Draco By Trial

That not everything is gonna be the way you think it ought to be,

It seems like every time I try to make it right,

It all comes down on me,

Please say, honestly, you won't give up on me

And I shall believe.

Sheryl Crow - I Shall Believe

"It's the Quidditch match tomorrow," Harry said quietly. Draco looked out across the lake and sighed. A slight breeze ruffled his hair.

"I know."

"Will you be OK?" Draco frowned and shifted slightly, unsure why Harry's concern irritated him.

"Yes," he said shortly. Harry didn't say anything else.

*

Ginny Weasley had snuck into the courtroom after the lunch break, and was now cowering at the back and hoping that nobody would see her. It had been easier than she'd expected, sneaking into a courtroom in the middle of the Ministry of Magic, she'd just slipped in when she hoped nobody was watching. Now, she was sitting in this large, musty room only partially able to see what was going on. She squinted into the gathered crowd and saw Professors Dumbledore and Snape, sitting next to each other and concentrating fully on the proceedings. She could see Moody, Lupin and Tonks nearby as well. Her parents were in there somewhere as well, and she fervently hoped that they didn't catch her. Everybody seemed to be riveted by the stories that Malfoy was telling. She had to admit that the boy was definitely interesting.

Ginny had gotten very used to looking in on Harry's life from the outside. A lot of the time she'd felt like an intruder, peering in and noticing too many things that she shouldn't, but she hadn't been able to help herself. Harry had been her first real crush. Before she'd even met him, she'd imagined what he would be like: the dramatic hero, her knight in shining armour come to save her from her mediocre background; every hopeful cliché a young girl could think of. It had taken her far too long to realise that the real Harry Potter could never possibly live up to the high standards she had set for him in her mind. He was, after all, just a boy.

There had been a long time though, when she had cared deeply for him; had convinced herself that she was in love with him. He had become an obsession; he was constantly on her mind, when he was in the room she couldn't think, she would over-analyse every word he said to her. She'd lived in a constant state of hope that one day he would notice; one day he would come to her. Looking back, she realised how painfully pathetic she had been; crying herself to sleep every time he didn't notice her coming into the room or didn't laugh at one of her jokes. It had all seemed so important at the time; so painful.

Then, her feelings had simply begun to fade. There was no epiphany; no sudden turning point where she saw Harry for who he really was. She had simply drifted away from those feelings, vaguely troubled by the intensity of her emotions. She began to notice other people; people who noticed her and would be able to pay her the attention she craved.

She still wondered sometimes, what might have been if she was a different person, or if Harry had been different, but not so often anymore. However, she still watched him, worried over him with a tenderness born from genuine concern. She'd noticed more than most this last year. Whilst the rest of the Gryffindors rejoiced in the new, carefree Harry Potter who had returned at the beginning of the year, she had seen something different. She had noticed a quiet desperation to have fun; how he still distanced himself from everyone, even more so than before. What had worried her the most though, had been his fear and anger, barely controlled beneath the surface as though he was tired of letting it out. She had seen him sit in the common room, staring contemplatively into the fire, his hands clenched into fists so tight the knuckles were white, as he flinched at even the smallest noise. She'd watched over him from afar, waiting for him to crack, but he never did. For that first month he had carried on laughing, smiling, joking; pretending that nothing was wrong.

She had tried to voice her concerns to Ron; had tried to tell him what it appeared only she could see, but had been quickly silenced.

"Can't you just be grateful that he's happy now?" Ron had snapped, and Ginny had been struck speechless. She'd wanted to shake him and yell.

"Can't you see that it's not real? Can't you see he's hiding?"

But she hadn't. She'd merely shaken her head and reverted back to watching, and waiting.

Then, something completely unexpected had happened; Draco Malfoy had happened. Again, she was forced to watch from the outside in, as the most unlikely friendship in the history of Hogwarts blossomed and grew. She'd watched Harry pull away from Ron and Hermione, preferring to spend his time exclusively with Malfoy. She'd seen him almost bounce out of the common room to go and meet him and, she'd imagined, every time he came back the fear in his eyes had receded that little bit more.

She should have been happy for her friend that he had finally found someone who seemed to be able to reach inside of him like that and calm some of the confusion, but instead it had made her uneasy. There was something she couldn't quite put her finger on; something strange about their relationship. There was friendship and loyalty and intimacy there, but something else that was completely inexplicable; too much need. They'd become so close so quickly, they needed each other in a way that wasn't 'normal'. It was too intense.

