how dare you? - Draco/Harry
=> A Drarry oneshot inspired by the song "Wicked Game"
=> In which Harry questions why and how he fell in love with a man who just wants him dead... (or so he thinks).
=>Draco's no better.
=> Canon until the Battle of Hogwarts, where Draco makes the RIGHT choice.
Full of angst until, like, the ending scene. Ends with Ginny/Luna's wedding, so if you want a little bit of 'Draco with the Gryffindors' fluff, go ahead! Enjoy reading!
I fell in love with your smile. Once, twice. I never fell for this man behind a Death Eater's mask.
How dare you make me fall for you? How dare you make me dream of you?
How dare you give me hope?
Harry found himself screaming himself and the rest of Grimmauld Place awake yet again with another nightmare.
"Mate, you alright?" Ron sat up in bed, running a hand through his hair as he ran his eyes up and down Harry as if checking for blood. "Is it the scar?"
"I..." Harry frowned. No, it wasn't the scar. Unlike everybody assumed, his nightmares weren't always Voldemort; nor were they always losing Sirius and Cedric either.
It was a certain arch-nemesis. Not him dying, but him killing Harry with his own hands, like he claimed he would oh so happily do.
Would he, really? Would Malfoy actually kill him?
... Harry knew the answer. And it hurt.
"Yes. Yes, the bloody scar," Harry lied, wincing. "The pain’s fading, I'll be okay. Go back to sleep."
Several months later, Harry found himself storming into the Breakfast Hall after another nightmare. Last night had been a ruthless mess in his head, one he hadn’t been prepared for.
✦✧ ★ ☆ ✶✡︎✦✧ ★ ☆ ✶✡︎ (the nightmare)
It had started with the night at the graveyard in fourth year. Except everything went in reverse. Harry was shoved against the Riddle gravestone, Cruciatus curses had flown around the graveyard freely.
“Kill the spare.” Cedric had been thrown aside like he was nothing.
“Good luck,” he had wished Cedric silently. Cedric had nodded back.
Everyone cheered when Harry broke through the surface. He had found himself searching for someone… he had spotted Cedric shooting him a proud grin. And then he had seen Malfoy leaning against a tree, rolling his eyes at the heroism.
“Haha! Having fun, Harry?” Cedric had called out to him mid-waltz, just like he did to the other champions.
And then somewhere to his right, as the couples started flocking the dance floor, he heard the most beautiful laugh.
“Barely started and you’re already tripping! Ow!” Draco Malfoy muffled a shriek as Pansy stepped harder on his foot.
Malfoy was smiling.
He looked around at the others dancing, and for a split second, they held eye contact: the smile on his face flew away like the wind.
And then all at once, Harry found himself back in the lake, but this time he was drowning. Gasping for air, choking on murky water, spluttering, coughing. Ah, there was Malfoy, seated by the water, holding out his hand. The same breathtaking smile on his face.
Harry reached for it with a gasp of relief, gripping it tight — only for Malfoy to push him back underwater.
✦✧ ★ ☆ ✶✡︎✦✧ ★ ☆ ✶✡︎ (the nightmare ends)
Harry sat beside Hermione, brows furrowed in frustration and pain. Fourth year had been Harry Potter’s gay awakening. It had been a shock when he had realised it was Cedric he liked, not Cho. Not his fault they were always together. But the one crush had led to so many… discoveries. Like on the night of the Yule Ball, when he had fallen for Malfoy’s genuine smile for the first time. He had told himself it was just his recent understanding of his sexuality messing with his head. For Merlin’s sake, had he been flustered when Bill appeared for the Third Task (looking dashing in his wizard’s suit). “Surely it’s just the hormones.”
Harry scoffed.
“What are you up to now?”
Hermione’s annoyed glare was focussed on him with full power. “Erm… Hermione?”
“What?”
“Are you alright?”
“Of course I am, not like I have anything to be mad about now do I!”
“…nope, not at all.”
Hermione punched his shoulder with a book. “Harry! You’re mocking me.”
“Am I?” Harry grinned, his tense shoulders relaxing for a moment. His best friends always made him feel better (even if Ron was being a brat these days). “Come on, what happened?”
“Nothing,” she grumbled aloud, despite her eyes darting towards the diabetic-ally sappy couple seated somewhere down the table. Lavender was too busy feeding Ron his pudding to notice.
“Ah, don’t worry, I hate it too.”
Hermione smirked, satisfied, before going back to her revision notes. “You ought to be studying…”
“Later,” Harry mumbled. His eyes latched onto a bob of sleek blond that had just arrived at the Slytherin table. The instant Malfoy sat down, his gaze drifted away from his ‘friends’ and locked onto Harry’s.
Harry bit back a gulp. Malfoy’s sharp eyes gleamed as bright as the stripes of silver on his tie. How ironic it was that his eyes and Harry’s would make a perfect Slytherin pair.
