Drarry One Shots

I Always Will (Part One)

The next time, had been the first task. As everyone in the stadium cheered as Harry came out, Draco felt like the cheering was...different, then with the other champions. He then got a sickening feeling that they where all cheering for the Dragon. 

Draco saw a look of pure terror on Harry's face, before it changed to a blank slate. Then, as Harry had swooped down to get the egg, Draco saw something. Depression flickered in Harry's eyes, taking over his face. That was when his arm got cut. But it was too perfectly set. Draco got a feeling that Harry had did it on purpose. Thinking it over later, Draco had realized that Harry had meant to let the dragon tear him to bits via spiky tail, but getting his arm hurt probably sent him off balance, and he rolled away when he didn't mean to. Though, to the rest of the audience, it looked like he had done a fantastic roll to avoid getting hurt further.

After this, Draco started to look over somethings. One: why did he notice these things, when it seemed no one else did? Even the Mudblood and blood traitor (though the latter didn't surprise him) didn't even seem to notice. Why was it Draco picking up on the boy's flickers of emotion when the rest of the school didn't? This boy was his rival! Draco had passed it off, discarding it as 'know thy enemy', as Muggles would say. 

But why would Potter try to get himself killed via Dragon? Maybe he did really have a death wish? No, why would he? But what other explanation was there? Draco was left with more questions than answers, and it annoyed him greatly. 

Fifth year, Potter had just seemed a little easier to piss off, but nothing else. Draco saw emotion rarely that year. Though Potter wasn't the usually happy-go-lucky, he wasn't anything else other than blank.

After the Quiddich game, when Draco insulted Harry's family, the acceptance was there again. Not rage, not hate, not even anger. His eyes seemed to convey what he was thinking, which seemed to be; Yeah, your right. Damnit. 

The next time, was when Draco was there to watch Umbridge gleefully tear Potters little club to shreds. He saw Potters eyes, which looked directly at him. It confused Draco even more, seeing it. They said: I can't hate you. Nor blame you, really. Wasn't Potter supposed to be cursing him to the fiery pits of hell?

As they dragged the ring leaders to Dumbledore's office (Granger, Weasley, Potter, and for some reason Chang and her friend that rotted them out), Draco didn't see the flicker of Harry's emotion, but felt the flicker of his own.

As Draco had Potter by the hands (said limbs being held behind his back, stopping him from moving his arms), he noticed something on Potters right hand. I must not tell lies was carved into his skin. Draco knew Potter couldn't have done it himself, but had to have done it (it was his right hand, Potter was even more hopeless with his left then he already was with him right. Draco ignored that fact that he some how knew that potter was right handed) but it was in Potters hand writing (being partnered for classes frequently for five years made you notice some things), so he must have. 

A Blood Quill. 

The words flew across his brain. That was when Draco felt deep, hot, burning rage scream inside him. Potter wouldn't do something so idiotic to himself, he wouldn't even know what the damn thing was, being raised by Muggle, but Draco knew of all the detentions he had been getting recently. His mind flashed, remembering how everyone who had had a recent detention was being more delicate with their writing hand as of late. 

That was when Draco realized what exactly the pink loving woman was doing. 

Though he wished to get away from her, wished to take Harry away and just hold him close, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, they were already inside Dumbledore's office.