'I'm not a perfect person
As many things I wish I didn't do'


Draconis Xavier Black Malfoy was the carefully-constructed product of selective breeding, a wealthy upbringing, and the teachings of his father – which were only slightly tempered by the values Headmaster Albus Dumbledore insisted upon instilling in the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Draco’s ‘spoiled brat’ image was perfected at the age of two, and would carry him well through years of schooling. But that was all it was: an image. He was a Malfoy, and was trained to wear different masks for different occasions – a skill that many in Slytherin House aspired to possess, but none could maintain as flawlessly as their Prince.

He was, after all, taught by the ‘master of deceit and betrayal,’ himself – Lucius Malfoy.

Being born a Malfoy – one of the wealthiest and most powerful pureblooded wizarding lines in Europe – entailed responsibilities and a duty to tradition that most outsiders would likely never understand. Being born the son of Lucius Malfoy only added burden to the load the young heir already carried in the name of family honor.

Malfoy men had been obsessed with the attainment and maintenance of power for generations. The saying “Power corrupts” held true for this old family, and it had not taken long before the name ‘Malfoy’ had become synonymous with the concept of ‘Dark Arts.’ Driving their obsession for control had been the belief that, due to their heritage – centuries of pure wizarding blood – they were superior to those they considered to be filthy Muggles, mudbloods, and half-bloods. Lucius took great care in educating Draco of the legacy of the Malfoy: pureblood pride aligned with Slytherin cunning, and an unholy respect for the Dark Arts. Narcissa Malfoy watched on quietly as her husband molded and crafted their son into a perfect replica of himself.

Or so he tried…

Draco adored his father, and looked up to his elder as many sons were apt to do. So he wore each mask proudly – relying on some more heavily than others – and aspired to be the perfect Malfoy. There were many occasions when he truly would enjoy his role: His interactions with the great Gryffindor trio provide prime examples of the truth of this statement. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley – how he despised them all. The savior of the wizarding world and his two best friends were a headache to Draco since their first meeting on the Hogwarts Express, when Potter had insolently denied his offer of alliance – of friendship.

But there were other times… times when his façade would directly oppose what he truly felt inside. And those instances usually surrounded 'her.'



'But I continue learning
I never meant to do those things to you'


The first time he saw her was the day he boarded the Hogwarts Express for his first year of school. He had arrived in true Malfoy fashion – expensive private carriage with a servant carrying his trunk – and had acquired a compartment from a few other simpering first years – 'Hufflepuffs for sure,' he had sneered inwardly – with a confidence borne from years under Lucius’ tutelage. After the hostile take-over, Crabbe and Goyle – old childhood acquaintances of his – had been goofing off with a pack of exploding snap, while he sat idly by the window, waiting for the journey to begin. He had been uninterestedly smoothing over his new robes – custom-made of the finest material school regulation would allow – and tapping his foot – encased in 250-galleon black dragon-hide shoes – when a flash of crimson caught his attention. He sneered as he took in the appearance of a small girl on the platform, holding her mother’s hand. Her shocking red hair was pulled back in a braid, and she was wearing a horribly-outdated skirt and top that looked like they had been in use longer than the girl herself had been alive. After considering her hair and her attire, it did not take him long to conclude that she was a Weasley. His father had told him all about that family: poor blood-traitors, the lot of them, and an embarrassment to the title of ‘pureblood.’ He was about to discard the little girl as unimportant riff-raff – much below the notice of an important Malfoy such as himself – when the Express started moving. Draco watched as the small red head ran along on the platform, her chocolate eyes bright with tears, laughing and waving goodbye to someone on the train. He never knew how or why, but at that moment, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his opulence-filled life.

And that scared the hell out of him.

But his determination to be the perfect Malfoy did not waver, and in only days, Draco succeeded in forgetting about the girl on the platform. He was much too busy with his first-year classes, and trying to show the rest of the school just how great Potter wasn’t, to be caught up in thoughts of the young red head. He took his position in Slytherin House – the house of any true Malfoy – and succeeded in forming alliances, as his father had instructed. Slytherin was a house full of proud purebloods, and Draco’s well-honed leadership skills – as well as his father’s name and money – placed him highly in the House hierarchy early on. He reveled in his position of power, and when summer came, hoped to impress his father with his tales of triumph within his House. Unfortunately, his father was much more interested in berating him for not having received the highest grades in his year, an honor which was given – undeservingly, in both Malfoys’ opinions – to the mudblood Hermione Granger.

