HP-7 Impressions-Slight Spoils

Slight spoilers for Deathly Hallows

Seven Impressions of Harry Potter
From the world behind Draco's eyes.

1.
The boy who stood next to Draco was rather scrawny, and the robe he pulled over his head seemed to engulf his small frame. He looked familiar though.

“Hello,” he said, “Hogwarts too?”

“Yes,” he answered a little nervously.

Draco nodded. “My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking for wands. Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and smuggle it in somehow. Have you got your own broom?”

The boys face looked a little lost. “No.”

“Play Quidditch at all?”

His expression became more confused. “No.”

“I do—Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree,” Draco said smugly. “Know what house you’ll be in yet?”

“No.”

Draco wondered for a moment if the boy even knew what he was talking about. “Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be Slytherin, all our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

The boy made a noise. Draco stared at him a second until something outside caught his eye.

“Look at that man!” he said, motioning towards the window. He was larger than anyone else he’d seen, carrying two ice cream cones. He looked rather ratty too, and Draco almost made a crack about his clothing choice.

“That’s Hagrid,” said the boy, looking relieved to know something. “He works at Hogwarts.”

Draco desperately hoped not all of his teachers would look so… filthy. “I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of a servant, isn’t he?”

The boy gave him a dark look. “He’s the gamekeeper.”

It didn’t sound any better to Draco. “I heard he’s sort of savage—lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed.”

“I think he’s brilliant,” said the boy a little coldly, obviously not as amused as Draco.

“Do you?” he said, sneering. “Why is he with you? Where are your parents?” The boy must be Muggle-born, that explained it. Imagine he’d spent time trying to be nice to him.

“They’re dead.”

Draco felt a tinge of regret for mentioning it. “Oh, sorry.” Still, to make sure: “But they were our kind, weren’t they?”

“They were a witch and wizard, if that’s what you mean?”

It was better than being a whole half of a Muggle. “I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you?” Draco asked, testing his reaction. “They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname anyway?”

Madam Malkin patted down the robes and said, “That’s you done, my dear.” He hopped down.

“Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,” he said. Maybe the boy had some potential anyway. He’d just have to wait.

2.
The second Draco heard Harry Potter was on the train, he went searching. You had to let the poor kid know who was who before certain others got to him. The compartment hadn’t been hard to track down, and he recognized the boy as the one from Madam Malkin’s. He was also sitting across a Weasley.

“So it’s you, is it?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Harry, who was glancing at Crabbe and Goyle behind him. Draco introduced himself and them. At his name, the Weasley boy sniggered, hiding it behind a cough.

“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford.” The red head looked a bit down trodden by the comment, and he returned to Harry. “You’ll soon find some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

He held out his hand. It was true, though, that you couldn’t let famous people go about with someone like a Weasley. Barely better the rodents they were named after.

Harry ignored his hand. “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.”

Draco felt the insult and went a bit pink. “I’d be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you’re a bit politer you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it’ll rub off on you.”

He smirked as both boys jumped up.

“Say that again,” said the Weasley.

“Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?” He sneered. Honestly, these people weren’t doing anything to fix their reputation. Less dignity than a dung bomb, really.

“Unless you get out now,” said Potter.

Draco almost laughed. These two probably didn’t know any magic and probably couldn’t fight either. Not that he was planning to exchange blows, but it was still fun to goad. “But we don’t feel like leaving, do we boys? We’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.”

Goyle got the message and reached for a Chocolate Frog. The Weasley made a movie, but something jumped out at Goyle, and he shouted.

There was a rat biting into his finger. Draco moved back, so did Crabbe, and Goyle swung the rat around attempting to get it off. The rat flew back and hit a window. Malfoy stepped into the hallway as Goyle stamped out, nursing the bite marks on his fingers.

Malfoy hurried back to his own compartment, plotting. Harry Potter may have drawn first blood, but it would not be the last.

3.
Malfoy waited for Longbottom to be out of earshot before he started laughing, mostly because he’d broken his wrist, and Draco had done that once before. It hurt like hell.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?”

With some satisfaction, the other Slytherins started laughing.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” snapped a Gryffindor girl.

Pansy joined in on the fun. “Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought you’d like a fat little crybaby, Parvati.”

Draco spotted the Remembrall in the grass and picked it up. “Look! It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him!”

“Give that here, Malfoy,” Harry Potter spoke up quietly. Every looked at him.

Draco smiled. “I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?”

“Give it here!” Potter yelled, but Malfoy leapt onto his broomstick and took off. He floated to the upper branches of a nearby oak and taunted Potter closer. Surprisingly, he took the bet, jumped onto the broom, and soared upward. Malfoy was surprised to see he could fly so well.

“Give it here,” he repeated, “Or I’ll knock you off that broom!”

“Oh yeah?” Draco called back, but this kid was a little bit off, wasn’t he? Chasing after him because of a stupid toy that wasn’t even his. They were good way off the ground too, and he looked as if he might do it.

Potter shot towards him, and he moved out of the way right before they would’ve collided. He saw Potter do a sharp turn, still steady. No one could have that much natural talent.

