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1. I haven’t seen him in my rounds, Headmistress Umbridge.
Although Draco Malfoy had no qualms against lying, he'd been taught from a young age how to benefit the most from his lies.
It was something every Malfoy needed to know, because the survival of their line depended on it, and so they were very good at it. His Father had repeated the same over and over again, as Draco grew up: You shall never do anything that provides you no benefit. Lucius was against charity cases and against good will in general (but then again, Lucius was against a lot of things).
Draco had never broken that sacred rule of his family, mostly because he'd never felt the compulsion to do so. He couldn't understand the aim of being selflessly kind; he'd never been taught to be that way.
Of course Harry bloody Potter would have to come tumbling and ruin it.
Draco liked to think that, in that occasion in particular, his behaviour was at least half justified, since no matter how much he licked her boots, he felt no sympathy for Dolores Umbridge. She had some of the most appreciated Slytherin traits, indeed, but subtlety was not one of them, and Father had always said that you can never have enough caution while taking a position as a figure of power.
And maybe, just maybe, his dislike of her also had something to do with that mark in Potter's hand: I must not tell lies, because slapping the prat was one thing, but marking him like that was another thing entirely and Draco didn't approve, he just didn't, no matter how much he hated Potter.
He had known she'd end up finding out about those dumb meetings anyway. Potter and his friends were as cautious are Gryffindors could be, which was not much, and yet it had been enough to mislead the old hag for a while. But it would not last. She had spies everywhere, Draco himself included, and it was just a matter of time that someone caught them red handed, and then she wouldn't hold herself back (she'd been planning their punishments for a while, explaining them to the Slytherins in nasty detail, and she didn't bother hiding how much she'd relish applying them).
However, Draco hadn't ever imagined he'd be the one burdened with the task of informing her of Potter's whereabouts.
He saw Potter walking into the Room of Requirement, dark bags under his eyes and a hand gripping his wand tightly, as if expecting an attack. Before spotting anyone else, he knew he had found the place where Dumbledore's Army met. Then more people started coming, always in small groups, and disappearing into the room after looking around in deep suspicion. Draco was way too good at hiding for any of them to notice him, though, and for a brief moment he wished it wasn't that way, he wished someone had seen him and Obliviated him, because he didn't need any more problems to deal with, and him chosing to walk away without immediately calling for backup was a big problem.
Wasting that opportunity went against everything he'd been and believed his entire life, but it wasn't a major screw-up. That came later.
"Ah, Mister Malfoy!"
Draco had plastered a grin in his face right before opening the door to Umbridge's office, but it almost fell away when he realized what was going to come next.
"Headmistress" he greeted pleasantly, and waited until she gestured him to take a seat.
Pansy and Greg were already there, sitting rigidly. Pansy seemed to be at ease, but it was only to the untrained eye; Draco knew that Umbridge scared her too, even if she tried not to show it. She was always tense, constantly worrying over what would happen if she lost her privileges with the new Headmistress. Draco didn't blame her.
"Well, now that the leader of your Squad is here, maybe we'll be able to find out where Miss Bulstrode and Mister Crabbe are!"
"Vincent was making the rounds with me" Draco admitted warily, and spared a quick glance to Pansy. She gave him a small shrug in response, staring intently at the pink carpet. "I haven't seen Millicent around. She must be docking points from wandering students, somewhere."
Umbridge was wiping clean one of her ceramic plates slowly, minutely, as he spoke. She didn't need to lift her gaze or stop smiling for her question to be sharp.
"Vincent was making the rounds, you say. Then why isn't he here right now, I wonder?"
"He-"
"I do not tolerate informality, Mister Malfoy."
"Of course not, Headmistress" Draco shook his head, thinking of a good excuse.
He knew all too well where Vincent was: guarding the fourth floor, where he'd sent him to keep him out of the way when he'd seen Potter sneaking around. He didn't want him stealing his glory, or at least so he said to himself, but the truth was he hadn't been so sure about giving Potter away in the first place. He hadn't made a choice yet, not really, and considering how those meetings with Umbridge always went, he'd have to do so soon.
"Mister Malfoy?"
"He's... lost, probably" he finally said, settling on the most credible answer (that could, in fact, be partially true). His friend wasn't known for his intelligence, after all, and it wouldn't be the first time he was scolded by a teacher for losing his way around the castle. Draco didn't want to think much about the kind of scolding Umbridge prefered, though. Sorry, Vincent. "I sent him away to check the fourth floor and he must have gotten sidetracked."
