Fest Fic: Falling Short [Harry/Draco, Harry/Terry, Draco/Justin - PG-13 - 8k]

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Title: Falling Short
Author: tblu_2326
Prompt: PROMPT #69 submitted by zgenouz
Pairing: Harry/Draco, Terry Boot/Harry, Justin/Draco
Word Count: 8000+
Rating: PG-13
Contains (Highlight to view): *I wonder if it is really considered cheating? Also, abrupt ending is abrupt. [Mod Note: Does not end H/D]*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: I made this story much too serious. I had absolutely no intention of going so far off the mark only to come back to it somehow. Also, a HUGE thanks to tavia_d for betaing this story, and at such at last minute notice! Seriously, you are awesome!
Summary: Draco had always enjoyed himself most when Harry Potter’s attention was on him.

Read it on AO3

Draco knew the exact moment in time when Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, became the object of his curiosity. His mother had been the one to bring up the topic of Potter when he was young. He had known nothing of the existence of the boy until that moment. Unlike other people’s common opinion (that his mother and father where abusive or that they neglected him) he was raised with very observant parents. Everything he did as a child was under their strict supervision, and they were always within shouting distance.

His parents had wanted the best for him, and gave it to him in the only way they knew how. As a toddler, and eventually a child, Draco was given toys most children could only dream about. Along with those toys came lessons with the best tutors money could buy. He had the basic lessons that all magically gifted children under the age of eleven had, along with many other advanced lessons that most children his age did not get. While other children were outside playing, doing chores, or socializing with other children, Draco was getting stuffed with lesson after lesson.

At that moment, his father had to be away for a longer period of time than usual, which left his mother to watch over him in the meantime. Draco recalled his mother, along with two other women, having tea in the garden during a breezy sunny day. He had been given a rare break from his studies to ride on his trainee broom. They had spent hours, casually and as cunningly as possible, dragging out information from each other, when their gossip had turned towards the dark lord, and his past defeat.

Draco had been running towards his mother in tears after falling from his broom just as Potter’s name was spat out like a curse. The tone of voice surprised him enough that he completely forgot all about his bruised back. He was far more used to delicate chuckles, silky tones, smooth snide remarks that were taken in stride and delivered back like a thorn rose, with the rare occasion of a genuine smile. It was the first time any of his mother’s friends had used such a deep, and harsh tone.

On instinct, Draco had hidden behind one of the many sculpted bushes of leaves, with his ears narrowed in on their conversation. He even shoved a hand to Dobby’s mouth (who had followed him, equally in tears) to prevent the elf from its usual babble.

Completely ignoring the fact that he just willingly touched a house elf for the first time in his life, Draco continued to eavesdrop on the conversation. For a few minutes, Potter’s name refused to come up again, and Draco had been more than ready to throw away his curiosity completely in favour of gaining sympathy for his barely bruised back. He hadn’t been a very patient child. Luckily, in that moment, Potter’s name was mentioned again along with his widely known nickname; the boy who lived.

Even more curious now, Draco decided to push aside his pain in favour of feeding his prickling need to know things that seemed important. He had walked out from behind the sculpted bush as casually as possible and asked, once all the adults’ attention had been on him, who Harry Potter was.

He did not get a response immediately.

His mother’s friends were more intent on looking at her strangely. They looked at her, he looked at them, while his mother stared at him with expressionless eyes. A whole minute passed without a spoken word.

Mother’s blank look had broken away into an indulgent one.

“Harry Potter is a boy who is around the same age as you, Draco,” his mother had begun, giving him her complete attention. Taking that as a cue, he took the seat nearest her, settling in for what he hoped would be an interesting story.

Draco was not disappointed.

They took turns, mother and her friends, telling him the story of the boy-who-lived and the dark lord who died. Each word out of their mouth was practically inhaled by him; Draco could rarely recall a moment in his childhood when he had sat so still, and paid such close attention. He could not believe that the Potter boy had lived through such a thing in his life. With Potter’s parents dying in their attempt to protect him, leaving one-year-old Potter at the mercy of such a powerful man, the outcome would startle anyone: Potter, a baby who likely couldn’t even walk, defeated the all-powerful dark lord.

It had seemed like something right out of a fairy tale book.

When the story came to its climax and finally ended, Draco had known the most comical expression was on his face. With his mouth wide open, eyes near ready to pop right out of his skull, and nostrils flaring.

He was equally amazed and skeptical. Draco had even accused his mother and her friends (what were their names?) of them not telling him the truth. While under normal circumstances doing such a thing would have gotten him scolded, all three women had seemed more bemused then offended by his outburst. The fact that he was pouting to the extreme from being ‘deceived’ was likely the reason for that.

His mother even went out of her way to find an old Daily Prophet that was dated the next day after the event had happened to prove that the story was in fact, true.

Draco was sure that the old newspaper was still shoved in the secret compartment of his desk in his old room at the Manor, along with many others.

