Almost Willing

Draco stalked into the Great Hall for breakfast, late as usual, and took a seat between Blaise and Pansy.

"Morning Draco."

"Morning," he said pouring himself a glass of juice.

He glanced up at Harry, sitting at the Gryffindor table, who looked tired, but otherwise fine. Not at all how he had looked last night, completely disheveled, stumbling, weak and clutching Draco spasmodically in pain.... He wanted to speak to him.

"... Draco?"

Both Pansy and Blaise were staring at him.

"What?"

"Did you not hear 'any' of that?!" Pansy demanded.

"Was I supposed to?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Never mind," she said.

Draco smiled pleased that he had stopped her from talking without even trying.

Suddenly, Blaise stood up with a clatter and left the hall without a word.

"What's wrong with him?" Draco asked.

He left soon after, hoping if he could get to potions early, he might have the chance to talk to Harry before class started.

Much to his annoyance, after hurrying to his dorm for his books and a quick stop by the mirrors, he only made it through the door to the potions room as the bell was ringing. With a sigh, he sat down next to Blaise who was sitting quietly at the back of the room.

"You alright?" he asked.

Blaise shrugged.

"I just thought of something I wanted to do."

Draco didn't comment at the odd remark, and opened his potions textbook, watching as Harry took a seat with Granger and Weasel.

"You should stop staring all the time you know, someone might think something."

Draco turned to look at Blaise, but none of the usual mirth was there. He was serious.

"I need to speak to him," he said. Blaise raised an eyebrow and turned silently to face the chalkboard.

Draco frowned. Well, it was impossible to corner Harry during the class, anyway.

They worked in awkward silence for the rest of the lesson, continuing their work on the Polyjuice potion. When the bell finally rang, he gathered his books and tried not to hurry out the door after Harry.

"See ya," he said to Blaise.

A hand suddenly landed on his shoulder. He froze and looked at Snape expectantly.

"Come to my office, I need to speak with you," he said.

Draco struggled to mask his disappointment. He watched sullenly as everyone left the room, and then followed Snape into his cold office.

The Potions Master turned on him as soon as the door slammed shut. "What were you doing with Potter last night?" he demanded.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I was helping him to Dumbledore's office! And what about you, what are you using his blood for?!"

"That is none of your business," he growled. "Listen to me; it is completely inappropriate for you to be on friendly terms with Potter. When you, Draco, decide to help him out of the goodness of your heart it is clear that you have other motives."

"Oh, and you don't? Taking his blood, I don't see how Dumbledore could let you do it, and right in front of him too!"

Snape sat down, seething.

"That is none of your concern," he spat. "Do you understand the danger of you, Lucius Malfoy's son, on good grounds with Potter?"

"Oh, just because I'm Lucius Malfoy's son-."

"Draco, how many times have I told you not to make too much of a scene with Potter?"

"Well, I wasn't making a scene, I was helping him out. Isn't that what everyone wants from me-?"

"No!" he slammed his palm angrily on the desk. "You've attracted too much attention already! You hate Harry Potter. You always have! To help him while he's in pain would imply something else entirely!"

Draco stiffened.

"Like what?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

"Like other motives." He leaned forward over his desk. "Is this making any sense to you yet? Or shall I repeat it in smaller words?" he asked. "Your father is a Death Eater in the Dark Lord's inner circle; are you sure he's not behind this?"

"He had nothing to do with it!" Draco flared. "You know he didn't! He's in Azkaban!"

"He's also your father; where else would your loyalties lie?"

Draco glowered.

"So you think I'll do something to him just because of who my father is?"

"If something happened to him, you could be held responsible."

"For being friendly? No, it doesn't make any sense, there's no way I'm in any danger, things are always happening to him-." Draco froze. "That's it," he said slowly, "You're not trying to protect me at all, are you? You're protecting him."

Snape stood up, furiously.

"Get out of my office," he spat. "I don't want to have this discussion with you again."

His head buzzing, Draco stood up.

"I'm not going to hurt him," Draco said quietly.