It was after another one of Lucius’s reminders of what a disappointment Draco was as a Malfoy that she came back into his life.

She was standing with a gaggle of red heads, so small and almost lost in the crowd, and something within him stirred as he looked down upon her from the upper levels of Flourish and Blotts. And then he spotted Potter, being pulled up front by the poncey prat Gilderoy Lockhart… The knowledge that she had undoubtedly arrived with scar-head aggravated him greatly, so – going against endless hours of training – he let his emotions control him and directed his anger at Potter. But then the small Weasley girl placed herself in front of the speccy git – with a fiery anger in her eyes that he could have sworn had slightly burnt him – and defended Potter. So Draco did the only thing he could do: collected his cool mask, placed a believable sneer on is pointed face, and spouted some crap about her being Potty’s girlfriend, as it was disgustingly obvious that she was quite smitten with the Boy Wonder. He forced himself to enjoy her embarrassment, as well as Potter and the elder Weasleys’ anger, and he promised himself that he would crush whatever soft feelings he had towards the little brat.

So when the small red head arrived at Hogwarts for her first year – upon which time he finally learned her given name (Ginevra) – he decided that he must avoid her, as not seeing her had worked so well the year before. Unfortunately, while Hogwarts was a large castle, it was not so huge and populated that the flash of her scarlet hair never caught his eye. Those times when he had to face her presence, he would adopt the role of the ‘cruel bully.’ His scathing remarks to the girl, especially after her atrocious singing Valentine to Potter, drove her to tears, he knew… But that did not stop his harsh treatment of her, and he refused to give ground to those guilty feelings that built within him at seeing the hurt in her eyes.

Then she was taken into the Chamber of Secrets… and he almost lost his mind with worry over her. His father had said the school would be cleansed of all those unworthy of a magical education, and so Draco had been excited during the entire “Heir of Slytherin” fiasco. But he never thought that anything would happen to Ginevra Weasley – she was a pureblood! All he could think about – in those hours when she was missing, and assumed dead – was how he had made her cry.

He made a new promise to himself that day: he would never be the cause for her tears again…

When she came out of the Chamber, unscathed because of Potter’s heroics, the moment for Draco was bittersweet: his relief was palpable, and whatever feelings he had held for her prior to the ordeal only increased upon her safe return. But then he saw the way she looked at Potter – her own personal dragon-slayer – and something within him almost broke. He forgot the promise he had made in his worried state, and the following years were marked – again – by avoidance and, when necessary, outright cold-hearted viciousness.


'And so I have to say before I go
That I just want you to know'


At the end of his fourth year, his father’s master returned, and Lucius rejoiced. Draco, still striving to be all that the Malfoy heir should embody, was pleased with this success for the dark side. Lucius was away much of that summer – busy with preparations and plans for his Lord – and Draco stood aside, waiting excitedly to be ‘tapped,’ to join his father and countless others in the ranks of the Dark Lord Voldemort. But his father made it clear that it was not his time… yet. And so Draco returned to Hogwarts, to continue to play his roles as Prince, brat, and bully (among others), and to find – annoyingly – that his interest in the littlest weasel had not abated… And she was making it much more difficult to ignore her.

