudishness dealt with before the end of term. Is that clear?"

The emphasis on the words 'dealt with' told Draco exactly what his father meant.

His mind turned the problem over, and found the only possible objection.

"Father, you can't mean for me to use a pure blood girl like that. As you said, it's a small group; if I treat one like that, the other families will never look at me when it comes time to arrange marriages."

Lucius face scowled for a moment and then he nodded, "A fair point, my son. Perhaps dallying with one of our own isn't such a good idea."

For a moment, Draco thought that the problem was dealt with, but then Lucius relaxed again.

"But, there is certainly nothing stopping you from taking up with one of the other girls at your school and dropping them when you no longer need them. Yes, that's almost better than my original idea. Not only does it solve the immediate problem, but it shows a certain disdain for the Mudbloods of the school and a certain cavalier attitude."

Draco swallowed hard. "Yes, Father."

"Excellent. Now, hear me well. I have my ways of finding out what goes on at that school. If this matter isn't publicly taken care of by Christmas, I'll take the choice from you. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Father."

"Excellent. Go to bed, my son. You have a long day tomorrow."

Draco went, and as he curled under the sheets, he found that he was shaking. His father had just given him three months to publicly lose his virginity...or when he came for Christmas, there was sure to be at least one present he didn't like at all.

The Hogwarts Express the next day was a good version of torture.

Pansy had come up to him the minute she saw him and had started to natter about her summer until he was forced to tell her rather harshly to shut up.

She'd recoiled for all of thirty seconds before she'd met his eyes.

"What's he done now?"

There was no need for him to ask whom she meant.

Slowly, haltingly, he told her and watched the horror dawn in her eyes.

"Is he serious?"

"Definitely. He's been dropping hints for a year; now he's ordered me. I have till Christmas...or else."

"Why didn't you tell me he was pressuring you? I could have spent the holidays with you."

"Weren't you listening? He doesn't want me to find a girlfriend; he wants me to maintain the Malfoy image. Were you planning on marrying me?"

"What?"

"If I use you as cover now, I've got to let the world assume I'm doing you. The families have no problem with that as long as it leads to marriage. Anything else would ruin you and you know it. The way things are going you need to make a good match."

She nodded. The world knew her father had been a Death Eater and had died the year before, taking most of the family fortune with him. She was more bothered about the money than him.

"I could do far worse than you," she pointed out.

"Which is great until we have to produce an heir."

"Draco, I can grit my teeth if I have to. Sealing an alliance with you is all my family can dream of right now and more."

He looked at her closely. "Are things really that bad?"

She nodded, "I've been told to finish the year and while I'm at it, find a fiancé."

"Pansy, I don't have to marry you to support you. You're my friend, and you're family through my mother. I'll write to my father, he'll see the need to protect you from your father's errors of judgement. Even if I have no intentions towards you, you're still a pureblood and that makes you valuable to him."

Her blue eye widened and sparkled with tears, and gently she laid her hand on his arm.

Draco smiled at her and folded her into his arms. Her scent was soft and familiar, feminine and fresh, but, as always, it sent a chill through him.

Harry's summer had been far less pleasant than Draco's had. He'd spent the summer watching the Dursleys suck up to Dudley's new girlfriend. As he wandered the corridors of the train in search of the food cart, he wondered whether he'd hidden the fact that he felt sick at the thought of doing with any girl what he'd caught Dudley doing with his girlfriend the afternoon before.

Shaking his head, he strolled past the carriage where Draco was talking to Pansy in time to catch Draco's concerned, 'Are things really that bad?'

Pausing at the sound of genuine concern from his archrival, he saw the blonde girl nod, though he didn't catch her reply.

When Draco made his offer to her, Harry froze. This couldn't be the same Draco Malfoy? That Malfoy cared about nothing and no one but himself; certainly not about some silly girl with an idiotic father.

He saw the tears glisten in her eyes and watched as Draco hugged her, letting her cry in his arms.

He didn't miss the shiver that passed through the other boy.

"What do you want, Potter?"

The sneering jibe brought Harry out of his reverie in time to see Malfoy standing in the corridor in front of him.

"Nothing, I was just passing."

"Then you move like a bloody snail, because you've been just passing for half an hour now."

"Sorry, I was just thinking about something."

"Well, do it somewhere else."

Harry opened his mouth before he could stop himself, "Is Pansy alright?"

Draco rounded on him like a cornered cat, "What, exactly, did you hear?" he hissed.