And this had made her worry even more, because now she wasn't waiting for just Harry to crack.

She'd suspected that it would be Malfoy first; she could see that he was scarily dependent on Harry, so much so that she could almost empathise. She knew all too well what it was like to need something from Harry that he was completely oblivious to.

*

"This is all very interesting Mr Malfoy, but I fail to see what any of this has to do with the events of the 20^th of April," Fudge said, interrupting Draco, who frowned. In a sickly-sweet voice, he said:

"Don't you want to know how it all started to go wrong? I thought you wanted to know about me and Harry." Fudge frowned, clearly disgruntled.

"Yes, but I didn't think you'd be this overly verbose about it." Draco nearly burst out laughing right there. 'God, if only it was Harry saying that to me. If only he could.'

"I apologise. I'll try and get to the point." Fudge rolled his eyes in a way that said, 'finally!' Draco ignored him and tried to avoid the urge to run his hand over his scars again.

*

The Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match had finally arrived, two days before the end of term, and it was brutal. These matches were always excessively violent, but this was the worst anyone had ever seen. The Slytherin team appeared absolutely determined to win, and by any means. The animosity between the two teams had risen to almost unbelievable heights, spurred on by the fact that the two Seekers appeared to have buried the hatchet and become friends; it was almost as though they were trying to make up for it.

Draco flew high above the match, trying to avoid all of the other players. Harry was circling below him, glancing up every now and then with a worried expression.

The match had been going for twenty minutes, the crowd was screaming themselves hoarse, and there hadn't been a single glimpse of the snitch.

Draco found that being on the Quidditch pitch, playing for a team he wasn't convinced he belonged to anymore, was harder than he could have imagined. If he had thought that his team would have shown some sense of camaraderie towards him because he was playing for them, he would have been severely mistaken. This was just one more arena where they were trying to beat him down.

Harry had noticed, and he wasn't happy about it. At one point, Draco had gotten into an argument with Vince and Greg, who had seemed to have forgotten which players were on the opposing team, and Harry had made to come over to help him. Draco had stopped him with a look; he didn't need Harry to fight his battles for him.

The day was dry and clear, perfect conditions for a Quidditch match. Draco found that he could see for miles. The rolling grounds of Hogwarts stretched out beneath him, and he found himself fervently wishing that he was anywhere but where he was.

Despite the Slytherins' cheating, the two teams seemed very evenly matched. It would again all come down to whoever caught the snitch; Draco or Harry. Draco felt that, above any other match he had ever played, this was one he had to win. It was more than proving a point to his team-mates, or the Slytherins, or the rest of the school. Draco almost felt that this was about his friendship with Harry. Everything hinged on this one match; this one moment in time.

He needed to show Harry that he could do it.

Draco's head snapped to the side as he saw a flash of gold. The snitch. Floating innocuously a few metres below him. Harry had seen it; had his eyes trained on it as he bent forwards on his broom and sped towards it.

Harry didn't know how important this was to Draco.

Draco shot forwards, his hair flying out behind him. He was gaining, he was close, he was beside Harry, his arm stretched out. The snitch merely floated, barely moving, taunting him. His fingers almost brushed its surface, when something slammed into his side, knocking the wind out of him. He lost his balance and began to fall. He looked up and saw Vince, holding his wooden bat and looking strangely satisfied as his team-mates began to shout at him, and he saw Harry, holding onto the snitch as he looked down in horror. Harry had beaten him again.

Draco blacked out as soon as he hit the ground.

*

"It was at Christmas when I first realised that things were changing between me and Harry. He'd beaten me at Quidditch again, and I wasn't happy."

"You were angry because he beat you at Quidditch?"

"Yes and no," Draco said, shifting slightly. "It's complicated."

"You keep saying that Mr Malfoy, but you aren't making yourself any clearer!"

"I'm trying! It was all so confusing at the time, there are bits about it that I don't understand even now!" Fudge sighed in frustration.

"Christmas," he prompted.

*

On the first day of the Christmas holidays, Draco was finally let out of the hospital wing. He'd received a letter from his mother, the day of the Quidditch match, informing him that his presence at home wasn't required. More than anything, he had been relieved. His mother was one of the last people he wanted to see at that moment.

