Always the Stranger

Always the Stranger (1/1)

***

The rush of alcohol burned his throat, but left Draco feeling sated. He preferred tequila to vodka, as the tangy burn of tequila let you know that you were drinking. He didn't want to dull the pain with something that tasted vaguely of something you'd rub on your cuts.

One, two, three, four shots - no salts, no lemon chasers. Straight.

What did that stupid bint Pansy know anyhow? How dare she break up with him after he... he - no, better not think about that.

Time to patrol. This should be fun - a slightly tipsy Prefect, hell-bent on revenge, terrorizing the curfew stragglers of Hogwarts. If he were lucky, maybe he'd run into Pansy and her new boy-toy and give them detention for a month.

Draco did one more shot for the road before grabbing his cloak and swaggering out of his room, and out through the Slytherin portrait hole.

***

Nighttime in the castle was Draco's favorite time - with the moonlight streaming through the high windows and the low torch light illuminating the cobbled walls, it seemed like Hogwarts was a castle in the fairy stories Draco had secretly loved as a child. Being out after hours was the best of it, as Draco could enjoy the atmosphere by himself, as he generally never caught anyone out of bed. The only students who ever crept about after hours were the Slytherins and the Gryffindors; the former he could ignore if he saw them and the latter never seemed to get punishments that stuck.

He missed the days of Umbridge, for, though she was a ridiculous old bat (Draco was always tempted to see if she'd have a heart attack, by backing up Harry Potter and confirming that the Dark Lord had, indeed, risen), she'd allowed him the freedom to dole out punishments as he pleased. Dumbledore was too soft for discipline, especially when it came to those bleeding-heart Gryffindorks.

Draco rounded a corner and found himself in front of the portrait to the kitchens. Maybe he could just pop in for a snack....

Before he could tickle the pear, however, the portrait swung open, and he found himself face to face with Harry Potter.

"Potter," he spat, "what the fuck are you doing here?" He narrowed his eyes drunkenly and wagged his finger in the Gryffindor's direction.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Harry rolled his eyes in return, food in hand, looking Draco up and down and taking in his drunken state.

"You," Draco articulated, "are out of bed. That's worth at least two detentions."

"And you're drunk, Malfoy. I, unlike you, may not be a Prefect, but I know that rules. You could be expelled for that."

"Fuck off, Potter." Draco hated it when Potter mocked him.

Potter didn't say anything. Instead, he simply turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction.

"Potter!" Draco called after him shrilly. "Don't walk away from me, you bitch!"

Harry stopped in his tracks and turned around.

"Did you just call me a bitch?"

Draco smirked. "What do you think?"

Harry took a few tentative steps towards Malfoy. After a moment, he narrowed his eyes and took out his wand, planning a sobering spell. Draco, however, saw this as a threat and lunged at Harry, knocking them both to the floor.

Harry gasped as the other boy's weight fell upon him and struggled against his clumsy hands. Draco balled up his fist and aimed for Harry's left eye, but Harry, with his Seeker reflexes, ducked out of the way.

"Get off me, Malfoy!" he shrieked, trying to get at his wand that had been knocked out of the way.

Draco simply growled in response and starting pounding at Harry's chest with his fists. This felt better, releasing his anger through violence. Why hadn't he tried it before? Before he knew what was happening, Harry had rolled them over so he was on top. Malfoy scowled at the taller, slightly larger boy as he held both of Draco's fists down on the floor.

"Christ, Malfoy." Harry shook his head. Holding down both of Malfoy's hands with one arm, Harry grabbed for his wand with the other. He pointed the wand at Malfoy's chest.

"Listen, I'm going to get off you now. If you make one move, I'll hex you into next week."

Draco simply glared at the other boy, trying to focus all the snarkiness he could muster into his gaze, but all Harry saw was eyes glazed over by too much drink.

"God, you reek," Harry said, offering a hand to Draco so he could get up. "You might want to go easy on the alcohol next time."

"Oh, what do you know, Potter?" Draco seethed, hauling himself up and dusting his robes off.

"I know that you're a pathetic mess. What happened? Did Parkinson dump you or something?" Harry joked.

Suddenly, Draco's eyes went wide and he fell into a drunken heap on the floor, sobbing.

"I... you..." his speech broke as he drew a breath, trying to compose himself. "She... fuck, Potter, you're such an asshole! I..." he sobbed loudly, finally giving up speaking and folding over, his head hidden in his hands as he cried.

Harry, shocked and having absolutely no clue what to do, simply stood there. He transfigured a lip balm from his pocket into a handkerchief and handed it to Malfoy.

"Um, do you want this?"

Malfoy looked up, his white cheeks flushed pink, tear running down them freely.

"I hate you, Potter." He took the proffered handkerchief.

"Well," Harry crouched down so he was on the same level, "the feeling's mutual, if it makes you feel better." He shrugged.

After a moment, Draco found himself calmed, and started to talk, not caring that it was Harry Potter to whom he was pouring out his heart.

"I don't understand it. Why didn't she love me? I did everything for her; I told her things I've never told anyone else. I trusted her with everything. What if she was it? What if she was the one, my soul-mate? I... I..." he hung his head in his hands and gave way to the sobs wracking his body once more.

Harry waited in silence, watching the wreak before him.

After a moment, Draco continued through his blubbering. "Why would God do this? I thought she was it, Potter. That is was fate. We were supposed to get married and have beautiful little pureblood babies together, and they would smite the Mudbloods just like we did, you know? It was the plan. Perfect, perfect plan. Now there's no plan... I don't know what to do!"