While Potter had managed to capture his full attention for some hours that day, it would be five years before he actually got to meet the boy, and a little less than that before his father encouraged him to befriend him. Until that time, Potter was all but forgotten.

0~0~0~0~0

It had taken Draco only a second to realise that he had messed things up between Potter and himself with his first impression, and that he was the same boy who Draco had dismissed earlier as a boy who his mother and father would not approve of. His mind had realised that he had come off as over confident (arrogant), and that maybe bringing Vincent and Greg along was not the brightest idea.

Still, even to this moment, Draco couldn’t say that he regretted insulting Weasley. It did not take a genius to realise his family had been thrown shade, and he had retaliated accordingly.

All the same, there had been a moment in his life that he constantly wished he could do over, again and again. The moment when he and Potter could have walked into Hogwarts as budding friends. This single moment had been one Draco could not help but wonder on.

What would had changed?

What would had been different?

Question after question was asked, with no definite answer.

No matter how much he thought, slept, and dreamt on it, the moment had been put in the past long ago, never to be changed or reshaped.

Draco regretted not being able to become Potter’s friend.

However, Potter’s rejection stung and burnt over that regret. He found himself moving further away from his goal of friendship out of the real fear of being rejected again. Once was enough to mentally scar him for life. That moment when his hand remained in the air for a split second, not shaken or acknowledged.

On the first night at Hogwarts, Draco had declared himself Potter’s enemy. The thought of making another attempt at gaining Potter’s friendship never once crossed his mind.

The very next morning, plans began to form inside his head, and operation ‘humiliate Potter at every turn’ was put into motion.

…It was a little embarrassing that Draco even remembered the exact title of the ‘operation’.

Gaining Potter’s attention had meant that much to Draco. The fact that he was the only one who could rile the boy up almost on command was enough for him. He did his best not to think how that blazing emerald gaze always, without fail, set a fire under his heart, making it come alive like no one else had before. Draco did not think about how his first wet dream had been one of their typical fights turning warm and soft.

Draco had long since maxed out his skills when it came to self-denial. He had more than enough practice with Potter. Even so, some part of himself insisted on staying true when it was just him, himself and he. He could admit his own faults at the very back of his mind, in a tiny whispered voice.

He was childish, and petty. The very definition of a bully. Even as days, weeks, months, and eventually years passed, Draco could not even think to stop.

Even when he knew there was more to him, beneath the Malfoy heir, the bully, the boy who looked for approval, and his own insecurities. Draco knew he could be more, do more, and want more. But how could he possibly even begin to find the shovel to start digging when he had little motivation. Would it be worth it in the end?

It seemed better and easier (safer), to just keep things as they were. Even if it meant being reduced to a seahorse, being moved where the ocean saw fit to place him.

0~0~0~0~0

Draco prided himself on seeing things in a realistic perspective. At least, he did so once his rose-covered glasses where ripped off his eyes by the Dark Lord. It took only one face-to-face encounter with those reptilian facial features, with those crimson eyes that been bled off its humanity long ago, with the thick presence of magic weighing him down and almost choking him, for Draco to decide no.

The picture his father had painted of the dark side was so far from the actual reality it might as well have been in another galaxy. While Draco had very little choice in the matter to begin with, he had still been mostly agreeable to signing up for the pureblood cause. It was something that was expected of him. However, Draco had begun to feel doubtful during his years at Hogwarts. Things his father would have sworn by the book were fact had been torn apart right before his eyes.

Had his basic senses deceived him or his father?

Muggleborn witches and wizards were not stupid. They were all more than capable of competent thinking. Hermione Granger was the main person who had Draco equally envious and doubtful. Draco couldn’t help but turn his attention to other Muggle-born students in the hopes of his father being at least mostly true. After all his subtle and not so subtle studying of them, Draco realised he really just did not know. While some Muggleborns were struggling to keep up with their studies, most were pretty average students, and a few were right up there with Granger.

By the end of 5th year, Draco had been struggling with keeping ahold of his father views entirely. When his father fell out of favour with the Dark Lord during his 5th year summer, Draco’s world had shattered around him. His father, the backbone of their family, was ripped away from him and his mother. Now Draco suddenly found himself pushed into a spotlight he had been very much unprepared for. His heir status was removed in favour of him becoming the family head in his father’s absence. Before he had what felt like a second to get used to the heavy burden on his shoulders, he was suddenly summoned by the Dark Lord through his mother.

Draco knew that while his mother did not have the will at the time to voice her question, it had still been clearly shown in her eyes. For the very first time, he had not been expected to follow her, and by extension his father's, lead. He had a choice.

However, he had still been registering the fact of his imprisoned father and new status as the family head. Draco had recognised the question in his mother's eyes, but did not truly understand what she had been asking at the time. He had been in a state of automatic action. Meeting Lord Voldemort for the first time pushed him even further into the state of absolute terror.

