Rather unnecessary disclaimers: I am not receiving any monetary gain from this and do not own anything in the Harry Potter world. JKR did not write this plot.
Warning: eventual slash in this story
Just a few things to say before the story:
1) This story is told from 1st person POV, but it alternates: Draco's perspective in the odd chapters; Harry's perspective in the even chapters.
2) I'm an American. I tried to keep it to Brit slang and spelling, but if I mess up, do let me know. I want it to be believable, so help me keep out my silly Americanisms!
3) If you notice elements of my story that are a little too similar to other stories you've read, please tell me. I tried to make sure that everything was original, but sometimes I think I've had a great idea, when I've really just unknowingly remembered someone else's great idea. I don't want to plagiarize, so feel free to comment and refer me to other stories if you're worried.
Hope you enjoy it!
How I found myself in this extreme situation, I don't know. It's not as though I had planned to fight against my own family or to run from the people I had previously known as allies. But that's exactly what I was doing: running. I was running from my life as it should have been. To this day, I don't know exactly why I ran, but I did, and I guess that's all that really matters.
I was running, rather wildly I might add, through some nondescript muggle village. Were I not being chased by vicious Death Eaters who were sent to claim my life, I would have felt ridiculous and ashamed. Malfoys don't run. I was born into aristocracy, and say what you will, but I was above such plebeian behavior. Nonetheless, I ran. And I must say, I was pretty good at it. Maybe it was my Slytherin nature at work – my cunning and deviousness – that had protected me for the week and a half prior to that last day of running. I hid and outran the Death Eaters I had previously known as brothers with ease for nearly ten days. But they had finally caught up to me and I knew it was the end.
Why didn't I just conform to the Dark Lord's wishes? It had nothing to do with any sympathy for muggles or mudbloods. I hated the lot of them.
No, when it really came down to it, I suppose my deadly sin was pride. I was too proud to bow down to that ghastly creature that my own father worshipped. Let's just say that the Dark Lord's grotesque frame did nothing to quell my already forming distaste at the idea of devoting myself to him. But, even had his appearance not been so disfigured and generally ucky, I still wouldn't have kissed the hem of that "man's" robes.
I, Draco Malfoy, would not lower myself to anyone. I would never cower and I would never beg, and if I died because of this, at least I would die with my pride.
Well that's what I kept telling myself when I realized that it was the end and I was about to be captured by the Death Eaters. I had finally worn myself down from lack of food and sleep. I had been making mistakes for days, and I knew it. One of those morons must have picked up on one of them, because here we were: me running through this dumpy muggle area, hoping against hope that the Death Eaters had been ordered to be discreet in their capture of me; and they were right behind me, tracking me like fowl or boar. Well, let them try. I wasn't going to give up without a fight. I know it sounds cheesy, but I've always been fond of my given name – I like to think that I have the qualities of a dragon: vicious and unrelenting.
So I ran like crazy, trying to keep my surroundings in mind, but having a bit of trouble nonetheless. This is why, upon seeing Harry Potter's shocked face, I assumed that my perceptions were at fault. Maybe I had been more sleep-deprived than I thought? No. It was definitely Harry Scarhead Potter looking at me confusedly as I ran.
I suppose he expected me to stop and explain myself, because he looked even more thoroughly astonished when I did not slow down to chat. What a prat.
He liked to be on top of things, that self-righteous Potter; he just always has to know what's going on. I think maybe that's why he chased after me then. It was just my luck, right? First, I had a horde of blood-thirsty Death Eaters after my life, then, I ran into the only person on the planet that is higher on their list for capture. I know, I know. Being Draco Malfoy, I should have gone on and sacrificed that little lamb of a boy-who-lived, Harry Potter, so that I could have escaped, but really, I wasn't that bad of a guy. Sure, I tormented the git constantly at Hogwarts, always trying to humiliate and one-up him. Okay, I should admit it: I hated the idiotic four-eyes. But even being the hateful Slytherin that I am, I wouldn't sacrifice another, even damn Harry Potter, just to save my own arse. What was I coming to? I might as well have been a Hufflepuff with that sort of behavior.
"Potter," I shouted, "get the fuck away from me!"
His response was indignation. Right. He's chasing me down a street, I tell him to leave me alone, and he's indignant. Just like the stuck-up egomaniac he is to react that way.
I stopped so I could quickly convey the severity of the situation. "If you don't want to die, scarhead, I would suggest that you bugger off as quickly as your scrawny arse can."
"Are you threatening me?" he questioned in response.