Snape grimaced.

"It's not you I'm worried about."

He spent the week trying to not track down Harry, not that he had to try very hard, getting Harry alone was nearly impossible.

Why did he always travel in a pack?!

When he walked into the library on Tuesday, Draco froze at the door.

Harry was there, sitting at their table. Hesitating only a moment, he walked right up to him.

Harry glanced up at Draco when he set down his books across from him, but didn't say anything.

Draco watched him as he sat down, realizing he hadn't once thought of what he wanted to say.

The green eyes abruptly fixed on his.

"What?" Harry asked.

Draco suddenly realized he had been staring.

Quickly he cocked an eyebrow. "Nothing," he said.

"Oh." Harry's cheeks turned a light pink and he turned back to his work.

Draco scowled. He was an idiot. He stared at Harry a few more minutes hoping he would look up again, but he kept his eyes firmly attached to his parchment, his cheek turning redder by the minute.

Finally, Draco gave up. This was ridiculous.

He cleared his throat loudly.

"What?!" Harry snapped.

Draco glared. "Nothing, I was just clearing my throat, that's no reason to have a temper tantrum."

Harry scowled.

"Listen, if you're not going to work, then get out of the library. I don't know if you're aware, but our study session isn't until tomorrow, why don't you come back then?"

"Because I want to ask you something."

"Then ask!"

"Fine! Does it happen a lot?"

"What?!"

"That pain, from your scar, does it happen a lot?"

"...Oh, uh, sometimes," he shrugged. "It depends really."

"On what?"

"If Voldemort is angry," he snapped.

Draco stared.

"I didn't realize...."

Harry shrugged and determinedly turned back to his work. Disappointed Draco tried to follow his lead, beginning to set out his Arithmancy.

He still hadn't asked about the potion. That was the point of this whole conversation wasn't it?

He looked at Harry who was writing steadily, and sighed. This was much worse than he'd thought it would be. He'd been hoping that they could talk casually, at least willingly. After all, Draco had helped him that night, which in itself was a wonder. Wasn't he the least bit curious?

He glanced up at Harry again, this time very quickly and nearly laughed. Harry was doodling. His parchment was covered in dark patterns, swirls, and little moons with stars. Maybe he wouldn't mind being interrupted.

"Harry?"

He looked up immediately. The use of his first name seemed to shock him into it every time.

"Yes Malfoy?"

What was that supposed to mean?

"What potion is Professor Snape making for you?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? How can you not know the name of the potion they're going to use on you?" he demanded.

Harry licked his lips nervously. "They already have used it," he said.

"And?"

"And it was...." He suddenly stopped and looked at Draco, his expression genuinely sorry. "You know, I can't tell you this," he said.

Draco was confused.

"Why not?" he asked.

Harry sighed and shook his head. "Because you're Lucius Malfoy's son," he said quietly.

Draco stared.

"I'm Lucius Malfoy's son," he repeated. "Right." Harry looked at him. Suddenly, Draco's blood began to boil.

He stood up, snatching his books off the table in a heap as Harry stared, and bolted through the library doors.

His heart was pounding. He couldn't believe it. Lucius Malfoy's 'Son'?! That's who he was? 'Just' Lucius Malfoy's Son?! Is that how everyone saw him; only as his father?

He stormed into the Slytherin common room and threw his books against the wall. Several third years scurried gratifyingly out of his way.

He was more than that! He was 'Draco' Malfoy, he was young, he was extremely attractive, and he didn't have to wait for some muggle-loving dork to appreciate that just because he had some stupid scar on his forehead!

He charged through to the dorm seething, defiantly turning to look in the mirror--and for a second almost turned away. His white blond hair, his nose; they were his father's. His eyes were a grey, taken from his mother, rolling with different shades, not the cold ice blue of his father's, and his chin as well, was too delicate to be like him. But still, it was enough. He was obviously his father's son, not much could ever change that.

Sighing, he leaned his forehead against the surprisingly cold glass of the mirror, and squeezed his eyes shut.