Draco had never been more grateful to his parents for burning the Malfoy mask into his very being. Otherwise, Draco would had not even been given the opportunity to fix his father mistakes, at the expense of his own mother. Instead he would have been killed off then and there, his terror and desire to be anywhere else but there, would have been written on his face as clear as day.

But Draco had managed to survive one more day.

The memory of the rest of that day was entirely absent from his mind. He had little idea what he did after somehow managing not to be marked, and given the chance to salvage his family from Lord Voldemort’s rage. He could recall only one thought whispered in his head with utter determination; he could not fail.

0~0~0~0~0

The crunch of Potter’s nose beneath the heel of his foot gave Draco too much satisfaction. Some part of him had wondered if simply being in Voldemort’s presence once was enough to completely corrupt him. All the same, it was another moment in time that Draco could not bring himself to regret. For once, he had felt determination like any other coursing through his veins, nearly making him heady with the high of it.

Draco would not fail the mission. He had every intention of fixing the vanishing cabinet to the best of his abilities, and somehow, some way, defeat his powerful headmaster.

It didn’t take long before that high crashed and burned in the next few months.

Draco was neck deep in his desperation by then, with little way out of it. His mind had been so jumbled and scattered, he wasn’t sure if he was capable of competent thought any longer. The pressure of his situation was even further heightened by Potter suddenly taking an interest in anything and everything having to do with Draco. Most of his time had been spent between avoiding Potter and stressing over his lack of progress with the vanishing cabinet.

He was somewhat ashamed that a part of him even dared to be utterly gleeful of Potter’s sudden attention under such dire circumstances.

The winter break that had seem so far away was abruptly upon him.

For the first time, Draco had thought that maybe he shouldn’t have refused Professor Snape's help. Especially as how if it hadn’t been for the broody man, Draco was sure he would have once again been at death’s door. Occlumency had been taught to him by that very man what seemed like many summers ago. He had had plenty of time over the years to sharpen his skill to the point he would say he wasn’t too far behind Professor Snape when it came to it.

The Dark Lord had wasted little time in scavenging his mind when he wasn’t given the answers he had all but demanded to hear from him. Draco managed to show Katie bell being jinxed and sent to Saint Mungo’s in his attempt to kill off Dumbledore. While it seemed to gain some thin bemusement from the snakelike man, it did nothing to defend him from the crucio he suddenly found himself under.

Draco was caught entirely unprepared.

The scream that ripped and clawed its way out of his throat was almost as painful as the spell itself. His voice was entirely alien to his own ears. His body twisted and convulsed as thick, powerful magic coursed eagerly through it. Draco could never recall anything afterwards, much less how long he stayed under.

The next moment he had woken up. He was in a bed with his mother hovering over him, worried lines practically carved into her face.

He would later find out - by Professor Snape in a bid to shake some reason in his stubborn brain - that she suffered the same consequences as he did, the moment he had blacked out.

Determination would not be the right word for what pushed him at his next attempt to fix the cabinet while also figuring out a way to murder the old headmaster.

He had known nothing of the meaning of desperation until his second semester in his 6th year at Hogwarts. Basic human need was put entirely on hold, and he put every ounce of energy he had on fixing the cabinet. Every other moment not thinking about the cabinet was thinking about killing Dumbledore and avoiding the ever-suspicious Potter.

As the months dragged and carved their way along, Draco seriously feared for his sanity. Memory blanks were all too common. Hunger and sleep became foreign words Draco simply did not know what to do with.

Draco had never before been under such pressure in his life. His mother's and father's lives depended on him, and he wanted so badly to succeed it almost hurt.

It mattered little that he was not all for the Dark cause. That the thought of Muggle, Muggleborn, or Half-bloods being below him in any way shape or form had not formed sincerely since 4th year. His world had narrowed down infinitely to his parents and himself. Nothing else mattered to him.

At least, he had thought so.

When Draco had caught Potter’s reflection in the corner of his eye in Myrtle's bathroom, the dried tears scrunching up the pallid skin on his shallow cheeks had burnt and tingled. Draco recalled that brief second of eye contact with grey eyes utterly wide and wild in their desperation before he rounded on Potter in absolute rage.

His humiliation seemed complete.

Lying on cold tile of the bathroom hadn’t been that bad. His body had felt more like a delicate china doll shattered on the floor, pieces scattered around him, big and small, which would never make a complete version of himself again. Draco’s body soon grew cold and numb to the fiery rage of pain it had held only a minute before. It happened much quicker than he had thought it would. His blood had probably cooled him down further, there was simply that much of it around him, leaking out of his body as easily as a steady river.

Potter's voice had grown hoarse, now, and he had been suddenly joined by a deeper but no less emotional voice.

