Rating:
PG-13
House:
Astronomy Tower
Characters:
Draco Malfoy
Genres:
Angst Romance
Era:
Multiple Eras
Stats:
Published: 07/04/2002
Updated: 07/12/2003
Words: 34,213
Chapters: 16
Hits: 10,258

Perfect Potter

Muse

Story Summary:
Draco is hopelessly lost between what he is supposed to do, and what he wants to do. As the pressure from his father to follow in Lucius' footsteps grows heavier, and Draco's feelings for Harry grow stronger, Draco finds himself at a fork in the road.

Chapter 15

Chapter Summary:
Everyone deserves to be loved, even Draco Malfoy, but can he choose between what is right and what is easy?
Posted:
06/20/2003
Hits:
449
Author's Note:
I know I am adding chapters sporadically and I apologize. This was written a long time ago for me so it is hard sometimes for me to remember to put it up.

“Be a good boy
Push a little farther now
That wasn't fast enough
To make us happy
We'll love you just the way you are
If you're perfect.
”
--Alanis Morisette “Perfect”

The next morning he awoke to find his eyes dotted with red, broken blood vessels, testament to his crying. He washed ice cold water over his skin, at least getting rid of the bags beneath his haggard eyes. It had been a week since he’d gone to class; deep inside himself, he knew he had to get back into routine.

Professor McGonagall looked surprised, along with all the students in his Transfiguration class, that he would voluntarily return to his peers and classes, but didn’t speak to him about it. The class was uneasy around him, and their sentences were short and full of pity for him, but he quickly rebuffed all attempts to coddle him or be overtly polite, and soon enough people realized he was the same old Malfoy, except now bitter.

At lunch, people strained to catch a glimpse of him, and he calmly ate his food, without looking up, as if the stares and whispers didn’t bother him. The story of his blind run to nowhere upon learning of his mother’s death was widely known and embellished. Pretty soon it had turned into his desperate suicide attempt, and it was a heated topic of discussion about his mental state. He figured ignoring them would make them all shut up, and by ignoring them, he could suppress the urge to leap up and beat them all with his bare hands.

Pansy was unbearable. When Draco continued to refuse to talk about the ‘unfortunate tragedy’, Pansy started pretending she was a psychologist, and started naming all the imaginary mental problems he probably had as a result of his traumatic experience.

Every now and then, Draco feared he and Harry would be discovered. At potions they tried to be discreet as humanly possible when they touched each other, whether it was a brief brush of a hand to reassure the other, or they touched their waists or arms or any other available part. But more than once, Draco looked up from one of these encounters to see Weasel or Granger staring at them, giving them both angry and calculating looks.

Sure that Granger could figure it out and keep her mouth shut, Draco worried Weasel would be a little slower on the uptake and once he found out that he was the last to know something like this, he would blow something.

At Care of Magical Creatures, Harry was rushed to the hospital wing by Granger after accidentally swallowing some of the fluid from a Glumbumble, and becoming very depressed. Draco waited nervously by, as he collected the fluid from his own Glumbumble into a jar. The fluid would later be given to Madam Pomfrey as an antidote to hysteria.

He was so involved in his extraction of the fluid and his fretting over Harry he didn’t notice the shadow that fell across him as he worked. He did notice, however, when someone planted their hand on his chest and pushed him backwards.

Infuriated, Draco leapt to his feet and put his face millimeters from Weasel’s face. “You have a problem, Weasel?” Draco hissed. Weasel rolled his eyes.

“Drop it, psycho ferret. I’m here to tell you that if you even touch a single hair on Harry’s head, I will make you unable to have children.” He glared at Draco, who was looking at him with a mixture of fury and horror.

“Like I would want to touch that Mudblood loving freak,” Draco growled. He was honestly speaking about Weasel. “Now, if you touch me one more time, you’ll find yourself being sat upon by either Goyle or Crabbe, or both. You scrawny little pauper.”

“Yer not havin’ trouble, are yeh?” Hagrid said, approaching them. He glanced from one boy to the other and scowled. “I won’ have fightin’ in my class.”

“No problem,” Draco said, turning away from the half-giant and Weasel.

That night at dinner, a Hogwarts owl dropped a piece of parchment on to his lap. Draco inconspicuously opened it, and in untidy scrawl it said Meet me in the Quidditch Pitch at midnight. A glance upward told Draco that it was from Harry, and he blushed a deep shade of red and stuffed the note into his pocket.

