You met him on the fitting stools in Madam Malkins Robes For All Occasions
when you were eleven years old and thought he was perfect. Not what your
father said was perfect. (Clean, sharp and cutting) What he was molding you
to be. (A perfect porcelain doll with soft white hair, painted lips and
cold blue eyes.) But perfect because he wasn't like you. (A patched doll
with ragged black yarn for hair, green buttons for eyes, and crumpled wire
painstakingly straightened for glasses. His seems are uneven and
overlapping and a bit of stuffing escapes from a rip in his forehead.) And
now that you look back, it doesn't make sense, but does it really matter?
You see this perfectly patched boy stand next to you and you think he's different and that you want to be his friend. Your other friends, the ones your father invites over and watches you play with and makes sure you act like a Malfoy around, are boring. (Empty eyed china dolls that sit and play tea and lift their hands to drink when their Daddy's say so because they're good little playthings, just like you.)
You find out his name is Harry (ordinary, unremarkable, perfect) and you try to impress him and he begins to frown. (stitched mouth curves down and down and down) When he leaves you are sad because you get the feeling he doesn't like you very much. (Maybe yarn dolls don't drink the same tea porcelain do?) Your father endures your questions about boy for the rest of the day.
You meet him again on the train to Hogwarts and his full name is Harry Potter. (A crooked seam seals in the bit of stuffing.) You remember what your father said about him (murderer, urchin, mudblood!*) but he's still perfect and Father doesn't have to know.
But Father won't have anything to know because you were right when you thought he didn't like you. He's already got a friend, (Not yarn like himself, but old porcelain that's chipped from use and had bits replaced from other dolls, the hair fallen out long ago and painted back on bright red, the nose broken off and replace with one from a bigger doll. Scratched blue eye's watch you jealously from a smudged face.) a Weasley, and he doesn't want you to be his next.
And that's when you decide that maybe you don't want to be friends with him after all. You never did. You hated him from the moment you met him. You'll make his life hell. Father will be proud the next time he sees you. He'll smile and say "Well done." ('Drink now' says Daddy and up goes your arm. It leaves a bitter taste on your china tongue.)
Only he never does.
And six years later your Lord (his lord, not yours yet, but does it matter?) has risen and makes war. You have mainly stopped making fun of Harry. You've realized Father will never tell you well done and only a Snape can hold a grudge for more than a couple of years.
You bump into him in the hallway and send his books flying. You do it a lot, neither of you ever looks where you're going and he's always rushing somewhere. You've never apologized before and you don't do so now, he doesn't expect you to, but you step back and for the first time since that moment in the robe shop six years ago you really look at him. ( He is black yarn and ripped seams and patches of mismatched clothe.) And you realize he's still perfect.
And here is where you have a choice.
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*Lucious calls Harry a mudblood because of his mom's a muggleborn.
Alright, this is the first of a four chapter thing. It's been sitting on my computer for a while and I'm hoping that by posting this it'll give me the kick in the ass I need to finish it. The whole thing is kind of a 'what if?' that was inspired by Lady Vader's Friend Like Me. Basically the next three chapters are three thing Draco could have done after this point. I'm not really sure why I added those things in the parenthesis and there are a couple of paragraphs I'm not too happy with but I can't really see a way to fix it.
Be gentle when reviewing please.
You see this perfectly patched boy stand next to you and you think he's different and that you want to be his friend. Your other friends, the ones your father invites over and watches you play with and makes sure you act like a Malfoy around, are boring. (Empty eyed china dolls that sit and play tea and lift their hands to drink when their Daddy's say so because they're good little playthings, just like you.)
You find out his name is Harry (ordinary, unremarkable, perfect) and you try to impress him and he begins to frown. (stitched mouth curves down and down and down) When he leaves you are sad because you get the feeling he doesn't like you very much. (Maybe yarn dolls don't drink the same tea porcelain do?) Your father endures your questions about boy for the rest of the day.
You meet him again on the train to Hogwarts and his full name is Harry Potter. (A crooked seam seals in the bit of stuffing.) You remember what your father said about him (murderer, urchin, mudblood!*) but he's still perfect and Father doesn't have to know.
But Father won't have anything to know because you were right when you thought he didn't like you. He's already got a friend, (Not yarn like himself, but old porcelain that's chipped from use and had bits replaced from other dolls, the hair fallen out long ago and painted back on bright red, the nose broken off and replace with one from a bigger doll. Scratched blue eye's watch you jealously from a smudged face.) a Weasley, and he doesn't want you to be his next.
And that's when you decide that maybe you don't want to be friends with him after all. You never did. You hated him from the moment you met him. You'll make his life hell. Father will be proud the next time he sees you. He'll smile and say "Well done." ('Drink now' says Daddy and up goes your arm. It leaves a bitter taste on your china tongue.)
Only he never does.
And six years later your Lord (his lord, not yours yet, but does it matter?) has risen and makes war. You have mainly stopped making fun of Harry. You've realized Father will never tell you well done and only a Snape can hold a grudge for more than a couple of years.
You bump into him in the hallway and send his books flying. You do it a lot, neither of you ever looks where you're going and he's always rushing somewhere. You've never apologized before and you don't do so now, he doesn't expect you to, but you step back and for the first time since that moment in the robe shop six years ago you really look at him. ( He is black yarn and ripped seams and patches of mismatched clothe.) And you realize he's still perfect.
And here is where you have a choice.
----------------------
*Lucious calls Harry a mudblood because of his mom's a muggleborn.
Alright, this is the first of a four chapter thing. It's been sitting on my computer for a while and I'm hoping that by posting this it'll give me the kick in the ass I need to finish it. The whole thing is kind of a 'what if?' that was inspired by Lady Vader's Friend Like Me. Basically the next three chapters are three thing Draco could have done after this point. I'm not really sure why I added those things in the parenthesis and there are a couple of paragraphs I'm not too happy with but I can't really see a way to fix it.
Be gentle when reviewing please.