"You wish, Potter," I sighed, "I'm currently being chased down by a few of the Dark Lord's henchmen, but I doubt they'd even give me a second look if they see you standing here beside me."
He paused, "… They are chasing you? Why would they chase you?"
I answered sarcastically, "I dunno, Potter. I mean, I'm such a fun, loveable guy, right? I'm glad that you see this, but unfortunately the Dark Lord has missed it. Either way, I'd love to stay here and chat about how wonderful I am, but I'd like to continue my life a bit longer than the, oh, three minutes it will take for them to find us in the middle of the road here." I never said I wasn't melodramatic.
Potter blinked. "Oh," was all he spoke. Then the unfathomable git grabbed my arm and dragged me into a close-by alleyway.
"Why the fuck are you grabbing at me?" I screeched at him. Have I mentioned that I have a tad bit of Veela in my family line? I know – it's rather prestigious. It adds to the beauty and charm that come so naturally to me. I don't shift into that nasty screechy thing that full Veela morph into, but I suppose I have retained some of the same mannerisms they exhibit when angry. It's the trade-off: intense beauty for an ugly temper. I take it whole-heartedly.
Anyway, Potter looked a little taken aback at my reaction. "I'm trying to help you," he answered, frustrated.
I hadn't realized until that point how completely trusting the guy was. I looked into those freakishly bright green eyes of his and I could tell that he was entirely serious in his answer. He really intended to help me and didn't seem to doubt my candor about the situation at all. This probably should have made me feel some sense of comfort or gratitude, but instead, it made me angry. Angry and jealous, I should say, if I'm being honest; but I'm seldom honest, so let's just leave it at angry.
This guy really was dense if he thought he could trust me, Draco Malfoy. How did he know this wasn't a trap set up by the Dark Lord? So I said as much. "Are you daft? Why would you trust me not to be capturing you? I hate you," I spat at him.
Potter merely rolled his obnoxious eyes. I hated those eyes: garish, bright green and covered by those horribly unfashionable glasses. Did he purposely try to look like that? Does he enjoy standing out and looking awkward?
"It's obvious you are telling me the truth. You look like you are about to keel over right at this spot. Also, when I saw you running, you looked like you had a demon at your tail. You can't fake that look of fear, Malfoy."
I hated that guy. Did I mention that? He always knew just what to say to poke holes into my pride. He ignored my obvious distaste at his words and continued his rant.
"Anyway, we need to hide. Do you know how far behind you they are?" Just as he spoke these words, we heard them. The Death Eaters were near and getting nearer every second. They were calling my name, taunting me. "Come here, little Malfoy. The Dark Lord isn't too pleased with you, you spoiled brat!" one of them shouted out from just down the street.
Potter cursed. I had never heard him curse until that moment and it was odd from his lips. It made me want to laugh. I definitely must have been low on sleep. We were about to die and I was going to have a giggle-fit!
"Fuck. Malfoy… too tall… hmm," he mumbled looking around us at the alley. He seemed relatively calm at the situation, calculating even. Maybe he really was a hero and I was just too self-centered to realize it during those previous years at Hogwarts. Why wasn't he trembling and going into hysterics like I was? Probably because I hadn't slept or eaten properly in a number of days. Yes, that must be it.
"You have to sit down right there," he pointed at a spot along the wall of the alleyway, "tuck your knees up close to your body," he kept explaining while putting himself into an identical position right next to the spot he motioned for me to take, "and sit as close to me as possible."
"Why should I trust you?" I knew he was telling me the truth. The golden boy would never lie or hurt someone else, even someone he hated, even me. But that didn't matter to me. I grew up with the notion that you could only trust yourself. Never put your life or possessions into someone else's control.
At first he just stared at me like I'd grown two extra heads and started reciting Hogwarts: A History. Finally, after hearing the Death Eaters growing dangerously close to our alleyway, he hissed at me, "You have no choice, Malfoy, trust me or get caught and die!"
Okay, so he had a point with that. After teetering there, not wanting to be saved by the hero-boy-who-lived, but not wanting to get caught by those disgusting slaves of the Dark Lord, I finally realized I was being ridiculous. Of course I didn't want to die.
I gracefully – I'm always graceful – dropped myself into the spot next to Potter, situated myself as he directed, and looked at him expectantly. If he didn't get us out of this, I would personally kill him… just before the Dark Lord killed me.
Potter grinned. And, I couldn't help it, my mouth turned up into a half-smirk. I hated Potter. Why was he so infectious? I had the distinct desire to punch him, but decided to put that off until after he saved me.