Umbridge raised a brow and smiled with false sweetness.
"I see. Miss Parkinson and Mister Goyle will find him and walk him here so we can have a chat, I'm sure." Both nodded and got up, taking it as their cue to leave; Pansy smiled faintly at Draco before the door closed behind her, but he wasn't able to reciprocate. Umbridge had leant over her desk and was staring at him eagerly, with only a few inches separating their faces. Her pupils were blown, wild, and her breath smelled of mint when she said softly "Well, Mister Malfoy?"
Draco couldn't pretend he didn't understand what she was expecting of him. And he couldn't lie either; not for Potter, never for Potter...
"I haven't seen him in my rounds, Headmistress Umbridge."
And while she leant back against her chair, disappointment making her face pinch, Draco mourned the loss of his sanity. And his brain-mouth filter.
2. I can’t be sure; I don't know if it's him.
The second time he lied for no other reason than to benefit Potter, of all the people, was during the War.
Death Eaters coming to the Manor was a common occurrence, so Draco didn't startle more than usual when he heard voices outside the drawing room. However, they sounded excited, something that didn't happen often, and he found himself gripping the armrests of his chair as a hunch threatened to squeeze his breath out of him. Then his Mother walked inside, followed by her dreadful companions, and her next words confirmed his fears.
He rose from his seat, trying to hide his trembling hands from the Death Eaters' sight, and got closer, even if he there was no need to: he had recognized him as soon as he saw him. Nevermind his swollen face; Draco could've picked up the way he walked, the smell of his sweat, the characteristic posture he got while being defiant and that thing he did with his hands when he was nervous. He could have recognized him anywhere, no matter the circumstances.
And at the moment, he lamented that greatly.
Greyback was waiting, and so were Father and Mother, and he didn't want to disappoint any of them. It would be far too dangerous to do so, he had far too much to lose.
"Well, Draco?" Lucius said, a hint of desperation in his tone. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"
The words were waiting on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them back and looked at his Father. He didn't want to, but he couldn't bear to look at Potter, so it would have to do.
“I can’t... I can’t be sure" he mumbled, hoping it would buy him time, because he needed it, he needed a break and not having to worry about what would happen if he dared to lie, or even worse, if he said the truth.
But Father wouldn't budge, not with everything that was at stake. He went as far as slipping up in front of Greyback, nervous as he was, but Draco wasn't paying attention. It wasn't cruel of him, it really wasn't, since Lucius Malfoy could talk his way out of his own death; in fact, he did so at that very moment, having no trouble dismissing the concerns of the bloodlusted werewolf.
Draco knew his Father was safe, at least for the time being, but Potter... He watched him from the corner of his eye, certain in the knowledge he was too busy following the discussion between the two Death Eaters to notice. He truly looked awful, the Golden Boy. Granger, for obviously she'd been the one to cast it, surely knew about Stinging Jinxes. And yet that would not protect him, not even after he'd lied for him twice.
And why had he? He shouldn't have. Oh, Merlin, they'll know, they'll know and they'll... He couldn't protect Potter, not him and not any of his friends. He tried to convince himself that it was the risk he'd foolishly taken for nothing what turned his stomach into knots, and not that fact he'd just admitted to himself.
So he let go.
He refused to have even a peek of Potter's expression while he sold Granger and Weasley, even if reluctantly. He also gave his back to Bellatrix, because he already knew what he'd find if he bothered turning around; he could smell Granger's fear when his aunt entered the room from where he standed, anyway, and Draco didn't blame her. He himself was terrified, had been since he could remember, and his aunt was a witch to fear.
Don't kill them. For the love of Merlin, don't kill them. The silent prayer was all he could offer, and considering how his last attempt to help had gone, he wasn't expecting anything from it. But he got what he wanted, at least temporally; after Bellatrix sent him away, burdening him with another hellish chore, he stayed long enough to hear Potter and his friends' destiny. More future corpses in the cellar, just what he needed to fuel his nightmares... he'd had enough of worrying over hopeless cases, he had.
And if he glanced at Potter in his way out and his mouth was burning with words he didn't have the chance to say, nobody had to know.