He had watched her change and grow over the years, careful to keep himself unseen and as detached as possible. She was often overlooked, he had noticed, and seemed to stand in the shadows of the great Gryffindor trio. She had made friends with an annoying little Gryffindor with a camera and that Ravenclaw Looney, but he had caught her frequent unguarded expressions of loneliness. That changed in his fifth year – she changed, and his damn infatuation with her only grew. She possessed a new confidence and exuded brightness, and had apparently given up on the Boy Who Lived – only to take up with various other blokes. Draco had his own fair share of trysts, as there was always a willing Slytherin – or sometimes even a Ravenclaw – ready to please the young Malfoy, whose money only heightened the appeal of his pale aristocratic good looks and slicked-back platinum-blond hair. But he was not prepared to see the girl – whose image had lingered peripherally in his mind for years – with her limbs entangled around any other man. He had been patrolling the halls on rounds for Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad (his father insisted that he support the vicious hag) when he had caught the red head in quite a compromising position with some Ravenclaw… He never knew that he could feel such pain – seeing her consent to being groped by a horny teenage boy (that was not him) was worse than watching her adoring gazes of Potter. His Slytherin mind quickly converted that hurt into anger, and he hastily retreated back to his dorm unseen, his mind calculating revenge as he stalked furiously. In the weeks following that incident, Draco tackled his duties for the horrid Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher with new relish, and made it a point to even further taunt those goody-goody Gryffs. He did not need the Weasley girl, and he did not want her… he had to remind himself of that repeatedly.

His icy mask of disinterest was finally cracked by his weakness for the youngest Weasley only a few months later. He was faced with the small girl – no, young woman – in Umbridge’s office, after the toad-faced witch had left with Potter and Granger, but he could not bring himself to use his wand against her. She, however, had no trouble cursing him, freeing herself and the other captives of the Inquisitorial Squad… And the look in her eyes would haunt him for weeks afterward: it was clear that she loathed him.

That summer was truly harsh for the Malfoy heir. His father – his idol – was imprisoned in Azkaban for a few short weeks, before he and the other Death Eaters escaped the dementor-free island. But that had been enough time for the beautiful Narcissa Black Malfoy to plant a seed of doubt in Draco’s mind regarding the path Lucius had set for his son. She was so direct, so confident, and still the perfect picture of ‘Pureblood Pride’ – and Draco found himself questioning all that he thought he had known…

But with Lucius’ return came a reassurance that his view of the world was the right one, and Draco was quite smug when he was invited to attend a meeting of the esteemed Death Eaters…

He vomited in the bushes that night, soiling his expensive boots, after witnessing the torture and murder of a young Muggle boy. But after one vicious jab from Lucius’ cane, Draco straightened his back, and rejoined the jovial group of killers, reminding himself sternly that he was a Malfoy, and that it was his duty as such to promote a society of purebloods, as his ancestors had long endeavored for.

And so he returned to his sixth year at Hogwarts, with his smirk still firmly in place, his eyes cold, and his mother’s warnings and his own self-doubts pushed deep within himself. His hatred of Potter and his little gang (which had only heightened after Draco’s failed attack of the Boy-Who-Refused-to-Just-Die-Damnit on the Hogwarts Express) became only more apparent, as Draco strove to keep his mask in place.

His confusing feelings regarding Ginevra Weasley still coursed through him, and while in her presence, he could not ignore the memory of the look in her eyes when she had hexed him. Avoidance became his mantra, and he was sure that he managed to look quite silly running away from any place that she happened to be.

Still, another year passed, and Draco found himself at yet another Death Eater meeting, and this time, they were waiting for him to join in their ‘fun.’ Hiding a cringe, Draco did what was expected of him, and tortured the Muggleborn witch placed before him; afterward, he could barely listen to Voldemort preach about the upcoming battles they would have to fight in, too busy trying to allay the nauseating turmoil within him.

He could no longer keep his doubt and sickness regarding the Dark Lord’s approach to ‘cleansing’ buried within him. But what was he to do? He would never be one of Dumbledore’s golden children – nor did he want to be. He did not wish to fight alongside Potter and the other Gryffindor ponces against the Death Eaters: he still believed that Voldemort’s goal of a pure wizarding world was an honorable one. Yet he was hesitant to don the robes and mask of a Death Eater again, when the acts he would be expected to execute were so atrocious, no matter the victims’ less-than-pure origins.

He had no place… no sure position in the growing war. His duty was to the name Malfoy – that was what he had been raised to believe. But Draco was starting to think that his ancestors had not intended their descendants to bow to some half-human monster… It was then that he decided that his only duty was to himself, and he chose neither side: there was nothing worth killing for – not even Voldemort’s supposed pureblood utopia – and there was certainly nothing in this world worth dying for.

