A Little Piece of Sincerity
By: Provocative Envy
OOO
Draco sat down on the green velvet duvet of his bed and knew he was traversing dangerous territory. He was entangled in a massive conspiracy he wasn’t sure had a motive or a purpose; he was aware that he’d suddenly become the victim, however. Granger had become a secondary character in the psychological thriller he was tormenting himself with: she had manifested in him an unnerving desire to be the hero. The Golden Boy. The guy who, after countless trials, tribulations, and dramatic monologues, eventually gets the girl.
It wasn’t about being nice. It was about winning.
He’d realized, as soon as her fist had made contact with his nose, that the only way to beat her was to prove her wrong. In retrospect, he understood that his methods of acting contrite, kind, and downright Gryffindor would gain him few points. He needed to maintain his normal persona, while at the same time adopting traits that she would respect. He couldn’t be like Potter, that much he’d discovered.
Sighing, he laid down and turned over to his side, groaning when his still-broken nose made contact with his feathered pillow. Deciding a visit to the hospital wing was in order, he swung his legs over and pushed his feet into some slippers. Shuffling down the dark corridor to the Slytherin common room, his trek was disrupted by a shriek from Pansy Parkinson.
“Draco! Oh, oh, Draco! I have a…I have a letter for you,” she gasped, panting from exertion as she looked up at him with expectant eyes.
“Pansy, it’s almost nine o’clock. Where did you find this…letter?” he asked with some doubt, taking the envelope from her and glancing at his name, written so elegantly across the front. Seeing the handwriting, his blood went cold.
“Oh, well, a parrot delivered it! I was strolling along the Charms hall and I saw this massive red and blue bird pecking at the window. I was curious, so I-”
She never got to finish her story, for he’d already strode back to his dormitory.
OOO
Draco,
Before I say anything else, let me express my immense pleasure at being able to finally write to you, like a father should his son. I know the past few years have been extraordinarily tough for you, but from the bits and pieces I’ve heard, it appears you’ve handled adversity quite well. It’s just like you to make me proud, even when I don’t deserve it.
I’m sure you’re wondering where I am, what I’ve been doing…knowing you like I do, it’s highly likely you’re also curious about how I managed it. As much as I’d love to go into detail about it, I can’t. Not in a letter. I’m not even certain this is going to reach you, since my…messenger may be somewhat unreliable.
I have nothing important to write except this: I dearly miss you, Draco. If I wasn’t so sure that what I was doing, what I was working for, was the right thing to do, I would have never sacrificed my family for it. I would have never abandoned you or your mother to fight a cause I didn’t fully believe in. You must understand that. I want, more than anything, that I could be back at the Manor right now, relaxing with a cup of tea by the fire as I read one of your letters, chuckling to myself at the antics of a schoolboy.
But I gave that up, and I can’t regret it.
Never doubt that I wish I could.
With love,
Father
OOO
Draco sat for a long time in the Astronomy Tower. He’d never stopped to consider what might happen if his father contacted him. Had never once thought about how he might feel if such a situation arose.
That, he recognized now, had been a fatal error.
He felt as if his world was being shredded into pieces too small to pick up and savor, too insignificant to be of any real value to his torn and battered heart. Hermione Granger and their idiotic feud seemed paltry and silly and downright childish compared to what he had to deal with now. His father: estranged from polite society, escaped from prison, and…desperately longing for a return to his family?
Draco let out a bark of laughter, cradling his head in his hands as he thought of the headlines that would invoke. How the Daily Prophet would adore writing a fluff piece on how remorseful and domestic Lucius Malfoy was; he hadn’t really meant to try and murder those teenagers a few years ago. He’d been under the Imperius! Yes, that was it. He’d been cursed by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and it had ruined his life. The happy existence he’d led with his wife and son had been destroyed by the return of the Dark Lord. It was a tragic tale, but one that would surely sell millions of copies.
Draco could almost hear the reporters’ interrogation.
Much to his relief, his nightmare was interrupted.
“Malfoy?” Granger gaped, looking unsure of whether she was disappointed that her safe haven was occupied or excited by another strange encounter with him. Judging by the frown that played across her lips, he guessed she’d decided on the former.
“No need to worry, Granger. I won’t bother you. I’m just here…to think,” he told her wistfully, belatedly remembering that his father’s letter was resting on the flagstone floor. Her gaze settled on the paper, immediately sharpening as she jumped to irrational conclusions.
“That’s not what I think it is, is it?” she demanded coldly, stomping over to him and snatching it up before he could stop her.
“Granger, I wouldn’t read…” he let his voice trail off as he watched her eyebrows go up in astonishment. Much to his surprise, she thrust the letter back at him as soon as she recognized what it was.
“I…I’m so sorry, Malfoy. I didn’t know. I swear it. That was so selfish of me…I…I’m just going to leave now,” she mumbled, ashamed.
“It’s not that big of a deal, Granger,” he lied, finding the presence of another person oddly comforting. He didn’t want her to go. He needed someone to distract him just then.
“You don’t mean that. You can’t. I mean…it’s your father. I realize he might be a bit of a bastard, but that doesn’t-”
“My father may have been a ‘bit of a bastard’ to you, but I think we all know why that was, don’t we? Can’t really blame him, then,” he interrupted her angrily, unable to tolerate criticism of the flawed man he couldn’t help but love.
“What is your problem, Malfoy? Every single time someone tries to be remotely nice to you, you shove it back at them,” she burst out.
“No, Granger, that’s actually just you,” he retorted.
“Oh, well, thanks for the special consideration,” she spat back sarcastically.
“You don’t understand the half of what you just said,” he growled at her, reveling in her look of confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how I’ve spent the past two weeks doing nothing but plot your downfall,” he ground out. “If that’s not ‘special consideration’, please tell me what is.”
“And let me guess. You underestimated my intelligence to the point of thinking I’d fall for it.”
“Something like that. But I’ve decided that as much as I’d like having all that power over you, there’s no chance of it happening. I spent an hour in my room, screaming from the pain, after you punched me yesterday,” he told her.
“You deserved that,” she said defensively.
“Of that I have no doubt. It’s more that…I was thinking about it, and it was my father’s letter that sort of made it all clear to me. Take him, for example. He’s this villainous murderer, who’s cruel, cold, and otherwise unpleasant; but I love him anyways. On a smaller scale, between you and me…if I had ever thought there was a serious chance of getting you to fall in love with me, I wouldn’t have bothered trying to change at all,” he said simply, getting to his feet and pocketing his letter.
She stared at him, disturbed by the direction the conversation had turned. It had started out so normally, and then somehow he was sitting there telling her how he’d tried to manipulate her attraction to his writing.
She had nothing to say to him, and sprinted down the stairs of the Astronomy Tower, his words echoing in her head all the while.
OOO
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