When Draco next opened his eyes, he had the pleasure of seeing Potter's sleeping face first. He had taken a moment to look at the face that had once haunted his dreams when he least expected. Potter had surprisingly long eyelashes. His hair had been as ever, and Draco had to shove down the urge to run his fingers through it in a meagre attempt to tame the dark and thick locks. Potter still hadn’t known even the basic components of fashion back then and it showed clearly in his outdated glasses and overly large clothes that hid his body from view.

Potter soon began to stir in his cramped position in the hospital seat, and Draco had wondered why he was even waiting patiently for Potter to wake up.

Oddly enough, he felt utterly deprived of any sort of emotion of the past months. Free of it, even.

Draco wondered why that had been the case.

Neither of them had said a word for the longest time after Potter finally awoke fully. The both of them simply sat and took each other in, as if they were suddenly seeing each other for the first time.

The silence hadn’t been strained, but it hadn't been a content one either.

“I am sorry.”

Draco could not be blamed for being quite startled by those worlds. He had not expected them in the least. In fact, his first thought had been that Potter had been ordered to keep watch over him, or was waiting for another opportunity to interrogate him.

Potter had begun to shuffle in his seat under Draco’s unblinking gaze.

Draco had blinked once. “Excuse me?” he rasped out, brows scowling down in an automatic response to Potter speaking to him.

Potter eyebrows had moved up and down in perfect unison. His green eyes seemed almost washed out entirely as they refused to meet Draco's own at the time.

“I am sorry,” Potter repeated, enunciating each word carefully through his teeth.

Draco's eyes had looked to the closed curtain of the room, to the floor, to his bed, and back to Potter.

His emotions had seemed to have taken a trip to the bloody moon, and Draco had even begun to think it would be a while before they appeared again. All the same, he was able to take in the words, register them with his brain, and come up with an adequate enough response.

“Right.”

Draco's hands had been pretty interesting to look at then, as Potter seemed to be at a loss between gaping at him and strangling him.

Draco simply wondered when he would be able to leave.

“You.” Potter took in a deep breath, and huffed it out the next moment. His hands were surprisingly square in their shape as they clenched at his trousers before running through thick unruly hair.

“What is wrong with you?” Potter had wondered aloud.

Draco opened his mouth briefly, thought about if he had anything to say at all, and closed it again. His gaze had returned to staring at his hands.

Potter had then made a frustrated noise in his corner of the room, before he went on a fully fledged rant about Draco. His voice had gone through different octave ranges as he ran out of breath, only to start anew on another topic somehow related to Draco.

Draco had watched all of this with flat eyes. Some part of himself had been fascinated as Potter expressions morphed along with his rant. He had only paid half an ear to what Potter had actually been saying, wondering when he would snap awake from such a strange dream.

It hadn’t been a dream.

By the time Draco had been discharged from the hospital, Potter had gotten into his head that Draco was in need of saving, and that he would be the one doing it.

Draco just figured Potter had felt a sort of obligation to him for cutting him open like a gutted pig.

Regardless, very few things changed.

Draco still had to finish the vanishing cabinets and kill Dumbledore for his parents’ sake. However, there had been something positive that came out of Potter slicing him open (maybe two things, really). Draco had never felt clearer headed since 6th year had started. There was something about standing at the brink of death, and managing to walk away with his life almost entirely intact.

He suddenly felt he had a new perception of things, and some part of himself had been let go and replaced with something utterly soothing almost.

Had he managed to grow up from that near death experience, even a little bit?

Draco had hoped so.

He knew his emotionless state wouldn’t last. Not with his deadline fast approaching, and the real possibility of once again facing death's doors - only this time with his parents by his side, with little hope of them all being able to walk away from it.

Still, some part of him had been comforted and touched by Potter's naïve determination that he could somehow walk away from the Dark Lord unscratched if only he took the first step. Draco would have loved to do that, but not at the risk of his mother, who had been only too vulnerable without his father or him to protect her.

Draco managed to fix the cabinet.

A moment later, regret like nothing he had ever experienced before slammed into him. His emotions took their cue, and piled on top of him one at a time. Draco could only stumble out of the way of the invading Death Eaters, with Bellatrix and Greyback in the lead.

In the room of hidden things, it had been easy to creep away before he was completely noticed and brace himself against a wall behind one of the many towers of who knew what.

Draco remained silent as he watched what seemed like a never-ending stream of Death Eaters invading Hogwarts. He knew it wouldn’t be all that long before the Dark Lord would join his followers.

His mind had chosen that moment to go completely blank.

What had he done!?

0~0~0~0~0

Potter was screaming from behind them, eating the distance between them as if he was flying on a broom. Draco had even spared a glance back just to make sure Potter had not suddenly summoned his broom to shorten the chase, but no. His legs were working as if he had been a professional, and Severus screamed for Draco to move faster.