That was what he firmly believed, until he saw her crying by the lake…


'I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
and the reason is you'


She stood there, tears streaming steadily down her pale cheeks, and the sun lighting her crimson hair like fire, as the wind blew the loose locks around her face. Her arms were wrapped around herself, as if she were trying to hold in her emotions as they attempted to claw their way to the surface. Draco vaguely recalled hearing the news that one of her innumerable brothers had been killed in a skirmish at the Ministry of Magic. Unthinkingly, he went to her, hoping that he could to something – anything – to ease the visible tremors of her body. When she looked up at his approach, he saw the immense pain in her eyes. Swearing inwardly, he immediately pulled her into a tight embrace, praying that she would allow his comfort… that she would not pull away.

She struggled with her arms for a few moments, and Draco tensed, ready to release her should she push him away. But once her arms were free, she did not used them against him; instead, she wrapped them tightly around his trim waist, burying her face further into his chest – just above his abdomen, as he was a good foot taller than the small girl. Draco relaxed, letting one of his hands soothingly rub her back, while the other fingered her silky tresses.

They stood together for hours, and darkness had set by the time she pulled away. She looked at him then, and he saw that there was still pain in her eyes, but there was something else as well… something he could not quite identify. And then she smiled, and he knew that he was lost.


'I'm sorry that I hurt you
It's something I must live with everyday'


Their meetings were always in secret.

He knew she longed to show others the special bond between them, but to do so would be too dangerous.

The first few times that they met were spent mostly talking. They spoke of their interests, classes they enjoyed, professors they loathed… There was no mention of his family, or hers; and they absolutely avoided the topic of the Second War. He was hesitant, in the beginning, as memories of his years of ridicule and cruel words to her arose unbidden in his mind, as he sat with the small girl. She apparently sensed his uncertainty, for she questioned its origin, and frowned slightly upon hearing his response.

“Do you regret the things you said and did?” was all she asked, looking quite serious as she studied his face for the truth.

“Yes.” The response had been so fervently declared, and he purposely cleared his face of all masks, and let her see him. And he was sorry that he had ever hurt this beautiful girl.

She nodded. “Then I forgive you,” she stated simply.

He could not stop himself from asking, “Why?” Why was she here with him, after all that he had said and done? Why was this good Gryffindor girl willingly spending time with the evil Prince of Slytherin, the son of Voldemort’s right hand?

She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped, obviously gathering her thoughts and trying to formulate the appropriate response to his query. He sat patiently, waiting, with his silver eyes focused on only her. “Because it’s clear that you won’t forgive yourself.” He must have looked properly bewildered, for she continued. “I’ve seen you, you know,” she blushed slightly, looking down away from his intense gaze. “I noticed that you were purposely avoiding me in my fifth year,” – this surprised him – “and I thought that you were planning something utterly cruel.” She looked back up, and smiled slightly at the emotions that he was sure showed plainly on his face. “I watched you after that, when I could, hoping to catch you in some ‘dastardly plot,’” she giggled slightly as he smirked at her wording. “But the more I watched you, the more I saw you. You, Draco: the boy behind all those masks you wear…” she shifted her gaze away again, looking as though she thought she had said too much.

He simply stared at her in awe, before leaning forward and reaching out one hand to cup her warm cheek. She stilled for a moment, and then he felt her relax as his hand continued to stroke the smooth, lightly-freckled skin. Her eyes were wide as they locked with his, and he let his thumb stray from her cheek to lightly trace her bottom lip. She gasped then, and he hid his smirk as he leaned in, pausing slightly when he could feel her breath on his own lips, allowing her the chance to stop him, to change her mind. When she did not, he sighed inwardly in relief, and closed the distance between them.

Their first kiss was soft and sweet… Her lips tasted of honey, and he bit back a groan as she tilted her body closer to his while kissing him back. He slowly glided his tongue along her lips, willing her to open for him, simultaneously drawing his arms around her petite frame and gathering her close to him. She complied to his silent request, welcoming his invading tongue with her own, allowing him to gently caress the inside of her mouth. Draco felt fire flow through his veins, and his desire was not sated, but only increased at the knowledge of the taste of her. He would not have been able to tell up from down, right from left – he was so completely enthralled with the girl in his arms. He had kissed other girls before, of course. He had done much more that just kiss, even… But nothing – nothing – compared to the feel of her lips and her body pressed against his own.