Harry found himself glaring back, holding his stance against Malfoy’s challenge. But really, he was enjoying it. The silent glare-contest that let him stare at Malfoy’s face for as long as he liked. Let him watch all the little blond strands flutter in the gentle wind that always kept the Hall cool. All the edges of his jawline, the little dark flecks in his silver eyes, the rosy blush on his nose… The faded scars from his ‘Sectumsempra’. Like a worshipper devoted to his idol, he etched all of it into his memory.
It wasn’t until Malfoy’s glare softened did he notice the faint grey lining his eyes. Was he not getting enough sleep? Was he facing some sort of trouble? His cheeks were hollower than before, his neckline sharper. Relative to the ‘rich boy smothered in luxury’ aura he gave off before… all he radiated now was gloom. (And beauty, but gloom.) Harry felt his eyebrow raising in concern, eyes asking a silent question he wouldn’t dare ask aloud. “Are you alright?”
Malfoy looked away.
“Harry? Harry! Cut it out!” Hermione whispered beside him, shaking him back to reality. She shot Malfoy a glare, which he deftly ignored. “What is it now?”
“Nothing,” Harry shook his head, downing a mug of iced water. “It’s nothing. He pisses me off, is all.”
⚡️ -> Shift of POV -> 🐍
Draco didn’t want to look away. Far from it — he longed to be able to wake up to those eyes, fall asleep to those eyes, drowning in their perfect green everyday. His anger dropped when he felt Harry’s gaze searching all over his face. Was he curious? Was he judging how terrible he looked? He couldn’t possibly be ‘checking me out’… Haha, perhaps in my wildest dreams, Draco scoffed internally. Definitely judging.
Potter raised an extremely judgemental eyebrow, his eyes questioning him. Here I was happily staring into his eyes, and there he is mocking me for looking sick. You’re pathetic, Draco, he chided himself and looked away. He’d rather lose the staring contest to bloody Potter than endure the mockery in those beautiful eyes.
It hurt.
Hurt as bad as every nightmare where Harry hit him over and over with Sectumsempra, even an Unforgivable or two.
Draco shook his head and went back to staring at the tattoo edges he could see peeking out of his sleeve. He wasn’t surprised Potter hated him, loathed him, detested his very existence. And maybe so did Draco. Long long ago, back when he was still a petulant child mad at Harry Potter not being his friend. Long before he felt the first pangs of jealousy when Potter brought Patil to the Yule Ball, long before Potter went around snogging a sodding Ravenclaw. Back then, they were equals, absolutely repulsed by each other. But now… it was worse. Draco fell for the Potter that saved a French girl he didn’t even know. Draco fell for the Potter that cried over a Hufflepuff he only befriended that year. Draco fell a third time, for the Potter that stood up to Umbridge.
Draco loved the Potter that hated him.
Can’t blame him, he laughed at himself, covering the Dark Mark and the wounds all over it with a glamour.
“Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!”
“Like it hot, scum?”
BOOM! Another bookshelf tumbled as the wood of the racks caught fire. Yellowing pages of old spells and potion recipes were set alight, burning into ashes in an instant under the heat. The Fiendfyre roared, spreading its wings like a dragon, drowning the entire Room in amber, racing forwards, chasing after the intruders.
Draco ran for his life.
He could hear Goyle sprinting too, only a few steps behind. A flame shot out and latched onto Goyle’s pants: the idiot ran past him, screaming.
A bookshelf came crashing down, and they slipped underneath, missing death by a hair’s breadth. Faster, and faster… The fire crept closer and closer, roaring louder and louder…
“DRACO WATCH OUT!”
“Goyle..?” The smoke and the adrenaline were too much: he couldn’t see a thing, let alone the boy supposedly beside him.
Let alone the tall cupboard that was toppling onto his path.
All he could hear were the dozen crashes all around him, and one loud ominous ‘Creeeeeak’ that crept closer and closer—
And a sudden ‘Swish’ — before he could yell, he was plucked off the ground and thrown onto a wooden log… A broom. He was on a broom.
Down on the ground, he could see the cupboard that had fallen being devoured by the flames… He realised just how closely he had escaped it.
“Goyle!” He bent over the broom to grab his Stunned friend. He looked back up.
A dark raven’s nest sat atop a flushed face, his back bent to steer the broom faster out of the Room.
He’d rather I be crushed to death… or burn. The heat must have gotten to his ginormous head, Draco bit back a sigh, tapping the broom with his wand. The dusty old thing shot out of the doors like a lightning bolt. With a wave of Granger’s wand, the doors slammed shut, right in the Fiendfyre’s face.