Harry had come to see him whilst he'd been in the hospital wing, but Draco had refused to talk to him. Harry had caught the snitch, Gryffindor had won; it had all been so predictable. Except for the part where one of his ex-best friends had tried to kill him.

Draco had looked into Harry's eyes and seen nothing but pity. It had made him so angry he'd had to control himself from screaming at him to go away. He knew it wasn't Harry's fault really, but he couldn't help but resent him for being so damn perfect.

Draco walked slowly towards the dungeons. He didn't know how many Slytherins were staying for the holiday, but he couldn't help but hope that it wouldn't be many. As the entrance to the dorms slid open, he took a deep breath before entering. He wasn't sure what the reaction would be to the loss of the Quidditch match.

There was no-one in the common room. There was nobody in any of the dormitories. Draco was alone. He nearly jumped for joy.

*

"All of the Slytherins went home for the holiday. It was a bit weird actually, that hardly ever happened. I wasn't the only one who liked to try and avoid my family."

"Did you know where they all went?" Fudge asked quickly.

"No. I didn't even know they weren't going to be there. What makes you think I'd know where they went?" Fudge looked slightly disappointed. "Anyway, I did my best to avoid Harry; I wasn't really sure I even wanted to speak to him. But the irritating bastard kept trying to get me to talk to him. I swear it was only because Weasley and Granger had both gone home and he'd been left with only the Potter-fan club for company."

*

Draco had reluctantly let Harry into the Slytherin common room. He was now standing in front of the fireplace with his hands on his hips, glaring at Draco who refused to look him in the eye.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Harry snapped.

"Nothing," Draco said sullenly, staring determinedly at anything but Harry.

"Then why are you being like this?"

"Like what?"

"Draco!" Harry sounded utterly exasperated.

"What? What do you want me to say?" Draco asked coldly, folding his arms protectively over his chest. Harry made a noise that sounded like he wanted to scream with frustration.

"I want you to tell me what's wrong! Is it because of what Crabbe did? At the match?"

"No, I don't care about that," Draco said, realising that he'd hardly thought about it. All he'd been able to think about was Harry.

"You don't care? One of your best friends tried to kill you and you don't care?" Harry asked incredulously.

"He didn't try to kill me, and it's not important."

"Well what is important then?" Draco hesitated for a moment, before saying:

"I lost to you," Draco said petulantly.

"You're angry because I beat you at Quidditch?" Draco could tell merely from the tone of Harry's voice that he thought he was being ridiculous.

"Yes."

"Why? It's not as though it's anything new." Draco bristled at the slightly malicious tone. Harry was clearly very irritated.

"It was personal," he snapped. Harry paused, before asking:

"You think because we're friends now I should've let you win to make you feel better?"

"No."

"Then what? You think I was doing it to be spiteful?" Draco didn't say anything and Harry gaped at him. "You do! How can you think that?" Draco thought he could almost hear hurt in Harry's voice.

"Maybe it's true." He knew it wasn't; knew that Harry could never be so malevolent, but sometimes it felt that way. Maybe it was just because that was what he had always learnt to expect from other people. He wasn't used to someone being so genuinely nice.

"Do you think so little of me?" Harry asked in an extremely quiet voice.

"No," Draco said finally managing looking at Harry. "I think so little of what I mean to you." The words seemed to echo off of the stony walls of the room as Harry gaped. Draco imagined that he would hear those words forever, bouncing over and over against the inside of his mind as he cringed. Harry looked as though he didn't quite know what to do with himself. Draco saw his hands clench into tight fists, before slowly uncurling. He turned around, his back to Draco, then turned back again and fixed him with an angry stare. Draco didn't take his eyes off of him.

"What you mean to me? What about what I mean to you?!" Harry shouted. Draco started, he hadn't expected this. Surely it was obvious?

"What?"

"You think I don't know that the only reason you're friends with me is because nobody else wants to know?"

"Well of course it is!" Draco exploded. "That's the only reason you approached me in the first place! Because you felt sorry for me."

"I told you before," Harry ground out, "I wanted to be your friend because I decided I didn't have the time or the energy to waste on hating you! Your argument with the Slytherins just made it easier."