Draco did not look back again, but could not gather the energy he needed to move even an inch faster. His mind was working a mile a minute, conjuring images of Potter sitting at his beside in the hospital wing, or cornering him in the library, halls, or right before he was to enter the cabinet. He recalled Potter's expression becoming more and more desperate as the year had begun to near its end, his mouth going a mile a minute.

He recalled his mother's eyes right before he was to leave to meet Lord Voldemort for the first time.

His feet managed to move a few more feet before they each met the ground and refused to budge. He had waited too long to make his decision, and even as he stood there the seconds ticked by.

Draco turned.

0~0~0~0~0

“Do you regret it?”

Draco had closed his eyes and turned his back on the question when Potter had first asked it. He had no response that Potter had wanted to hear, and he had been in no mood to humour him. He had been completely out of his comfort zone.

The Order had not been exactly welcoming, even with Potter’s memory to soften the blow. Draco had completely understood that he had put them in a difficult situation. All the same, he had every intention of milking them for every shred of sympathy in order to help his cause. There had even been a vote, which hadn’t been in his favour, but with Potter standing by his side and Ganger and Weasley standing behind him (more out of loyalty), there was little possibility he would be turned away.

Still, he had been unexpected, and the Order had little choice but to shove him wherever they had the room. The only people who were willing to take him in, were the last people he had expected and wanted.

However, raised to be polite to those who were willing to be nice enough back, Draco thanked them. He kept his thoughts on their house, inside and out, to himself. With Weasel and Weaselette just waiting for an opportunity to hex him, he decided not to give them a reason to. Not to mention it was somewhat amusing to see their reaction to him complimenting their home, thanking Mrs. Weasley for her delicious home cooked meals, and even offering to help clean up afterwards.

Draco had still been aware that he was far from home. That his mother's safety rested in the hands of a man whose alliance was entirely questionable. The fact that Severus had seen him grow up, taught him lessons before and during Hogwarts, mattered little.

All he knew was that his mother was alive, but nowhere near close to being as safe as he wished her to be.

Draco regretted his decision as much as he did not.

0~0~0~0~0

Potter had been staring at him again, with his thoughts clearly flashing in his green eyes, but words refused to leave his full pink mouth. Draco had been determined to be the one who wouldn’t crack first, not when he had all but ripped his own heart out and given it to Potter like an offering last time. No. Draco could not afford to make himself that vulnerable again.

He had turned his attention back to the old books spread out in front of him, and it had took merely minutes for him to get completely lost in their concepts. While the current book had managed to hold his interest, it had seemed to be yet another book that had been essentially useless when it came to destroying Horcruxes. Draco made sure to write down the name to study it more deeply at a much later time. He grabbed another hopeful book, and began skimming the pages, easily taking in the dry language.

Potter had eventually began to shift nosily in his seat. When Draco didn’t as much as glance his way, he became even noisier. After it had been two hours of pages being flipped as loudly as possible, Potter shifting in his seat so it could make the most annoying creaks, and the disgusting noise of Potter putting a glob of spit on his thumb to turn a page, Draco had promptly snapped.

“Potter,” he had growled, “If you don’t sit still and stop being utterly disgusting, I’m going to hex your bollocks to your face!” Draco had whipped out his wand and pointed threateningly at Potter’s crotch.

Potter had the gall to nearly blind Draco with his smile.

“You are finally looking at me.”

Draco had wanted nothing more than to punch and then kiss him in quick succession in that moment, but held fast. Potter had left him hanging with his heart out for all to see, and the bloody bastard thought Draco would just let him off with a cute smile thrown his way?

Had the idiot not realised how out of character it had been for him to make himself that vulnerable to someone!?

Draco had simply put his wand away and returned his attention to the book in front of him. Potter, the stupid boy, had actually pouted at Draco. Had he not realised that he was copying off of Draco? Plus, who did he think he was, throwing Draco’s own mastered facial feature (behind smirking) at him? He had half a mind to show him how it should be done, but then again, he had been too busy keeping his unaffected mask on.

“Draco, Draco, Hey, Hey, Draco. Do you hear me? Draco! Draco~!” Potter had been more determined to win his attention then he thought. Even if it seemed to be at the expense of annoying him more often than not.

Though his determination had been wavering in favour of lashing out in pure irritation, Draco had been sure he would have outlasted Potter, who seemed to have begun to become annoyed himself. It had been almost an hour and a half since Draco had threatened him, and he had said nothing since.

Thirty minutes later, the mantra of Draco’s name had finally died off, but Draco had already decided he would pack things up in the next few minutes. Potter and he had obviously not been able to put their own personal matters aside in favour of helping to find a way to destroy the Horcruxes.

Honestly, Draco had no clue how Potter could have had enough energy to even act so utterly childish, but Draco had become fed up. He would have to help Potter from a distance from now on.

“Hey, Draco,” Potter's voice had come out strange.

Draco had ignored him and began to pack things up. Granger was sure to lecture them, and Weasley would have that irritating smug look on his face behind her.