Until midnight, he waited in his bed, listening to the crickets that had taken refuge in the dorm from the quickly freezing weather. When he was sure it was a few minutes to midnight, he quietly slipped from his bed and pulled on his invisibility cloak.

The night air snaked through the folds of the cloak and bit at his skin, making him shiver and desperately try to keep his teeth from chattering as he made his way from the castle to the Quidditch Pitch.

Harry was sitting beside a fire that was black, and therefore almost unnoticeable against the night sky. Draco slowly sat down and let the cloak fall. Clasping his hand to his heart, Harry gasped. “You almost gave me a heart attack!” he exclaimed. Draco smiled apologetically as he warmed his hands.

“Sorry. What did you need to talk about?” he asked.

“Nothing. I was just feeling kind of down and needed to see you. I think it was the Glumbumble stuff.” He grinned and took Draco’s hand. After a little while, as they sat as close to the fire as possible, they started to talk.

“Tell me about your mum,” Harry said, resting his head on Draco’s lap and curling into a tight ball. Draco rested his hand on his head and ran his fingers through the messy mane.

“Well…I know she seemed like a frigid bitch…but…she was so beautiful. She was kind. She really didn’t like the Dark Arts, she only like the advancement of my father. And she loved me.” His eyes filled with tears, and dropped onto Harry’s head. He swiped at them and said in a choked voice, “Tell me what you know about your mum.”

“Not much. But…I carry this around with me,” said Harry, dipping his hand into one of his pockets and pulling out a creased and well-worn photo. It was of a very pretty young woman with long brown hair, and Harry’s bright green eyes, holding a baby between her and a young man, who had Harry’s hair. Draco took it from Harry’s hands and studied it.

“You look like a perfect mix of them,” he whispered, handing it back. Harry took it and studied a bit more before putting it back in his pocket.

“I didn’t know them, but I miss them,” Harry whispered, closing his eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep,” warned Draco, patting Harry’s forehead, his fingers brushing the scar, “I can’t lug you back to Gryffindor Tower, and you’d freeze out here.”

As their eyelids drooped with the weight of sleep and their movements slowed as their limbs grew heavy, they both decided to sneak back to the comfort of their warm bed. Their goodnight kiss was quick and breathless, tinged with the fear of discovery.

“’Bye!” Harry whispered before pulling on his own, aged cloak and fleeing to the castle. Draco pulled on his own cloak and took a more leisurely stroll back. He was tempted to try to find out where the Gryffindor Towers were, but remembered that he had a test in Transfiguration the next morning and he needed all the energy he could get.

The bed was delightfully warm as he crawled into it and sank underneath the covers. An elf had placed an heating pan between the covers, and Draco felt as though he could die in the bed and be warm, safe, and happy.

But the next morning, as the mail owls dropped their letters and packages to their owners, a small piece of parchment floated down to Draco. Thinking it was from Harry, he didn’t hesitate to open it.

When he saw the signature, his heart seized in his chest and his lungs immobilized.

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

Draco,

I write to you in the strictest of confidence. I cannot reveal my location, now can I tell you what I am doing. I am sure that you are handling the unfortunate death of Narcissa. I expect we shall be seeing each other soon. We can only hope that the Dark Lord’s rise to power is swift and complete and rapid.

Lucius

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

Pansy watched Draco from across the table as his face went from deathly pale to a bright, angry red. She watched as he methodically tore the note into tiny pieces and sprinkled them into his pumpkin juice. She gaped as he drank the pumpkin juice and pursed his lips as the paper passed into his stomach.

She skillfully followed him to the bathrooms and listened as she leaned against the wall as he retched into the toilet. When he appeared, wiping his mouth, and his dull gray eyes landed on her, he scowled and pushed past her, his bag hitting her harshly.

“Don’t you have better things to do than spy on me, Pansy?” he growled. Sullenly, Pansy raced to catch up with him.

“What is your problem? You’ve gone all soft and mushy. I saw Potter touch you like, five times during Potions this week and you didn’t even flinch.”

“He doesn’t repulse me like you do,” sneered Draco. Tears immediately flooded Pansy eyes and she stopped, allowing Draco to march on.

When he was out of sight and earshot, Draco slumped against the wall and pressed his face into his hands. When he wanted, he could be just as cruel as Voldemort, and he hated himself for it.