Work Text:
Considering the Way Things Are
He was just a little boy.
Everything's happened so fast, so quickly in the boy's life that people were drawn to him. The hero of the Wizarding World. Hmmmph. If they only knew. He survived.
Every single time, he survived. And I was there to both loathe and admire it, him. To ridicule him, if necessary. He didn't choose to be such a ... thing, and deep down inside, I think I believed him, when he said he never wanted such a life. If I didn't back then, I do so, now.
I kept him grounded. You could say that, grounded. Me and the young Malfoy attributed ourselves these roles though not for the same reasons. Where Malfoy's was rooted in jealousy, attraction and rejection, mine came from History.
I am aware, thank you very much, that Potter is not his father. I noticed that much. Absolutely no need to remind me. But the way he was catapulted into this life, with such devotion, recognition, fame, I couldn't bear it and bare to see him grown into another Malfoy: impetuous, tricksy and perhaps slightly hypocrite and sneaky.
It was my way of showing kindness to him, if you would prefer. Treating him as though he was nothing more than a brat. Funny, isn't it? And I saved his life, too, a few times. Not that people thanked me or anything ... I always was the Monster, the horrible Professor, so cruel and unforgivable to the poor Harry Potter.
Until the War happened, that is. Having to teach him Occlumency began as a disaster of course, but something happened during the summer of '97 - Malfoy, probably - and during the autumn term Potter became Harry, and he was so subdued that I ended up letting my guard down and even liking those sessions we had together. There was a new determination in the brat that was inexistent during the two previous years. Strange if you ask me, but I thought it wiser not to make any comment and to have to restart our lessons from nothing because of lost trust.
This time, he succeeded in blocking me within six weeks of training.
And never since that day has anyone been able to know what was going on in Harry's head.
Until now, that is.
~*~*~*~
To say I never liked Potter would be an understatement.
The most impetuous and foolish brat to ever cross paths with me. Famous, praised, always forgiven; a pathetic Gryffindor. A half-blood. Like Voldemort.
No matter what Dumbledore ever said, I never trusted Potter to defeat Voldemort. If you think about it for a moment who, in full possession of their mind, would have trusted him to do it?
Severus never did. My dragon either - until it was too late, that is. Both of them. I cannot figure out what it is about that dirty boy that they found so compelling.
Think about it for a second ... my own son? In a relationship with Potter? Even just fucking him was almost more than I could bear. Dear Narcissa had told me, over that summer of ’97, that they were </i>seeing</i> each other. I managed to send Draco a Howler within the minute. How dare he bring that kind of disgrace to his family, his name and his Pureblood heritage?
I stayed in Azkaban for over a year ... until the War actually began openly, and I worried. Light side or not, the brat still was a Potter, and I wondered at the kind of influence he might have on my son. I did not want my Draco to become noble or anything else remotely ... Gryffindoresque. I could not stand it would such a thing happen.
Thankfully - or maybe not - Draco got the Dark Mark and was asked to hurt Potter. Badly.
By that time, Voldemort had me out of prison and I assisted to the ceremony - just as Severus did, for good measure - and later was a spectator of Draco’s demise after his mission was completed.
He hurt.
He might not have felt it himself, but I am his father and I know him better than he - or Voldemort for that matter - knows himself. He swore he hated him and he never lied about that fact because that’s what he thought it was. Hate. But you know the old adage. Love and hate are separated by a very thin line that is easily crossed and one is never the opposite of the other.
I know that line. It is the same one that separates intelligence from stupidity; from following this Dark Lord to being a boot-licking spy. From knowing who, ultimately, would win the War and bring out the best for the Wizards and the Pure-bloods. For the Malfoys. Freedom.
Submitting to another wizard, no matter how powerful, was something foolish. Malfoys never submitted to another ruler, to another leader. Only the Head of the family shall rule it. And thanks to my son, for he was the one who enlightened me when he had enough. When I was about to make a fool of myself.
That was in ’93, after Riddle’s famish attempt at killing Potter with the ridicule Diary and the Weasley girl. This simply was not meant to be. I finally came to my senses and realised what he meant.
The rest is History. When the time came for the final Battle, the Malfoys were standing by that foolish Dumbledore’s side along with ... Severus Snape - to my utmost surprise, should I add. I later learned he’d been a spy for over twenty years. Not that anyone had had any suspicions before: like my son, he despised Potter sincerely until a certain point. And now, now I look at all this and I see that despite both their return to the Wizarding World, my son and Potter have not yet spoken.
Five years.
I had not seen my son for five years when he knocked at the door of the Malfoy Manor in June 2003. And three months later, Wonder boy is called back by the Ministry like a man would call his puppy.
Severus told me he'd refused to fill the position of D.A.D.A. teacher at Hogwarts in September; my son looked alive for a mere few weeks and this morning I found my dragon staring in the void, a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands. He’d been preoccupied during the last two weeks, I could have told that much, but now he looked like a ghost.
On the front page, a picture of Harry Potter frowning and avoiding to look straight at the camera.
Under it, a title. Potter is Gone Again.
What has he done to you, my dragon?
~*~*~*~
Of course, the prat had to do something ... huge like this. Noticeable. An act people would talk about for the months to come. Not that he realises it, of course. He’s completely oblivious to the opinion of everyone else.
At least, I managed to avoid the creation of a Gilderoy Lockheart Jr. If nothing else, I will have done that. But young Malfoy seems to care, too, and he was at Hogwarts when I was summoned to Albus’ rooms. And so was Minerva. The three of them were looking at me with so many expectations in their eyes that I knew immediately what they had in mind for me. And what was my answer.
‘I am NOT going after Potter, Albus. This is out of question. He chose to leave after being forced into a five years exile with the Muggles. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s saving himself, more likely than not.’
Of course I conceded in the end. Not that I really had the choice, did I? Draco had been silent all the time I was there and I started to wonder about the purpose of his presence - not that I didn’t want to see him there, I was merely ... curious. I might have known.
If not for Albus; if not for Minerva; I would find Harry for Draco, of course.
And I did.
And I hope no one will ever put me under Veritaserum for they will know I am about to lie to my supervisor, to my colleagues, to a young friend.
They do not want to know the truth because it hurts. So much.
~*~ The End ~*~
A/N: Stay tuned for There is No Pity in Love (aka Emit Remmus #6 -> more Harry/Draco/Thomas interaction for you guys to enjoy!) in an archive, livejournal or mailbox near you very soon! And thanks for those who stay with me and let me know how they enjoy the series - I really appreciate and take the time to consider your suggestions! ~ Laeb xXx