"Well that just makes it all so simple doesn't it?" Draco turned away, walking to the darkest corner of the room and sitting in a hard-backed chair. He could sense Harry's eyes still on him, before he heard a tired sigh.

"I don't understand why you're angry Draco," he said quietly. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"No, you haven't."

Draco listened intently to Harry's footsteps as he made his way slowly to the entrance, before turning back again.

"I'll see you later," he muttered, and left with his head down. Draco winced, and then shivered.

*

"He wanted to know why I was so angry of course, and I tried to tell him, but it didn't seem to come out quite right."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him that I thought he should have thrown the match to show that our friendship meant something to him," Draco muttered, not quite able to look Fudge in the eye.

"And what exactly did you mean to tell him?"

"Urm," Draco hesitated. "That I thought he should have thrown the match to show that our friendship meant something to him. But you don't understand!" he jumped in before Fudge could say anything.

"It seems like there's quite a lot I don't understand Mr Malfoy. Get on with it."

"You don't know what it's like to be Harry Potter's friend," Draco said quietly, trying his hardest to ignore Fudge's sarcasm, reacting would only drag this out more.

"Clearly," Fudge said. "Enlighten us."

*

Christmas drew closer, and as Draco watched Harry become more and more excited, he became steadily more nervous. Things were still tense between them, but it was as though they'd both decided to just ignore the fact any atmosphere between them.

Christmas meant something different to Draco. He saw the decorations, heard the music, could sense the building excitement in everyone around him, but he didn't understand it; it never quite seemed to touch him. At his home, the season would pass with the minimum acknowledgement. At Malfoy Manor it meant visiting relatives: drunken uncles, cruel aunts, and petulant and hateful cousins. He found that the single bright spot would be the annual visit of his grandfather, Magnus Malfoy. A strange old man who was full of stories about the 'old days' when everything was cheaper, the winters were colder and evil overlords were more creative. In Draco's mind, his grandfather would never age; would never change. Long white hair that he knew used to be the same platinum colour as his own, a craggy face that he could tell used to be angular and smooth. He carried a simple ivory waling stick, and always seemed to smell of pipe smoke.

Draco couldn't help but like his grandfather. He was harsh and critical like his father, but at the same time possessed an inner tenderness which, when it rarely appeared, showed Draco how different Magnus really was to Lucius. He wondered sometimes how such a man could raise someone like Lucius. He knew very little of his father's childhood, and was wary of asking.

The last few years, Magnus hadn't visited at Christmas because of ill health. Draco had heard stories of how much the old man had changed; that he was bed ridden and bitter. He couldn't quite imagine it, and he didn't want to have to see it. He remembered how, when he was younger, he would search the house for his grandfather, wanting to hear another story or just listen to him complain. He hadn't always been able to find him.

When Draco was ten years old, he had gone to find Magnus in the library; a vast room full of dark corners and dusty books. He remembered that, at the time, he was feeling excited and mature, it was Christmas Eve, his last before starting Hogwarts, something he had been looking forwards to since he was six. He'd come across one of his uncles, his mother's brother, lying passed out on a couch. He was snoring loudly and drooling slightly. Draco's lip had curled in disgust at the pathetic sight. The man held a glass filled with an amber liquid on his stomach. Every time he breathed in, the glass tilted some more, he was about three inches away from spilling it all over himself. Draco had left him to it and carried on his search. He wondered slowly through the library, waiting for the tell-tale whiff of smoke, that would indicate that Magnus was there, hiding away amongst the books from Narcissa so he could smoke in peace.

Draco found his grandfather eventually. He was sitting at a window, smoking his pipe and talking to himself. Draco had hung back, not wanting to disturb the old man. He watched as his grandfather began to rock back and forth slowly, his mouth muttering barely audible words. A tear ran down his wrinkled cheek. This had scared Draco. This man was not his grandfather; the proud, ostentatious man who held his head high and complained about everything. This was an old man; a shell that looked like someone Draco used to know. He'd backed away slowly, suddenly intensely sure he didn't want to be seen. He had run all the way back to his room, slamming the door and locking it.

He barely left his room for the rest of the holiday, and never went looking for Magnus again. It wasn't long after that that Magnus stopped coming to see them at Christmas.