With his arms full of books, Draco had shoved out of his seat, completely prepared to walk away from Potter and his annoying friends for good this time. He had helped them out with the war cause as much as he was able, and he had every intention of continuing to do so, but he felt little need to be in close proximity with them any longer. He turned away from Potter, shoving the chair in with his hip, wincing when it screeched back into its place.

Potter stood up abruptly behind him, knocking his chair down in his hurry.

Draco had just been taking his first steps away when…

“I love you.”

Draco had frozen on the spot.

“No, no, uh, I-I mean, uh.” Draco had little trouble in picturing Potter in that moment. One of his square hands would be shoved in his hair, pulling at it in slight frustration at not being able to come up with the right words. His chin would be turned down, his green eyes staring at the floor. His cheeks would be flushed with colour as he nibbled on his lower lip in the hopes of bringing words forth.

Draco had to wonder why he had bothered to hear Potter out. If only he had kept walking away in that moment.

“I know I can come to love you, Draco. I mean, ugh, um. Ah, why is this so difficult?” Potter had shuffled around and kicked at the floor, his clothes rustling as he made the movements.

“I know your situation isn’t the best right now, and you mi-might have some regrets for choosing to help us out in the end. I know Hermione and Ron aren’t really helping matters, but that is to be expected when you keep insulting them and stuff, but at least they are still trying! I mean, bloody hell, what am I trying to say!?” Potter had moved around the table and took a few tentative steps closer to Draco.

“Draco.”

Potter had sounded close to tears then.

Draco was turning around before he really registered, his eyes attempting to lock onto Potter's automatically. A crying Potter had meant an unhappy one.

But Potter had not been crying, and his eyes locked onto Draco with such complete and utter determination Draco had instinctively taken a step back.

“I want you. I can’t honestly say I love you at the moment, but there is little doubt in my heart that it would be impossible for me not to eventually fall in love with you. I don’t care that you are more likely to offer a sarcastic comment than a nice one. Or that your favourite pastime is figuring out new ways to insult me. I like that you notice my faults and have little qualms in telling me them. Please Draco, don’t leave. Not without at least giving me a chance to be something more to you.” Potter's eyes had never wavered from Draco throughout his whole confession.

Draco could admit, at least on the inside, that he had been very touched by Potter’s speech. He didn’t think it had even been possible for his heart to beat so hard in his rib cage. For a moment, he thought he was having a heart attack. But no. Potter had just been throwing another chain across his heart, this time much thicker than the rest, binding Draco even tighter to him.

He had little hope of saying no to Potter. Especially back then.

0~0~0~0~0

Suddenly, it had been done.

Draco could hardly believe his eyes. Potter was the only one standing in the clearing, staring blankly at the spot ahead of him. Both he and Draco were covered in sweat, dirt, and blood (from their own bodies and others).

Draco would have liked more than anything to have rushed to Potter and hugged the life out of him like any other emotional Hufflepuff, but he was in no position to move. Voldemort had managed to find Draco first before Potter, and had been more than intent at keeping his promise of torture so great Draco would beg for mercy.

Fortunately, Potter showed up before Voldemort could do any permanent damage.

Just as Draco was about to call out to the lone figure, Potter turned to him with an absolutely heart-stopping smile on his face.

He closed the distance between Draco and himself quickly, casting basic healing spells that immediately got a happy sigh out of Draco’s mouth. Before he could attempt to walk on his legs, Draco found himself suddenly hefted up in strong arms. He managed to not squawk in his surprise, and instead clung tightly onto Potter, nuzzling into his neck.

“Do you regret it?” Potter had asked him as the sun peaked over the horizon, a lighting thin red strands scattered about in his mop of dark hair.

Draco smirked. “Of course not.” For once, he had been telling the absolute truth.

0~0~0~0~0

Hogwarts had taken one year to become reopened to the public. New and present students had been fully encouraged to continue where they had left off, with the seventh year students who had been present and not present even given a chance to re-do the year.

Granger, along with Potter and Weasley (after some insistent prodding from her) had all decided to attend and be a part of the special 8th year class.

Draco had been even less enthusiastic about the idea then even Weasley. He had little doubt that he did not deserve to step foot in Hogwarts. No amount of his effort in helping out the light had been enough to completely abate his guilt for being the one to open the door to the Death Eaters. However, his mother had seen it as a major opportunity, and while she had not outright demanded for him to go, he had known she would have been disappointed if he hadn’t.

Potter had even brought up the subject when it had been just the two of them. Draco had not minded talking about it, but looking back on things now, the subject of returning to Hogwarts had appeared more often than he had realized.

They had often used 12 Grimmauld Place as barrier between them in the world. Draco had all but moved in with Potter by then. He had been surprised his parents had not even gotten a whiff of suspicion from the large amount of time he had spent in Potter’s company.

