My Desperate Pleas

Unsure about the title, suggestions are welcome!

Lots of angst, lots of whatever I generally write about. I like Malfoy.

My first song fic! "Grace Kelly", by Mika. I thought it fit really well, I hope you do too.

(I didn't put all the lyrics verbatim, there's a lot of repetition)


Do I attract you?

Do I repulse you with my queasy smile?

Am I too dirty?

Am I too flirty?

Do I like what you like?

Draco was crazy. Or at least, that's how it seemed. That stupid Potter! That stupid, idiotic, holier-than-thou Harry Potter.

He hated him! They hated each other!

Yet he didn't hate Potter, not really. He knew that.

And Draco found himself wondering just why Harry hated him.


I could be wholesome

I could be loathsome

I guess I'm a little bit shy

Why don't you like me?

Why don't you like me without making me try?

Boys had been falling at his feet since he was eleven. What was different about this one? Draco should be able to get him out of his mind like that.

He had tried to be nice, early on, then when that didn't work, he had tried being mysterious and harsh, hoping to lure him in with reverse psychology. But none of that had worked, not a thing.

Malfoy couldn't quit, not now that Potter had rejected him so many times. Malfoy's loved a challenge.


I try to be like Grace Kelly

But all her looks were too sad

So I try a little Freddie

I've gone identity mad!

Couldn't that idiot boy see? Draco was willing to change everything about himself, every single damn thing, and Potter was oblivious, or he just didn't care.


I could be brown

I could be blue

I could be violet sky

I could be hurtful

I could be purple

I could be anything you like

Gotta be green

Gotta be mean

Gotta be everything more

Why don't you like me?

Why don't you like me?

Why don't you walk out the door!

If only Potter would give an indication of what he wanted Draco to be! He would make himself into that in a heartbeat.

Potter liked punks? Draco would dye his hair black and listen to heavy wrock, no question asked.

Potter liked the simpering, pansy type? It would be a little more difficult, but boy, was Draco willing. He was already almost reduced to that. Nothing he ever did, ever, was even good enough for Potter's notice.

Sometimes he wished (no, all the time, he wished it almost every night when he wanted to cry at the loneliness of it all) that Potter had never entered his life. Or had walked out of it just as soon as he had.

Draco felt that if Potter left now, right now, he would recover from the heartbreak, but it would have to be soon. Every day Potter stayed at Hogwarts was a day that Draco sank deeper into the mire of his eyes (his gorgeous green eyes, sparking with anger), his hair (always messy, begging to have hands run through it)...


How can I help it

How can I help it

How can I help what you think?

Hello my baby

Hello my baby

Putting my life on the brink

Why don't you like me

Why don't you like me

Why don't you like yourself?

Should I bend over?

Should I look older just to be put on your shelf?

And the worst part of it, the absolute worst part, was that Draco knew it would never change. Harry (no, Potter, always Potter!) would never stop hating Draco. It came naturally to him, as naturally as pining came to Draco.

And it was hurting Potter, really. Not Draco (so much).

Because Draco was the only one who could see Potter for who he was, the scared, lonely boy who was overcome by the pressure.


Say what you want to satisfy yourself

But you only want what everybody else says you should want

Harry (No! Potter!) had always been told to keep up a certain image. He was, after all, the Boy-Who-Lived. And so he had to act like it.

You could be yourself with me! Draco longed to tell him, whisper in his ear. I already know who you are, and I love it. Just let all the pressure slide, let yourself be. I'm here, it's OK.

But Draco knew it would never happen, that every happy moment was only a fantasy.

Potter hated him, would always hate him, and so Draco had to return the favor.

No matter how much of it was acting.

No matter how much it hurt him.

No matter how it drove him insane.


I could be brown

I could be blue

I could be violet sky

I could be hurtful

I could be purple

I could be anything you like

Gotta be green

Gotta be mean

Gotta be everything more

Why don't you like me?

Why don't you like me?

Walk out the door!