3. I’m not crying for him, Mother! I didn’t care if he died!
Narcissa's arms were steady around him, crushing him against her chest, but her whole body was trembling while she sobbed, face hidden in Draco's neck. A Malfoy's breakdown could only be witnessed by another Malfoy, if it ever happened.
And his Mother had been strong for too long. Draco, on the other hand, had always been weak.
She had sneaked away to find him as soon as the cries of Harry Potter's dead, he's dead had begun, paying no mind to the dangers of Death Eaters and Hogwarts' allies alike, for after leaving the Dark Lord, she was now enemy of both. Draco was already weeping silently, by then, and he let her believe that it wasn't only due to her unexpected appearance.
He didn't have the heart to push her away, so he buried his face in her hair and wept. He was terribly grateful for small favours, like that she had no way of knowing who were the tears that soaked her shed for.
"Draco, my darling, my baby" she mumbled as she cradled him slowly. "Everything's going to be alright now, I swear."
Draco almost laughed out loud at that, but there seemed to be a solid weight crushing his chest that prevented him from uttering even the faintest sounds. He only managed to snort among tears, gripping her sides tightly, imagining she was his Portkey to a better place, a better time. And yet those good memories he was waiting for never came; he was drained, dead. Like Potter.
"How?" he said in a broken whisper. How, when all hope is gone? How, when he is no more?
And it hit him, then and there: he needed Potter. He didn't know what to do with himself, without him. Too many years of his life revolving around him, focused in his very existence. And Potter, stupid Potter, selfish Potter, had dared to abandon him and the whole Wizarding World, just like that. And Draco hated him, hated him, hated him...
"The boy" Narcissa suddenly said, stroking his hair. "Potter. Potter will save us."
"Potter is dead."
His Mother must have noticed something in his tone, because she pushed him away gently to scrutinize his face, frowning, before her features relaxed and she smiled sweetly at him. But before she could comment anything, the yells and howls began once again. This time, though, they were saying a very different thing. Harry! and He's alive!
Draco choked in his own spit, holding onto his Mother's arms for support. He stared at her, pale and mute, until she nodded.
"Harry Potter never died. And he will win, for us."
"But he-"
"Quit worrying, my darling" she insisted, stroking his cheek with tenderness. "Do not cry. He's alright."
Draco did not like the knowing gleam of her eyes.
"I’m not crying for him, Mother!" he screamed, a little too loudly, but there was a battle going on and he knew his voice would be lost in everybody but them. "I didn’t care if he died!"
Until much later, a blanket over his shoulders and snuggled against Narcissa's side, when the shock wore out, he didn't realize it was the third time he had lied because of bloody Potter.
4. I don’t love him!
Eighth year was a difficult time for everybody.
That much was clear, but there were still degrees of difficulty. From easiest to almost impossible, it went: Harry Potter, his friends, people who fought against the Dark Lord, people who didn't got involved, people who fought with the Dark Lord, Slytherins, and Pansy. Nobody had forgotten that her reaction to "Voldemort is here" had been "Okay, let's give him Harry Potter tied up nicely as an offer of peace", and that was the main reason she had the worst part after returning to Hogwarts.
However, Draco liked thinking he had a especial spot reserved between Slytherins' difficulty and Pansy's. After all, he'd gone through hell before the War and meanwhile, and after it ended, it hadn't gotten much better.
For starters, he had to deal with a lot of hate from... well, everybody. Besides, his Father was in Azkaban again and his Mother was going through a rough patch that involved roping him into writing her twice a week, or else she'd go bonkers. And if that weren't enough, Pansy didn't leave him the hell alone. She was under the ridiculous pretense that he liked Potter, and Draco had never wanted him dead, alright, but Merlin, that he needed his existence for selfish purposes didn't mean that he wanted him around all the time.
He tried to tell her, but she wouldn't shut her mouth about it. It was bloody irritating, that fixation Pansy had developed out of nowhere.
"Draco, I think you've loved him forever" she said one November afternoon. "It's just that you've never stopped to think about it."
That was new, what she was babbling. She'd always said like, never love. Love was too much of a word; too big, too heavy, but his friend tossed it there in her lousy argument in the careless manner she'd used while talking about Potter the last four hundred times.
"What, in the love of Merlin, are you saying?" he asked, horrified.
"You've always been obsessed with him, Draco" she insisted, folding her arms over her breasts. "Everybody thought it was weird, but only now... You behaved like a child who doesn't know what to do with his crush and tries to cover it up by behaving like an arsehole. Which you exceeded in, by the way. It's even more obvious now, since you go out of your way to ignore Potter-"
"He ignores me too! And-"
"You're not exactly helping your case here, dear."