It had not been like he and Potter were attempting to completely hide their relationship from the public (Potter had wanted to reveal it when everyone had been celebrating of Voldemort’s defeat), it was just the fact that Draco had known the backlash would not have been worth two seconds of triumph. The idea had only been reaffirmed in his head with his status apparently plunged into the very depths of the ocean. While many people had not dared to be blatant about their hatred of his family, especially with Potter always a convenient distance away more often than not, he had known it was still present.

In the end, it had been Pansy who managed to convince him. For one, Draco had been almost embarrassingly relieved that he would not be the only 8th year Slytherin present. Mostly though, he had also realized that his situation could have been worse, and while the school year would have likely not been a stroll in a park (Draco had pictured himself standing at the base of a mountain so tall its peak disappeared in the clouds) he had known he had been taking a step forward.

0~0~0~0~0

Draco had been pleasantly surprised when he realized his old crew consisting of Vincent, Gregory, Blaise and Theo had showed up for their 8th at Hogwarts. He had managed to acknowledge their presence on the train before being shuffled along by the golden trio into another compartment.

Pansy managed to eventually join him, and had completely ignored the awkward atmosphere her presence had brought in favour of chatting away at him as if things had returned to normal.

Draco had never been more grateful to her, and had promised to himself from then on to treat her better. He and she had once been really close as children. Between their own lessons, their parents had managed to set up play dates every other month or so. Their relationship had only begun to strain at the seams when Draco and Pansy had been given heavy hints of a future marriage arrangement between the two of them from their parents. Pansy had been absolutely delighted by the idea. Draco had not minded the idea when first introduced (it had been just another thing added on the list of his parents’ plans for his future). But as time scampered along, and he realised his attraction for males (Potter) completely overpowered his attraction towards females, he could not help but be relieved that his parents had not officially agreed to anything with the Parkinsons.

He and Pansy had sort of dated, but it mostly stemmed from him not bothering to deny anything that had spouted from her mouth. She eventually had given up on him, and turned her predatory gaze to the other Slytherin boys, but Draco had never gotten the courage to outright reject her obvious affection for him.

He was even more ashamed that he had pitied her enough to string her along like he had.

But even with all that he put her through, Pansy still had stood strong, and he truly admired her for that. She had been one of the bravest girls Draco had ever met, and no one would have been able to convince him otherwise.

0~0~0~0~0

It had been three months into the year when Draco had taken a breather away from his cloudy future to glance Potter’s way.

He had timed it almost perfectly.

Potter had still been beside him. They had even been roomed together, along with two other boys; Terry Boot of Ravenclaw, and Justin Finch-Fletchley of Hufflepuff. Draco had been sure some type of consideration had gone into the four of them being roomed together besides them being from different houses.

Along with sharing a dorm, Potter and he had quite a few of their classes together, and often had studied together with Granger, Weasley, and Pansy (who seemed keen on sticking to his side, or more likely keeping herself under the golden trio’s view). They also had taken it upon themselves to ditch their friends when able so it could just be the two of them.

A routine had been established.

It had been in the middle of that routine that Draco noticed Potter’s absence. He had found it particularly odd since Potter had entered the library with all four of them, and had even settled beside Draco like he always did. He had figured back then that Potter had simply been searching for a book, a pretty decent conclusion considering they had all been in the library.

All the same, some part of him had been a bit alarmed to find Potter suddenly not beside him, and he had been fighting off the urge to search for Potter in between the towering shelves of books, when Potter returned to their table.

Draco recalled his head turning so he could watch Potter better as he had walked to his seat, head bent slightly down. When he took his seat next to him, Draco still had not returned his attention to his studies. Instead he became highly aware that something important had taken place while Potter had been away from their table.

Potter had the oddest expression on his face. His face had been drained of most of its colour, with his wide green eyes standing out in contrast to his pale face. His chest heaved as if he had been running a marathon, while his face said he was a moment away from fainting.

Draco had opened his mouth to demand to know what had happened, when Granger had honed in on Potter’s lack of progress and started berating him.

He had brought up the subject much later on that same day, with Potter resting in between his legs, recovering from his orgasm, but Potter had easily diverted his attention by taking Draco’s still swollen cock into his mouth and shoving three of his rectangle-like finger up Draco’s still loose arse.

Draco had realised then that had to be the moment Potter had first came to realise the difference between him and his mate.

0~0~0~0~0

“I am a Veela.”

Draco had not immediately reacted to the words back then. He had been too busy cringing away from the sudden onslaught of memories that all had pointed to something not being right, to things not adding up, and how Potter had seemed to be almost stubbornly by his side to the point of suffocation and then a second later, not. How Potter would go from an overly affectionate lover to a distant friend in an instant and what came off as totally random intervals.

