What I'm Missing (Drarry)

Chapter Four

"I don't understand." Potter waited, his expression intent as if he were mesmerising the features on Draco's face.

"I just don't want people to think I'm corrupting you," Draco muttered, looking away.

Potter snorted. The derisive sound served to allay some of Draco's fear and anxiety, but not enough.

He sniffed delicately and turned back to see Potter smiling at him with affection. Draco's chest tightened, and he felt deep within him the cold fear that this could be taken from him simply by people cruel enough to will it so.

It would be taken from him as soon as people learned of it. Draco Malfoy - a Death Eater - was hardly worthy of the saviour of the wizarding world.

"No," he said again. "We can't let anyone find out. Not until they believe I... believe I've changed." If they ever believe it.

Potter leaned back against the stone walls of the prefect's bathroom and crossed his arms, one eyebrow raised. "They're not going to think you're corrupting me." His voice was flat; Draco had no idea what he was feeling. Maybe he was just angry that something he had thought was his was being taken from him.

No. That didn't suit The Boy Who Lived, did it?

"But they won't like to think that we're together." Draco argued. "They know I don't deserve you."

Potter's eyebrows drew together and he opened his mouth to reply, his eyes glowing with the righteous fervour Draco had seen so many times before - the passion for life that Draco had never wanted to admit he admired. The passion he was drawn to, like a moth to a flame.

Draco held up one hand, stopping Potter in his tracks, and glared. "You know that's what they'll say."

"It's what they'll say ," Potter spat. "It's not what-"

"Oh, shove a sock in it, Potter," Draco snapped tiredly. "Can we have this pointless argument another day when you've come to your senses?"

Potter glared a few seconds more, but couldn't seem to hold the anger. He smirked and suddenly slid his arm around Draco's stomach to pull him close.

With the door still firmly shut, closing them off from the outside world, it was easy to pretend that all of this was possible. If he closed his eyes, Draco could almost believe that nothing would stand in their way.

He leaned forward and closed his eyes.

***

It was fairly common for students to wear their robes open, revealing the uniform underneath. Draco had never been one of those students. He eyed himself in the mirror: black, muggle jeans and a grey, muggle t-shirt. Without his robe on, the dragon could be seen lazily circling its way around his forearm.

If he wore a scarf, the teachers would have to look closely to realise it wasn't his uniform. But the students would notice.

He shrugged on his robes - leaving the clasp undone - wound a Slytherin scarf around his neck, and left the room.

***

Several Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff gave him odd looks, but Finnegan was the first person to say anything out loud. He looked Draco up and down as they took their usual seats in Defence Against the Dark Arts and frowned.

"You shopping on a budget now, Malfoy?" he asked loudly, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Draco raised one eyebrow. "On the contrary, Finnegan. These are tailored to my exact measurements by a renowned Italian seamstress."

Finnegan's eyes narrowed. "Wizards don't make jeans."

Draco rolled his eyes, making sure everyone heard him and hoping they didn't notice the tremor in his voice. "Are you truly as dumb as you look? They're muggle design, delivered to my P.O box and owled to Hogwarts."

Finnegan's eyes bugged out of his head. "You have a muggle post box? And a muggle seamstress?" Behind Finnegan, Draco could see Potter trying not to laugh. As Draco had asked, he hadn't approached Draco apart from a friendly greeting - nothing to make people think twice.

"She's the best seamstress in Italy," Draco replied, his eyes on Potter.

"That's bloody rich that is," Finnegan spat.

Draco's head whipped up in shock, and he saw Potter suddenly tense.

"Your family causes no end of bigoted violence, and suddenly you're a muggle supporter?" His voice had risen and he was now standing. The room had been quiet, listening, but now a few murmurs were starting in the background.

"Seamus," Potter began, resting a hand on Finnegan's shoulder. "It's not like that-"

Seamus spun around. "You're supporting this bastard now, Potter? You've forgotten everything he did, then?"

Draco felt his forearm tingle, and for a minute his vision went white with panic. Then he remembered the dragon.

A low, rumbling sort of noise began near Draco's desk, slowly rising in volume until it drowned out Potter's protests. Draco's arm felt like it was on fire. He shoved back his sleeve and gaped in astonishment, barely registering that the noise of the classroom had quietened down as every student turned slowly to look at Draco.

The rumbling softened to a low, irritated growl. The dragon on his forearm flicked its tail, the fire dropping down to wisps of smoke as it glared at everyone in the room.