"Shut up, Pansy!" he hissed. "And what do you expect me to do? I can't pick up a fight with the Boy Who Wouldn't Bloody Die, especially not now that everybody knows just how involved my family was in the Dark Lord's return."
Pansy only smirked, shaking her head.
"Ah, yes, of course you can't bicker with Potter anymore. And since you can't, your crush is showing... I practically live feeling second-handed embarrassment for you, really."
"I've seen you in a dress, Pansy, so don't dare talk to me about second-handed embarrassment!"
"Charming" she snorted, but then her eyes softened. "Why do you insist on denying it, Draco? You're only hurting yourself, you know?"
Draco took a deep breath and talked himself out of killing her on the spot, which was pretty hard, because he was positive it would only make his future job applications look better. His friend could be incredibly stubborn if she wanted to, and Draco was out of ideas to make her understand that he did not like Potter, thank you very much. He didn't even fathom where half of her arguments came from.
Had he been staring at Potter a bit too much lately? Well, of course, but he'd always done so. It was important to keep an eye on the enemy, and it was not his fault if, now that he had no motivation, he got distracted and his gaze wandered over his eyes (bloody green ones, at that), his hair (why did he always looked like he'd just been shagged?), his lips... Wait. That made no sense, but maybe, considering the prat was awfully silent for his standards... Draco was just checking up on him, since it wouldn't do to have the Saviour throwing himself from the Gryffindor Tower; no doubt the Slytherins would be blamed and... No.
Oh, no, Merlin, it can't be.
"Pansy, I think you've made your point" he said weakly. "You can shut up now."
She ignored him.
"You just fit, don't you think? You could do well together... Keep in mind that it doesn't mean I approve, but you could do a lot worse, I guess."
"Pansy..."
"Everything you ever wanted has always been handed over to you without questions," she sighed, smiling faintly, "and then he came and rejected you. It probably started there, and it might have faded away, but you began following him around and pushing him to see if he would break, and he actually pushed back. It gave you such a thrill, didn't it?"
"Please."
"He brings out the worst in you, but that's because he knows how to get under your skin... not everybody can do that. I'm not sure I can, and we've been friends for years. What I mean is... he could bring out the best in you, too, if he put his mind to it. And oh, how you want it, for him to pay attention to you. I know you, Draco, and everything you do, you do it for him to notice you, but he's too oblivious to take the hint."
"That's enough, Pansy!" Draco screamed, clutching her arm so tightly that she grimaced in pain.
And yet she didn't shut up.
"Nobody has ever held your attention like that, not for that long. He fascinates you, Draco. And yes, I think you love him, I think he's everything you've always wanted and everything you've always feared you'd never get, all in one disheveled and heroic package."
"I don’t love him!"
Pansy finally dropped the topic, but her expression was one of resignation and... pity.
She must have known it was a lie before he himself did.
5. I don’t want to be your friend, Potter.
At first, Draco feared that Pansy had meddled around.
It was just weird, Potter approaching him like that for no reason. To be fair, Draco had been the one to stop avoiding him, but that didn't justify him. He'd made no friendly move whatsoever, apart from not going back to his old ways, but that could hardly be considered, since it hadn't been by his own choice.
And yet Potter waited for him after Transfiguration and fell into step beside him, leaving his friends all by themselves.
"Erh..."
Draco turned his head to look at him and waited, brows raised in a silent question.
"What do you want, Potter?" he asked tiredly, when it was obvious the idiot would spend the entire day following him around and saying nothing useful if he let him. "And be as articulate as possible, if you may. Your watchdogs will get tired of waiting."
"I doub they'll ever notice my absence right now" Potter huffed, and then frowned. "And they're called friends, Malfoy. I recall you have some; you should know the word."
"Are you here to insult me? Because honestly, I have far better things to do."
"No, that's not why I'm talking to you. Although you used to do that a lot..."
Draco could feel a headache coming. Or maybe it was a heart attack; it would explain that weird pounding, so hard that it wouldn't surprise him if Potter could hear it. He made a dismissive gesture to encourage Potter to skip the small talk, or his own wicked version of it, which was far worse.
"Potter, I don't have the patience for this."