He quickly yanked out some silvery thing from his pocket, then, just before the Death Eaters rounded the corner, he threw it over the both of us. He had covered us in an invisibility cloak, I immediately realized. I knew he had one. I just knew it. I couldn't prove it for the longest time and it drove me insane, but I knew it. I always thoroughly enjoyed being proven right.
One of the Death Eaters did a cursory check of the alleyway and quickly moved on. "He's not down here," I heard him share with the others who were still on the main street. He had a heavy, dark cloak on, so I couldn't tell who it was, but I recognized the voice faintly. I guess it should hurt that someone I knew had no problem hunting me down to have me killed, but I never trusted any of the people that I or my parents associated with, so it really didn't bother me. Well, it mostly didn't bother me.
We sat there under Potter's invisibility cloak for a good while after the slimy servants left. Scarhead seemed to be concentrating very hard: probably listening to make sure that none of them had lingered near our hiding spot. I was too tired to listen for anything and was actually rather thankful to let someone else do it for a change, though I never would have told him that.
He turned to me with a huge, lopsided grin on his face. "I'm rather certain they're gone, so… er, I think we can get up now?" He looked down at us sitting there and it was only then that I noticed our close proximity. His face was right next to mine – his breath was warm on my cheek. The right side of his body was pressed quite firmly into the left side of mine. I could even smell him, he was that close. And surprisingly, he didn't smell rotten as I often assumed. Can you blame me for thinking that he'd stink? I mean, he looked as though he never took any interest in his own hygiene; his hair was always a mess and his clothes constantly in disarray. It was a significant part of my upbringing to take my appearance seriously. If I didn't look like I deserved respect and admiration, who would give them to me? Well, anyway, he wasn't rotten; he actually smelled surprisingly good – clean and woodsy, but in a fresh and enticing kind of way. Whoa, did I think that? I definitely needed some sleep.
I immediately jumped up, out from under the invisibility cloak and looked down to where I knew he was crouching. He got up a little slower, stretching his body out as he stood to his full height. We were close in height, Potter being slightly shorter than I was.
Hah! Well at least I had something on him.
"Do you think they will come back this way?" he asked me.
"I'm not sure," I responded. "I know I need to keep running though… we've been at this for a week and a half now. They're finally catching up to me." I was stressed. Very stressed. I rubbed the back of my neck with one of my hands.
He looked contemplative while studying my face. I'm not sure what it was that he was trying to see, but he must have found it, because he suddenly said, "You can hide with me." He sounded confident and decisive. Final. I hated that.
"Why would I want to do that, Potter?" I scoffed.
He rolled his eyes again, "it would be the safest place for you."
"Oh yeah. You have wards protecting you at your muggle family's home, don't you?"
He looked confused, probably wondering how I knew that. "I've overheard some information around the Malfoy Manor…" I mumbled. I hated feeling ashamed of who I was. It was a horrible feeling and I seemed to have it much too often around our-savior-Potter. Even more reason not to follow him to his home… though I was rather curious about it.
"Right," he responded, "well, you should come with me. It's your best bet. The Death Eaters, even Voldemort himself won't find you there."
I flinched just a tiny bit when he said the name out loud. Was he trying to seem brave or did it honestly not scare him to say it? I couldn't help it: my respect for him increased at least a little in that moment.
I couldn't have argued with his logic, and even if I could have, I was too tired to anyway. So I agreed to follow him to his muggle home.
"Hmm… put this on," he said while tossing the invisibility cloak to me. "I guess I should hold your arm or hand or something," he added.
"What!? No way, Potter. I don't want to hold your hand whether I'm invisible or not!" Again, can't help the melodrama.
"I just want to make sure you don't run off with my cloak, Malfoy," Potter snapped.
"I'll do you one better," I clasped his right hand with mine, "I swear I will follow you to your home and return your invisibility cloak to you." My Wizard's Vow would force me to follow through.
He looked appeased, nodded his head, and quickly turned to peak out of the alley. He turned back, and since I had already donned his cloak, he couldn't see where I was. "You there, Malfoy?"
"I'm right behind you, scarhead," I quipped.
He grinned, "try to keep up!" And he was off, running down the street at full speed, dodging through alleys and jumping over trash bins. Even in muggle suburbia he looked purposeful and heroic. It was amazing how awkward he was in conversation, yet so subtly talented in everything else. God I hated Harry Potter.
So… what do you guys think? Please review and tell me! I've already written the first eleven chapters of this. (There will be a total of twenty-seven chapters and I have them all planned out somewhat specifically.) But if you guys have any requests, I might be able to squeeze some things into the story.