This is a very short drabble based on the cut scene from DH2 that came out where Draco runs after Harry and yells "POTTER!" while throwing his wand at him. I'm pretty sure that finding out this scene happened and then was cut is the saddest change to Drarry shippers since JK Rowling didn't make Half-Blood Prince the Drarry story it was meant to be.
There's not a lot of Drarry in this (some very subtle beginnings of it), but I may use this as a basis for a story when I'm done with Synthetic Bonds. I hope you enjoy.
The Death Eaters around him were shaking in anticipation, excited to serve a master who was so close to finally sealing his victory. But Draco only stood quietly as he watched tears snake down the cheeks of Potter's friends. Draco didn't understand why he wasn't excited, why he wasn't enjoying the thrill of finally beating Potter once and for all. In one miraculous moment, Potter had become a lifeless mass, a body that belonged to a boy Draco had once hated. He was dead, and that was the way things were supposed to be. No Potter meant that this war was over. No Potter meant that they had won. No Potter meant that Draco and his family could finally breathe, free from the constraints of their past mistakes as Voldemort's victory became a firm reality. No Potter meant that finally, Draco could have some peace.
But this peace, Draco was beginning to realize, may not be worth the cost. The bodies strewn around the broken castle, the solemn looks that seemed to age the students from teenagers to grim adults, the despair that filled the air as Potter's friends began to lose hope, forced to confront a future that could only be worse than the past year had been—this couldn't be the world that Draco had so blindly pursued.
When he was little and his parents had spoken fondly of their days under Voldemort, he had listened raptly, admiring his father for what sounded like daring exploits undertaken for the sake of preserving the virtue of the wizarding world. Now, his father's daring exploits sounded less like the words of a man Draco wanted to be and more like the baseless boasting of a coward who hid behind masks and power as he terrorized others. In these stories, Draco had never thought of what it would take for Voldemort to get what he wanted. He never thought of what it would mean for the Death Eaters to achieve victory. He had learned only that any measure taken for the protection of the wizarding world was justified.
But as the foul stench of death permeated through the rubble of Hogwarts, Draco knew that there was nothing virtuous in the Death Eaters actions. To wantonly destroy for the sake of destruction? To kill and torture for the joy of it? And worse, he had once wanted that for himself. His childhood taunts made him cringe as he recalled the casual wish for death on Mudbloods he had asked for out of the Chamber of Secrets. The year that he had spent trying to bring about Dumbledore's death was now just a lost year, a period of time that Draco had stolen from himself as he tried to become what he thought he wanted to be. And all of this in the name of something Draco was no longer sure he believed in. What did blood matter anymore? Who was he to care about blood when death and devastation cared so little whether you were pureblood or half-blood or mudblood or blood traitor?
Potter's body dropped from Hagrid's arms, breathing and miraculously alive as he shouted at Voldemort. The hope that filled the face of Harry's friends amazed Draco. He couldn't imagine anyone other than his parents looking like that if it were him. But Potter's life meant something to people, and Draco was beginning to realize that it meant something to him too. He hadn't expected an overwhelming sense of relief to flood him, but as it did, Draco understood that he needed Potter alive. He needed Potter to save them, to save him.
As Potter stood up, his bright green eyes staring into Voldemort without fear despite his own wandless state, Draco felt for the first time that he believed. He believed in this boy who lived, not just once, but over and over again. And with this belief came a certainty Draco had never experienced. He knew what he wanted to fight for. He knew what was worth defying his parents for. He knew what was worth risking his life for. He knew what he wanted the world to be, and he knew what he had to do for that to happen. Breaking free of his mother's desperate grasp, Draco ran forward, ignoring the stares of everyone around him. "POTTER!" he yelled, throwing his wand at him and praying that Potter would catch it.
As Harry turned to him, the wand flying easily into his hand, Draco stopped running and looked at the man he had considered his enemy for so long. And for the first time, Draco knew that he done something right.
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