Gasping for fresher air, the trio sat down against the wall, exhausted. Draco slumped to the ground nearby, after having leaned Goyle against a pillar as well. They watched, horrified, as the beautiful diadem in Harry’s hands broke apart with a scream.
The Dark Lord lost another Horcrux. Draco lost a friend. Draco also now owes Harry sodding Potter his life.
And maybe he didn’t mind that one bit.
“Draco… Come.”
Narcissa Malfoy’s words bounced off of the stone all around the Hogwarts courtyard. Draco curled his fists in tighter, fully aware of the hundreds of hateful eyes, as he stepped out of the crowds and made his way across the courtyard. Voldemort [no, Draco refused to call him the Dark Lord anymore, he was just a bloody maniac] began grinning, big rotten teeth as ugly as the rest of him. Instead of maybe walking into Voldemort’s outstretched arms for a bloody stupid hug, he walked on towards where the old half-giant stood, stood stock-still before the body of the one man he dared love… and fell to his knees.
Time slowed, the one tear trembling on his lashes taking ages to sneak its way down his pale, grimy face. He could hear others behind him scowling, gasping, wondering. He couldn’t care less. A hundred memories flashed through his mind within the few seconds it took for the tear to fall.
✦ ✧ ★ ☆ ✶ ✡︎ ✦ ✧ ★ ☆ ✶ ✡︎
“Malfoy. Draco, Malfoy.”
“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.”
“You wait till my father hears about this. This is servant's stuff.”
“If I didn’t know better, Draco, I’d say you were scared.”
Draco scoffed. “Scared, Potter?” He spat the name as if it were a curse. Which it was. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what…?”
“I thought I heard hooves…” Why did Potter’s voice sound so close…? Draco looked down to find he had subtly hidden behind the boy. Throwing himself further away, he shuddered. “N-Never mind, it’s probably nothing.”
Draco felt satisfied to turn the context around this time. “Scared, Potter?”
“You wish.” The Gryffindor’s eyes glowed with determination and anger. It pissed Draco off, seeing the anger he felt every time he saw Potter, reflected back. Was he mad over what happened with the mudblood?
Tsk. Draco swore to use the worst jinxes he could think of. “SERPENSORTIA!”
A Firebolt crashed into the pit, smashing into smithereens.
“Potter’s broom!” Parkinson smirked.
“Look!” A roar of cries ran across the stands as a limp body came crashing down beside the broom. The Headmaster raised his hand just in time: Harry Potter now lay mid-air, body as limp as a… a corpse.
Draco shook himself, correcting his expression into his most smug smirk yet, wary of his classmates jeering at the unconscious Seeker.
“Potter. Potter! Is it true that you fainted?”
Somebody at his table mimicked a dramatic faint, mocking Potter. The rest of the Slytherins cracked up, sniggering beside him, reminding Draco to stay in character. “I mean…” he scoffed, flashing a scornful grin. “You actually fainted?”
Weasley pulled a face at them, Granger pulled an annoyed Potter away, an arm wrapped tight around his back. Draco frowned.
“Barely started and you’re already tripping! Ow!” Draco muffled a shriek as Pansy stepped harder on his foot. Snarky Parkinson retaliated, making him laugh. Oh how wonderful the night would have been had he kept his eyes away from the centre of the dance floor. For right beside where Diggory was twirling Chang, Potter was watching him: judging, probably. In a way, it could have been satisfying: the Gryffindor Patil girl was all over him, but his eyes were on Draco.
Except they were scrunched up in hurt.
Almost like… Almost like Potter was hurt to see Draco dancing with somebody else…
It confused Draco. And Draco hated being confused.
“Father will kill you, Father will kill you,” Draco chanted inwardly — begging himself to not punch Umbridge in the ear. Sure, she was sodding torturing Potter. But his father really would kill him if he went against the Ministry…
Draco, for the first time in his life, regretted ever being born a Malfoy.
“No,” Draco denied recognising the captive. He wasn’t lying. The Potter he knew was breathtaking in his own Potter-y way, not blown up and blue like this wretch crouching before him. But he’d know those pretty eyes anywhere — but neither did his prick of a father (whom he now officially loathed), nor his unhinged aunt deserve to know that.
Besides, the trouble was worth it when Potter gazed back at him with nothing but pure gratitude.
Draco sat against the wall, watching the Horcrux break apart. The diadem was beautiful. It wasn’t worth Crabbe’s life, though. Voldemort was a sick scoundrel, just like his father.
Potter and Malfoy clashed eyes for a bare minute.
I save you, you saved me. Guess we’re even now. Nothing more between us.
Something snapped inside him. He had hoped the life debt would have dragged on a bit longer.
Draco nodded silently, pulled Goyle up, and stumbled away, sulking.