Though Christmas didn't mean overly much to Draco, he could see that it meant much more to Harry. As the decorations appeared and the snow fell more regularly, he saw an extra spring in Harry's step, a kind of excitement began to coil up in him and he found himself waiting for it to fully unwind. He'd imagined that, after his childhood, Harry would also feel the same meaningless in the celebration of Christmas as he did, but it seemed to be the complete opposite. After coming to Hogwarts, Harry had finally experienced what a proper Christmas was supposed to be, and it had gained even more importance to him. Every moment was precious to him now, and Draco could see that this time of year was extremely special to him.

This made Draco nervous. He wanted to make Harry's Christmas perfect for him, especially as he was without Granger and Weasley, but he had no idea how. It made him nervous that everything would have to be so perfect; the perfect Christmas, the perfect gift, the perfect company. He wasn't completely sure that this was something he could do.

*

"Being Harry Potter's friend isn't easy; certain things are expected of you. I'm sure Granger and Weasley can tell you that." Draco nodded vaguely in the direction if the two. He saw Weasley twitch at the sound of his name. "I'm not the type of person Harry was supposed to be friends with. I'm tailor-made to be his enemy. He's good, I'm evil; he's nice to people, I'm not. It's a long list. Harry Potter's friends aren't meant to be like me."

"What's your point?" Fudge asked. Draco sighed heavily.

"The point is, that if you spend enough time with Harry, he almost makes you want to be that kind of person; the kind of person who is too far removed from who I am. It just wasn't me, and I didn't want to feel that way."

"So what you're saying is that Mr Potter made you want to get off of your political fence?" Fudge asked succinctly.

"No! And I wasn't sitting on the fence thank you, I was just objecting to the whole thing. War is so messy. Anyway, none of that had anything to do with me and Harry; we tried to not let it come up. No, it was more that Harry made me feel uncomfortable. He made me want to be nice, and do things for people. Well, just for him actually, but that was enough!"

"So he made you feel guilty."

"Yes. I never thought I'd be enough."

*

Night had fallen on Christmas day and Draco and Harry were sitting together in the otherwise empty Slytherin common room. Draco was anxiously fingering the gift in his pocket. Even now, he wasn't sure it was completely right.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to being in here," Harry said, smiling. "It feels like I'm trespassing on enemy territory."

"That makes two of us then," Draco said absently. Harry glanced quickly at him, concern flickering briefly in his eyes. Draco gave him a genuine smile, which Harry returned.

Draco ran his hand over the oblong box in his pocket once more, and wondered why it meant so much to him that Harry would like it.

With fingers that trembled ever so slightly, he brought the box out and held it in front of Harry.

"Urm, I got you something." Harry's eyes lit up.

"Really? Thank you!" He tore off the paper, revealing a thin, rectangular box made of dark wood. Harry's brow furrowed and he glanced back up at Draco briefly. Draco found that he didn't really want to watch. Harry opened the box and his eyes widened. He took out the knife that was inside and lifted it up. Firelight sparkled off of its surface.

"Oh Draco," Harry breathed. "It's beautiful." Draco allowed himself to smile smugly.

"I know," he said.

The blade was no more than six inches long, double-edged, and was razor sharp. The handle, however, was what made it truly magnificent. Made of ebony, its dark surface glinted in the light. Every colour imaginable seemed to swirl in its depths, drawing in the eye. A single, silver snake adorned each side. They were constantly curling and uncurling, seeming to flow from one end of the handle to the other. Harry ran his fingers over them, and Draco felt as though he'd just run his fingers over his soul. Harry gently replaced the knife in its box and looked up uncertainly at Draco, who blinked.

"Draco, it's too much. Really."

"No, it's not," Draco said softly.

"No, it is. I didn't expect...all I got you was..." Harry held out a small box which Draco took automatically. He unwrapped it, and felt the undeniable urge to laugh. After all the stress; all of the worry about getting the perfect gift, Harry had gotten him...

"Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans," he said blankly.

"I know," Harry said miserably. "I know, it's pathetic. I didn't know what to get you! What do you get the boy who has everything? And now you've got me this, and it's perfect. I can't take it Draco."

"No, keep it. It's for you."

"But-"

"I said keep it!" Draco snapped and Harry fell silent. Draco slowly opened the box of sweets, then placed one in his mouth. It was strawberry, his favourite. Draco bet that every sweet in that box would taste fantastic.

What do you get the boy who has everything?