She was ambrosia, he decided then… and he was addicted.


'And all the pain I put you through
I wish that I could take it all away'


They could not avoid reality forever.

The letter came for Draco on a Tuesday morning, carried by his father’s black owl…

He was to receive the Dark Mark the night after his graduation from Hogwarts.

Draco had successfully avoided thinking about Death Eaters and the war for a few months, due to being busy with his classes, Quidditch captain and Head Boy duties, and of course, his meetings with Ginny Weasley (he had learned early on that she hated to be called Ginevra). But the letter was a wake-up call, bringing him out of the mental haze that Ginny’s presence in his life had cloaked him with. He knew that refusing his father was not an option, not unless he actively supported the group opposing Voldemort, and could rely on their protection… Such betrayal of principles of pureblood pride was something his training as a Malfoy refused to allow him to accept. He briefly considered going into hiding… and taking Ginny with him. He dismissed this thought immediately, knowing without asking that she would not abandon her family – or the cause that she believed – so easily.

He realized then that they could never be together…

He was a Malfoy, and that meant something…

How had he forgotten that?

She cried as he told her he would meet with her no more. She asked him why he was doing this, and he could not give her a proper response. He was leaving her because he had a duty to his name – to his bloodline – to join his father in cleansing their world of ‘Muggle filth.’ It was all he had been raised to believe, it was what he had been molded to do… even if the means to the end were horrific, and caused his stomach to turn. She would not accept this answer, he knew, so all he said was, “This is how it has to be.”


'And be the one who catches all your tears
That’s why I need you to hear'


The weeks before graduation were hectic, and a strained atmosphere descended upon the grounds. There had been numerous reports of Death Eater attacks, and many students were planning to join the war effort upon finishing their schooling. N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s were taken by seventh and fifth years, respectively, while the rest of the school sat for final exams; then the students spent a week of holiday at the castle before their grades were posted.

The short break after N.E.W.T.s only allowed Draco time to doubt the strategy he was following regarding the war… His decision to follow through with his father’s plans for him had been made weeks ago, when he had broken things off with Ginny. After that, he had been careful to keep himself busy so as not to have to think about the choice he had made, and what that would mean for his future…

On a particularly uneventful afternoon, Draco angrily stormed through the castle – mostly empty now as most students were out on the grounds, enjoying the warm weather – and made his way to the Astronomy Tower. He was disgusted to find, upon his arrival, his own housemate, Blaise Zabini, locked in an intimate embrace with Ginny’s friend Looney Lovegood. Draco ordered them to get out, and sneered when Zabini simply cocked an eyebrow, then led the blonde girl – who only smiled serenely at Draco – out by the hand, smirking insolently at his housemate. Draco snarled and stalked over to the nearest window to lean against the ledge, refusing to think on the unusual pairing; for, certainly, there was nothing more unusual that a Slytherin Malfoy in love with a Gryffindor Weasley –

He paused in mid-mental-rant as he reviewed his last thought…

He was… in love… with Ginny Weasley… He always knew that he felt something for her, but he had never bothered to assign a title to the swirling emotions. For a long time, he deigned to call it simple ‘lust,’ but that option had disappeared after actually getting to know the girl – and liking what he found. Now, it was all so clear…

“Oh, Gods,” he moaned, letting his head fall into his hands, knowing that something had changed irrevocably with this discovery.


'I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
and the reason is You'


Finding her was not a problem.

It was getting her to listen to him that was proving to be impossible.

But he finally managed to corner the resisting red head in an abandoned corridor shortly before dinner.

“Forgive me, please,” he begged, pushing away everything within him that screamed that Malfoys did not beg, and hugging her close to him, praying for absolution.

“I forgave you once,” she said coldly, and he could have cried at the way she stiffened in his arms. But he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys did not cry! …Much like they did not beg, but he liked to think he still had some pride left. “You wasted the chance I gave you,” she pushed away from him.

She was going to leave, he knew. She was going to leave him, just when he finally understood.

“I love you,” he cried out, almost cringing at how like a Hufflepuff he sounded… But he was desperate to make her at least pause, wishing to make her stay.