Feeling bad for him, Harry reached out for the pathetic Slytherin in front of him, placing a comforting hand on his back. He started rubbing his hand over his back in a soothing manner, as he'd seen other people do when comforting people besotted with their drink.

"What are you, a poof?" Draco spat, pulling away from him before he narrowed his eyes. "You don't have to take care of me, you know. Like you would understand, anyway. Perfect, perfect Potter - you never have bad luck, you arsehole," he glared at Harry

"You know what, Malfoy?" Harry spoke angrily, jumping to his feet. "You're right. I don't need to take care of you." He started to stalk off.

Draco let out a derisive laugh. "Poof."

Harry turned around again, hissing in a low voice. "You think that luck has left you there, Malfoy? Bad luck? You think I never have bad luck? What about having my parents killed when I was baby? How about ending up in a Muggle home for ten years, living under the stairs?" He paused a moment. "Luck has nothing to do with it, Malfoy. Sometimes bad things just happen that are out of your control. The rest of the time, the bad stuff that happens is simply the result of our actions. Pansy broke up with you because you're a miserable little fuck - get over it."

"But, I..." Draco sputtered.

"And you talk about fate, soul-mates? That's bullshit that they feed us to give us hope for the future. But there is no fate, no mystical design. It's all shit, Malfoy. You don't get some cosmic lover, pre-assigned. You go out, you fuck, you get over it."

Draco rose shakily, bracing himself against the wall. He suddenly felt very coherent. "What's happened to you, Potter? You're so fucking miserable. How can you stand it - no hope, no faith. You're the Gryffindor, you're supposed to be the one with boundless optimism."

"Hope? Faith? Like faith in God, right Malfoy? There is no God. There's nothing up in the sky but air. We pray to God, but it doesn't stop people from starving, hurting and dying. What kind of God would kill so many people, people with faith, people who pray?"

"You can't blame God for people dying," Draco asserted. "People die; that's just how it is."

"We'll see if you still feel the same way after someone you love dies."

Draco looked at Harry dead on, the glaze in his eyes gone, replaced by the spark of conviction. "I will still feel the same, Potter. I have enough faith not to be embittered by tragedy."

Harry smirked and shook his head disdainfully. "They say religion is the opium of the masses."

"I'm not just talking about God. Faith isn't exclusive to religion; it's also about hope for the future and love."

"Love is even more a drug than religion. Everyone's always talking about wanting it, needing it, losing it. Well, I don't think it exists, love. It's something we've made up to make our selves feel better about how utterly alone we are."

"There's nothing you can find that cannot be found," Draco expounded. "If you believe love exists, you will find it. But if you don't..." he trailed off.

When had he started believing in love, he thought to himself. When he met Pansy? No, they'd known each other their whole lives. He wasn't even sure what it was about her that he had come to depend on. Maybe it was that he thought she was different, that she'd understand.

But she hadn't. When Draco had told her how he felt, how he'd changed, she just stared at him.

She'd grabbed for her left arm instinctively, resolution dancing in her eyes. Before she could open her mouth to utter the communication spell, however, Draco had performed a Memory Charm on her. It didn't mean that he still wasn't in danger; if Voldemort suspected anything, it would take some challenging charm work to undo his Oblivate, but at his skill level, no magic was challenging for the Dark Lord.

Even though she couldn't remember his confession, his quiet words ("Pans, I don't want to do this. I don't want to follow Voldemort - I don't believe in him."), she still felt the shift in their relationship, and had broken it off with him immediately.

So here he was, recent Dark Side turncoat, wandering the halls of Hogwarts, with only Professor Snape as a confidant, a friend, standing in front of Harry Potter, lecturing him on hope, faith, and love. And out of the two people present, for the first time, Draco Malfoy was the one least likely to turn to the Dark Side.

Potter balked at Draco's silence. "When did you become such a sap, Malfoy? You're practically spouting sonnets here."

"Do you like the person you've become, Potter?" Draco countered. "Cause I think I liked you a lot better when you were a naive little bastard, hell-bent on saving the world with fluffy bunnies. Now you're just some bitter, jaded arsehole."

"Takes one to know one," Harry answered sharply.

"No, that isn't who I am anymore, Potter. I've changed for the better, I think. But you..."

Harry simply glared at him.

"You'd better be scurrying off, Potter," Draco said tiredly, massaging his temple, a headache on the horizon, he knew. "It's after hours and I'd rather not deal with you anymore."

Harry opened his mouth to give some nasty retort, but Draco held up his hand to silence the other boy.

"Please, Potter. I'd rather not hex you. And despite the fact that you've become a grade A arsehole, I don't think you're keen to, either. Good night."

With that, Draco strode off, heading back towards the Slytherin dungeons.

What had become of the two of them? He was tired, confused, and heading towards hangover. He needed water, an aspirin, and sleep, but he couldn't help thinking about the person Potter had become. It seemed that with all the changes that he'd been through, that Harry was always the stranger. He wasn't sure that he'd ever understand the Gryffindor, much as he now realized he wanted to.

Finis

The lyrics:

You think that luck has left you there,

but maybe there's nothing up in the sky but air

and there's no mystical design,

no cosmic lover, pre-assigned.

There's nothing you can find

that cannot be found

Cause with all the changes you've been through

it seems the stranger's always you

Alone again in some new wicked little town