He briefly wondered if he would have ever come to the conclusion of Potter being a Veela, without being told so. The thought of creature inheritance had never even crossed his mind, in fact, it couldn’t have been further away. Draco had long since known that it was possible, with his Veela genes being entwined in his own family tree from both his mother and father, but it had managed to skip over him (his future children would likely not be so lucky).

Depending on the amount of Veela one had in their blood and if it had been awakened or not, it was more than possible for a wizard or witch to later be at least half-Veela, or to have certain traits pop up.

Draco had refocused his attention on Potter then.

It had been just the two of them, the first to arrive back at their own dorm after spending most of the winter break together. They had just finished unpacking their things, and settling themselves in when Potter had blurted out the words.

His voice had told Draco all he needed to know.

Not all witches and wizards who later come into their Veela inheritance needed to find a mate. However, at the same time, the desire for it appeared almost random, even in those who barely had enough Veela genes in them to be considered one. It seemed to matter little, and that had baffled quite a few people who personally went out of their way to study such a thing.

Harry Potter was at least half-Veela, and he had been graced (cursed) with the physical and mental need to find his mate.

And Draco Malfoy was not it.

“Who is it?” Draco voice had not come out steady. His lips had trembled over the words, and Draco’s mouth felt like an invader, moving without his complete consent.

Potter had visibly wavered. He had likely expected to be screamed at, accused of cheating, or even strangled by Draco over a somewhat rational question.

Had Draco not been completely caught off guard, and left to feel nothing but shock in that moment, he would have done all of those things and likely more. But in that moment, the words had not really registered. He had not been able to truly comprehend the situation, a way to protect himself from the inevitable rejection he would face in the future.

“Terry Boot is my mate.” Potter had quickly continued on, as if he was attempting to erase those words with the ones he had said next. As if he had any real say in the matter.

“But I still want to continue our relationship, Draco. Having a mate really just comes down to being in physical touch with them, it does not need to go and will not go further than that, I swear!” Potter had grabbed Draco’s hand, all but clinging to it, as he pleaded.

Draco had been fool enough to let hope begin to flutter in his chest, and actually believe what Potter had said to be true. He had thought that maybe it could be as simple as that, and Potter really had chosen him over the mate his Veela had wanted for him.

He had thought everything would somehow work itself out in the end, and had even been determined to prove himself to Potter, to convince the both of them that Potter had made the right decision.

It had not been about evading faith back then, but that was exactly what they had attempted to do.

0~0~0~0~0

Draco had known that having a mate was more complicated than what Potter had made it to be.

He had known that sheer determination and stubbornness would win them nothing as long as they were attempting to go against what had now become Potter’s very nature. Once it was known that a Veela was to have a mate, most people knew to encourage them to quickly find their mate and consummate the bond. While the Veela would not have died if they were unable to find their mate, it had been pretty set in stone that their life would be shrouded in grey, and even mustering up the energy to smile would become a struggle as the days passed.

Once the mate had been found, a countdown began. The longer it took to consummate the bond between the pair, the stronger they are pulled towards one another to make it happen. The moment they had decided to openly fight it would be the moment of their defeat, until the pull (Veela) had all but taken complete control of them and reduced them to primal beings until the deed was done.

He had known he would be the one to come out hurt, but hope had risen and swept him away for the ride. Draco had truly thought they would somehow pull through in the end.

0~0~0~0~0

It only took a month before Potter finally succumbed to the pull.

0~0~0~0~0

Draco had been utterly crushed. Potter had the decency to tell him straight away, but the blow had not been softened in the least.

The same day, Draco had come to a decision. He had left Hogwarts, and eventually Britain all together. Some part of him had sunk to the very depths of his soul, curled up, and died that day. Another part had been born from its ashes, and soared in its place.

He had not been enough for Potter, but he will be enough for himself.

0~0~0~0~0

Five Years Later

"Potter and Boot are getting married in two months." Draco watch as Boot and Potter beams at each other on the front cover of the Daily Prophet. The couple has been Veela and mate for five years now, but has not officially tied the knot until now.

Justin turns away from the news on the telly to give Draco his full attention.

"Are you going to answer their invitation?" Justin warm brown eyes connected with Draco cold grey. A long moment passes with neither speaking words, but conversing all the same.

Draco turns away first, but a smile pulls at the corner of his lips. "I do not see why not.”

The End

Comments

[zgenouz.livejournal.com]

It took me a long time to realize that i had made a prompt. Sorry for the late comment. I'm not really good with review but i'll try my best ^_^

First, i want to thank you, tblu, for writing this fic. That was the first time that i wrote a prompt and someone had claimed it, so happy ^_^

About the fic, actually, i want a little more angst for Draco and for Harry too, but this fic is still good in its own way. It centers around Draco and what he thinks in all 7 books, that is a really good, love it so much. The way Harry and Draco come to love each other is cute too ^_^ And yeah, the end is a little abrupt, but well, at least Draco and Harry find their happiness.

Once again, thank you for the fic, i really love it!