✦ ✧ ★ ☆ ✶ ✡︎ ✦ ✧ ★ ☆ ✶ ✡︎
Draco shook his blond head, refusing to cry. Potter — no, Harry — had once looked so innocent and charming and bright. The day he had first seen the frizzy-haired boy, Harry had been full of toothy smiles and sparkling green eyes.
“Draco~” Bellatrix’s voice twisted his nerves.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Voldemort hissed. “The boy’s dead!”
No. He refused to believe the light was gone.
Without a second’s hesitation, his wand shot out a brilliant blue hex towards the wraith.
A round of gasps. A very satisfactory “Ha!” from the only Weasley twin left.
“That’s right. Harry’s not dead, not to us.” Longbottom? The sound of a sword being pulled out.
And with a loud ‘Thud!’ the body in Hagrid’s arms rolled over. Draco’s arms shot out simply on instinct, catching the body just in time.
Green eyes stared up at his, wide in shock and glistening in… relief. Quiet joy. A very silent ‘Oh, there you are.’
Draco scoffed in response. As if I’m the one who returned from death. “Get up!” He shouted, pulling them both to their feet as Longbottom, Granger and the Weasleys led the Light Army into attack, while cheering for the Boy Who Did Indeed Live.
Lucius Malfoy was fuming. Oh, the glee in Draco’s heart.
He’d have to fight now, try and sneak his mother away too. He’ll find his way back to Harry later. Just like he always did.
“You know,” Parvati Patil stretched her arm (which was covered in shiny bangles up to her elbow). “I really did think Ron would be the first to marry from our lot. Who’d have thought his little sister would beat him to it?”
Draco Malfoy scoffed, taking another sip from his white wine. It was a wonder a Weasley wedding even HAD the muggle drink — just as much of a wonder it was for anybody else to see a Malfoy enjoying it. “He’s a bloody idiot. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t even asked Granger yet.”
“Right?!” Parvati burst into laughter. “So dense, honestly! Oh, but I’m so happy for the girls! Aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, there she comes! Hello, pretty bride!”
Luna Lovegood waved, giggling, her blond locks flying in the summer breeze. “Hi! You know, I had somebody ask me if the gentleman over there was my brother.” She chuckled, patting Draco’s head for no reason.
“I wouldn’t mind being a Lovegood,” he swirled his glass.
“Join the family?” Luna grinned.
“Too late,” he held up his left hand, flaunting the sparkling silver ring.
“Put it down, put it down! The aura of richness is blinding me,” Ginny Weasley cried, linking arms with her new wife, pulling a face at Draco. “Hey, Parvati, come dance with us!”
“I will, in a bit.”
“Malfoy, find your drunk fiancé and come dance, yeah?” She asked, already dragging Luna away to join the others.
Draco watched them leave in silence before downing the rest of his glass. “So.”
“So?”
“Have you found your… person?” He felt awkward asking after Lavender Brown, given it was Greyback, one of his father’s old lackeys, that bit her.
“Lav? No. I think I’m close, though. Maybe I’ll find her soon, and bring her to your wedding this winter,” she sighed with a distant gaze.
“Maybe.”
“Have you found yours?” She smiled knowingly. Draco falling to his knees over Harry’s corpse had indeed been quite the dramatic memory for everybody present.
Draco smiled back (he had learnt it felt oddly good to do that), eyes drifting over to spot Harry laughing his heart out with Neville Longbottom. “I have.” He placed his glass on a floating table nearby and rose to his feet. “Excuse me,” he bowed to the lady before strutting across the tent to find his partner. “Ahem.”
“Oh!” Harry jumped. “Hello, Dray~”
“You’re drunk as hell.”
“Wasn’t me! I tried to stop him,” Neville held up his hands in surrender, slinking away to escape.
Draco sighed. “I was about to ask you to a dance but… You’re a mess.”
“Am not! I can dance!”
“Yeah? And if you fall?”
“You can catch me!”
Draco chuckled. Harry seemed to like being caught by him, ever since the day of the Battle. “Fine. Let’s go, your ex is waiting.”
“Hey, we both have our own beautiful blondie partners now,” Harry laughed.
“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Draco gripped his hand as Harry dragged him off to the dance floor, his heart soaring with joy, feeling himself falling for him all over again.
He had once been mad at the universe for this. For making him fall in love with Harry James Potter: so despicably, idiotically, and wholly in love.
Now, he could only be grateful for the ring he now wore, the hand he now held… the heart he now owned.
Somewhere in the back of the tent, sat a lonely Weasley twin. Chink! A coin rolled along the floor to rest at the Weasley’s feet.
George sucked in a gasp, picking it up. “Five galleons,” he muttered to himself. He looked up just in time to see Harry dragging Malfoy to the dance floor, joining Ginny and Luna, and Ron and Hermione. He chuckled, a tear slithering down. “Told you I’d win, Fred,” he patted the empty seat next to him. “Bet closed.”