"Well, okay... I just thought..." Potter blinked, shifted his weight from foot to foot, and smiled uncertainly, like he wasn't sure on which ground he was standing. "Listen, I'm tired of fighting. And it's not that we've been fighting lately... but still. It's been enough. It's time for new beginnings, don't you think so?"
"Is all this babble going somewhere?"
"I've just gotten there!" Potter sighed deeply, focusing his searching gaze in Draco, who waited for whatever he was intending to say with a patience that he indeed didn't have, but somehow managed to gather together for that one task. Finally, Potter seemed to come to a resolution. "Friends?" he asked, offering him his hand.
Draco stared at in silence, half expecting him to laugh it off. Or the hand biting him. Honestly, if it came from Potter, nothing could ever surprise him anymore. But what happened was that Potter kept that hand of his stretched out, a tentative smile plastered on his stupid face, and Draco had to act, he had to do something.
Regretfully, he panicked. In a very cool manner, of course.
"I don’t want to be your friend, Potter" he spat, stepping away. And then he added, as an afterthought "Fuck off."
Refusing to stay and watch as the idiot's kind face crumbled, Draco forced himself to walk away, even if his steps were heavy and he felt as if there were invisible Incarcerous ropes wrapped around his middle, tightening around him the further away he got. The desperation that was gripping him probably had to do with that, yeah, probably. You've brought this on yourself, Potter, he said inwardly.
And considering it had been yet another time Draco had lied because of him, he was kind of right.
+1. I want to kiss you.
Draco was so lucky Potter was such a stubborn bastard.
After the way he'd ridiculed him and spat on his offer of friendship, any sane person would have left Draco alone, and probably only ever talk to him to make his life hell. Harry Potter, however, was no sane person, as he'd proved repeatedly, and so he'd approached him again the day after his offer, after Draco'd had time to mull over what he could have had and didn't because of sheer idiocy. And after Pansy's long scolding, of course.
By then, Draco thought he'd do anything to turn back time and accept Harry's hand, and yet he'd die before going crawling to ask for his forgiveness.
Fortunately, he hadn't had to. Harry had been the one to ask once more, his hand never wavering and his eyes steadier than ever, even after his previous failure, which made no sense, but that was Harry Potter for you. A total nutcracker.
So they'd become friends. Or something that resembled of it, because Draco knew that their relationship, nevermind what it was like, would never by normal by other people's standards. It was a good thing that neither of them cared about normal.
A few months later, and they were sitting outside, near the Great Lake, throwing pebbles to the Giant Squid.
Harry had roped him into it, because of course Draco would have never thought about such an amusement, if it could be called that, by himself. Apparently, it was a thing Muggles did, trying to keep the pebbles from sinking into the water for as long as they could, sending them as far away as possible. They made pretty shapes in the water, Draco had to admit that, or at least they had before the Giant Squid had decided to participate.
The game had quickly turned into a throw-and-catch, with the squid in the place of a common dog. And, as Harry had said, pebbles instead of frisbees, but Draco hadn't understood that part.
It was then when it happened.
Harry had given up on the game long ago and was sitting on the ground instead, looking obnoxiously charming in his oversized winter clothes. It was still bloody cold, but Harry didn't seem to mind. His eyes were closed, face turned towards the Sun and sporting a calm expression, and there was soft sunlight bathing him. His right hand was so close to Draco's left one, he could almost touch it...
"Harry" he said, before giving himself a second to think about it.
His friend opened his eyes and stared at him, blinking dumbly. Draco only understood how gone he was after he realized he found even that endearing.
"Yeah?"
Honesty was against his nature, but to be fair, selfless lies had also been, before... Now, not so much.
"I want to kiss you."
Harry seemed surprised, but only briefly. Then he gave him the brightest smile in a while, and before Draco knew, their fingers were intertwining and they were leaning towards each other, lips brushing in a kiss that was too gentle for their usual dynamics. It soon turned hard and demanding, as expected, until they were panting for breath, only a few inches between them even after the kiss ended.
Draco smiled.
"You hold honesty in high regard, I see."
"I do. But I also wanted to kiss you, too."
There was a pause, then, Harry looking at him fondly before turning away. Their hands were still clasped together, but Draco found that he was lacking contact anyway; he wasn't close enough, never close enough.
So he decided to take another risk. It had worked, so far.
"I never said I wanted to stop kissing" he complained.
Harry beamed.
"I think we can fix that."