“No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy!” he shouted.

Draco was turning pale. The crazy Potter kid was trying to kill him and people were clapping! He gripped the Remembrall. “Catch it if you can!” he called and threw it into the air. It was a good shot, too, arching a far ways. Harry shot after it, and Draco landed, feeling a bit more relieved on the ground. Potter couldn’t knock him six feet down from here.

Potter ended up catching the damned thing and earning a spot on the Quidditch team all in one go. Somehow Draco knew if he’d been the one catching small glass balls, McGonagall would’ve given him detention.

It didn’t help that he got the broom as well.

4.
“Can you believe Potter?” Draco hissed as they were escorted back to their dorms.

Pansy was scowling. She pulled it off nicely. “He acts like a celebrity, doesn’t he?”

“I suppose he thinks he’s so special for getting into the Triwizard Tournament. How do you think he did it? I bet it just let him in because he’s Harry Potter.”

They entered the Slytherin common room. Draco was not the only one outraged.

“I’d wish he’d get eaten by some fantastic creature,” he muttered, “but he’d probably just escape with some cool new scars.”

5.
Draco had slipped into the boy’s bathroom for privacy’s sake. Myrtle had found him during a small panic attack he was having. There was no way he could go through with this. Yes, he found Dumbledore insufferable, but that didn’t mean death would fix it.

Myrtle had become somewhat helpful when he came to hide. She was rather nice to him, a little like his mother in the way she comforted him.

“Tell me what it is,” she crooned.

He stared at his wand and clenched it in his fists. Tears were escaping down his cheeks, and he felt so angry at himself for being so weak.

She swept a hand over his head, and it went right through him. “Don’t. Tell me what’s wrong. I can help you…”

He was shaking. This was all wrong. “No one can help me. I can’t…” He tried to wipe his face. “It won’t work… but if I don’t do it soon… he’ll kill me…”

He tried to compose himself and glanced at his reflection. There was someone in the mirror… No, behind him! He turned quickly, raising his wand. Potter, goddammit, why did he have to be here? He attempted a hex, but was shaking too much. It missed. Potter and threw himself sideways. He tried to throw a curse at him, but Draco blocked. He had to think fast.

Myrtle was screaming as their spells missed each other by inches. Desperate to stop him, Draco tried, “Cruci—”

“Sectumsemptra!” Harry shouted and slashed his wand.

It felt as if someone had clawed his body, and he stumbled back. Oh god, he was bleeding! Oh god, he was going to die, oh god, oh god, he’d finally done it.

He could hear Myrtle screaming about murder, and he thought that was Potter trying to stop the bleeding, but he felt so sick. Was he going to bleed to death before anyone helped him? He was going to die, it didn’t matter now.

Somewhere, Snape was standing over him, and the blood seemed to stop flowing. He felt so weak as he was helped up. There were more professors outside, but he glanced back at Potter, who was staring at all the blood, wide eyed.

Draco promptly passed out.

6.
Snape grabbed Draco by the scruff of his neck, and they were off. A few Death Eaters stepped up in their path, prepared to take on Harry Potter. Draco felt so lost. He couldn’t believe what had just happened, what Snape had done. He glanced up as he was pushed along. Dumbledore had offered him protection. Dumbledore could’ve kept him safe.

Dumbledore was dead.

He felt something take over him. He’d never wanted that. He’d wanted to take up the headmaster’s offer, wanted to be free from this. He didn’t want to be a murderer.

He wasn’t, though. Snape was.

Spells were fired in their direction, and Snape deflected them easily. They broke out into the night air. Potter was right behind them, and they only made it to the edge of the Forbidden Forest before he caught up.

A spell flew past them, and Draco stumbled. Snape put him upright and hissed, “Run, Draco!”

He almost did. But it felt like too much effort. He almost wanted to get caught, to die at Potter’s hands. How much easier that would be. He could see him, trying out spells, but Snape was holding him back. Their silhouettes were visible in the fire from the gamekeeper’s cabin, and there was a scream. Draco drew back, finding refuge in the forest. As soon as he was distant enough away, he sat down and started crying.

7.
Draco knew, despite the blisters covering his face, it was Harry Potter. He didn’t know what to say as his father pulled him forward.

“Well?” his father pressed.

Draco bit his lip. “I don’t know. It could be.” Of course it was. He even had Weasley and Granger with him. The Death Eaters were arguing over their identities, when he was pulled back into the conversation again.

Was it Arthur Weasley’s son? Who even needed to ask the question? They all looked the same. The girl Greyback was leaning over had to be Hermione Granger. No one else had that hair.

Draco wondered why he didn’t just give them up. It’d put him in with the Dark Lord, and that nuisance would be gone. Certainly it would ensure that his family were back on top.

But he couldn’t do it. Harry Potter may be a heroic git, but he was the hero of this story. Draco moved back away from them, remembering every antagonistic moment between them, and hoped that his made up for it.

It didn’t really, but it would keep Harry from killing him.