She did pause, and a small part of him rejoiced. She turned around slowly, and she studied him closely. He stood before her, without any masks – only him, only Draco. He did not fidget or tense as she searched for the truth in his eyes, his face, and his posture. He allowed her to catalogue his weaknesses, which were plainly displayed in his vulnerable state. He felt naked, as her eyes roamed over him, but he also felt safe in her presence.

She released a soft sigh, and Draco clenched his fist in nervous anticipation of the results of her cursory review. He had been telling the truth. He did love her. She must see that…

“How will this time be different, Draco?” she asked quietly, sadly.

“I didn’t understand before,” he replied just as quietly.

She looked confused. “Understand what, Draco?”

“I didn’t understand what it was that I felt for you.” He took a step towards her, and she did not move. “I didn’t understand that I’m more than just what my surname is meant to represent.” Another step closer. “I didn’t understand that you were all that I needed.” And another. “I didn’t understand that you were worth killing for.” He stood before her now, towering over her petite frame. He bent down to whisper to her, “I didn’t understand that you were worth dying for.”

And he kissed her then, with all the emotion he had bottled within him for years… with all the resolve of a man who has come to a crossroads, and has chosen a path different from the only one he has ever known.


'I've found a reason to show
A side of me you didn't know
A reason for all that I do'


She lay beside him, her ruby curls spilling over the pillow, her breathing light. He watched her sleep, admiring how nicely she fit at his side. He gently let his fingers trail the line of her jaw, before leaning forward to lightly press his lips to hers. He was careful not to wake her, as she needed her rest.

The war had lasted for three long years… and so many had died. But in the end, Harry Potter had proven once more to be the savior of the wizarding world, and had struck down Voldemort with an ancient curse (which had no doubt been found and researched by Granger). The Death Eaters had lost not only their Lord in the Final Battle, but also their second commander, Lucius Malfoy, who had died at the hands of the spy Severus Snape. Snape had come to Draco afterward, to give his regrets, but Draco had brushed the man’s attempts away: he had known that Snape had had no choice, and that killing Lucius had not been his aim, but that had not changed the fact that his father was dead.

Lucius’ disgust with his son may have been the hardest thing for Draco to deal with, as he reflected on his father’s death. Draco had not received the Dark Mark, and he had joined the Order of the Phoenix to fight against Voldemort – going against every lesson his father had ever engrained in him. Lucius had threatened to disown him, but had faltered, as Draco was his only heir. Narcissa Malfoy had remained quietly pleased, but had been very careful to never let the Malfoy patriarch see that. Nowadays, his mother was spending a great deal of time with her late husband’s murderer, a fact which Draco was not pleased with, but accepted for the happiness it obviously brought the older witch.

The members of the Order had been hesitant to trust him, but Ginny had stood adamantly by his side, refusing to give in to her family’s demands that she break things off with him. Ron had been especially vehement in his opposition of the relationship… but she had never swayed. So Draco had helped their cause, not because he had lost all of his ideals of pureblood superiority – though many he had found to be quite untrue after interacting civilly with those he had previously looked down upon – but he fought because of his love for Ginny.

Draco sighed, refusing to let his thoughts linger for long on the dark times of the past, and instead focused his attention back onto the witch next to him. He let his hand – which had been resting lightly on his bedmate’s cheek – skim down from her face, past the valley of her breasts, and down to rest upon the small rounded bump of her abdomen, where the next Malfoy heir currently resided.

He knew then, with a certainty that men rarely possess, that this was exactly where he was meant to be. He had come so far from the boy he had once been, from the boy who had held his father’s word as law. He would be dead now, or in Azkaban, if he had followed the path set for him at birth, and had followed the Dark Lord. But this beautiful girl – no, woman – had saved him. He didn’t think Ginny even realized how close he had been to staying permanently hidden behind the role he was taught to play, and hidden behind the mask of a Death Eater…

Draco smiled slightly as his wife shifted onto her side, and accordingly aligned his body with hers, his hand still protectively placed above their unborn child. As sleep dulled his senses, he came to the vague realization of the name for this odd peacefulness that had been growing within him for the past few months: he was content…


'…And the reason is you.'


FIN


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