"Enough to know that you aren't the monster you pretend to be," Harry spat back.

"Pansy Parkinson and I have been friends for longer than you've had friends, Potter. I wouldn't expect you to understand true friendship, what with the Mudblood and the Weasel being your only examples."

"Ron and Hermione would die for me if they had to, which counts far more than giving someone money you're not even going to miss!"

"What would you know of money, Potter? You don't have any."

"What do you want from her anyway? Or were you just paying your whore for her services?"

Draco felt his temper flare and he slammed the other boy into the wall, holding his wand to his throat.

"You dare suggest anything so foul again and I'll finish what Voldemort started! Do you understand me, Potter?"

From down the narrow corridor Harry vaguely heard Hermione exclaim, "Oh, God, not already!" but his attention was fixed on the stormy eyes of the boy pressing him into the wall.

"Aren't you doing her, Malfoy?"

"No!" Draco hissed, then paled, leaving his already alabaster skin grey, "God, no!"

With no warning, he broke away from the other boy and ran down the corridor.

Hermione put her hand on Harry's arm.

"Did he just run away?"

Harry nodded.

"What did you say to him, mate? Maybe it'll work every time."

"I don't know." Harry's eyes were on Draco's retreating form, and for some reason he couldn't shake the feel of the slender body on his own.

The feast that evening was a peculiarly sober affair, at least from Draco's perspective. Pansy, usually the life and soul of the Slytherin table was still depressed and drained from their conversation on the train. Crabbe and Goyle were never very witty and Draco himself was far too shaken to even attempt his usual cutting insults. Harry's words had been painful, but it was his reaction to Potter that had left him feeling intensely sick.

The touch of Potter's body against his had sent heat pouring through him, in a way he'd never felt, or even imagined feeling; he'd reacted to Potter's words, but his body had reacted to the pressure in a way Draco didn't want to think about. He'd long ago banned that particular train of thought from his mind; he refused to contemplate what this meant about him in general, and, more specifically, what it might mean about his feelings for his worst enemy.

The younger Malfoy wanted the feast over so he could go, shower, and scrub himself clean in the hottest water he could stand. As the Sorting Hat finished assigning the new first years to their houses, he gave a silent groan and covered his face with his hands. His head came back up sharply when Dumbledore stood up.

"Students, both old and new, welcome to a new year at Hogwarts. Before we go any further, I wish to make a few announcements. All of you will have noticed that there are empty seats at your tables; the war has continued to rage over the summer and it has had casualties. I ask for a moment of silence to remember those who have been taken from us."

Draco bowed his head with the rest of the school; he could hear the muffled sobbing from the Ravenclaw table and realized that he couldn't see the silky black hair of Cho-Chang.

Raising his eyes cautiously he caught Grangers' gaze and raised an eyebrow questioningly. The girl nodded her affirmation and he frowned before returning her nod as his silent promise that he'd put their differences aside to work with her as prefects the way they had the year before.

Turning away, he finished his meal in silence.

Only when he'd gotten back to the Slytherin common room did he allow the waves of nausea and dizziness to overcome him and he fainted clean away.

Standing at the top of the stairs to the Gryffindor tower, Harry suddenly felt an intense wave of dizziness and was forced to catch Ron's arm to keep from tumbling down the stairs.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

"Wonder when the snide comments from ferret-face are gonna start? He's never gonna let ammo like this go."

Hermione sighed loudly, "He isn't going to do that. He looked really upset. Talk to him once in a while, you two, instead of holding onto old grudges. You might learn something."

"Hermione, he's still calling you a Mudblood!" Ron reminded.

"Only in public. And let's face it, you wouldn't cross Lucius Malfoy either."

Harry, lying in bed, thought over what Hermione had said, and tied it in with what he'd heard on the train. Was he the one perpetuating the rivalry between Malfoy and himself?

"Hey, Harry, you still awake?" Seamus Finnegan hissed across the room.

"Yes."

"Have you heard about Malfoy?"

"On the train? I was there."

"No, you twit, in his common room after the feast."

"What about him?"

"He keeled right over. Out cold, I was told. No one knows why."

"Must have the shock of finding you still alive," Dean Thomas chipped in.

"Probably," Harry agreed, but inside his head was spinning. It would've taken Draco as long to walk to his common room as it had taken Harry to get to his. Draco had fainted at the same moment Harry had gone dizzy at the top of the stairs.