Perfectly Imperfect
Perfectly Imperfect
“Bloody hell this hurts…” he mumbled to himself as he stood in front of the mirror in the boys lavatory on the third floor. His ribs were peppered with bruises: some big, some small, some lighter, and some a gross yellow color. He glanced up from his ribs to look at the haggard face in the mirror.
Steely grey eyes laced with pain looked back at him and observed the circles under his eyes and the sallow look his face was starting to take on. A Malfoy was supposed to be beautiful, handsome, attractive. Right now, this little Malfoy looked like a person who’d seen more than his fair share in his 17 years. And he has.
Perfection. It was everything. And he wasn’t perfect. Oh sure, the rumors around Hogwarts circulated about the “Prince of Slytherin” and how he’s perfect at everything. But he knew better. His –father- knew better. And his father wasn’t above reminding him of it every chance he was home.
These past summer holidays had been awful. The date to receive his Dark Mark had been set since the Yule holidays, but he didn’t want to be Marked. He did his best to convince his parents otherwise; he wasn’t ready and wouldn’t be able to serve His Lord the best he could which is what a Malfoy should do.
The beatings had always been bad, but they escalated exponentially this summer. However, his fath- no. –Lucius- always hit where no one would see. He was positive he’d had several cracked ribs for the entirety of the holidays. And every single beating was etched into his memory. Every trigger. Every hit. Every wound. Every night spent crying in his bed, trying not to jostle his injuries. Every resulting sleepless night. All of them were engraved into his mind.
He barely even noticed the tears streaming down his face as he was lost in his memories.
~~~
Today was a lazy day. It was a Saturday and he didn’t have Quidditch practice so here he was, roaming the corridors of his Sanctuary. Currently, he was on the third floor. Sure, he should be working on homework – Hermione would get on his case for that, but he didn’t care. He was restless.
As he was walking by the boys’ lavatory, he heard a small sound and glanced in, only to spot his rival: Draco Malfoy. Well, he wasn’t sure rival was the right term, but neither was enemy. Regardless, the other boy seemed to just be standing in front of the mirror, staring deeply into it. Why he wondered. The Malfoy didn’t have the air of confidence he normally had. That’s when he noticed what was wrong with the picture.
Bruises.
Scars.
Cuts.
All over the other’s torso. His brow furrowed and his nose flared in anger. He may not like Malfoy, but the boy had obviously been beaten. He’d recognize that posture and wounds like those anywhere. After all….
He knew it, too. The Dursleys weren’t kind guardians, but it was mostly Dudley and Vernon that even touched him. He knows what it’s like to be beaten. But why would Malfoy, he-from-the-perfect-family have marks like that? Who was doing it?
He considered leaving the other to his devices, but empathy made him walk up behind the wounded boy.
“Who?” The blonde jerked harshly and whirled around to face him.
“Who what, Potter?” he spat out.
“Who gave you those marks, Malfoy?” Quiet. Understanding. Sympathetic. The voice was strong in its quietness, demanding an answer.
“Why do you even care? It’s not like you’d ever understand. So just go away and forget you ever saw this or I’ll obliviate you.”
“I’m not leaving, Malfoy. You’ve been beaten. I’d know the marks and air anywhere.” And with that, Harry proceeded to remove his own shirt to show off the still healing marks from his summer holidays. He’d still had to stay with the Dursleys for a week before going to Grimmauld Place. And Vernon had made it a point to “teach the brat a lesson.”
Grey met emerald in startled realization. The “Saviour” wasn’t so perfect either. He wasn’t the “Golden Boy” everyone preached he was. He was just a boy who’d been abused, too.
Said boy approached Draco slowly and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
“Who?” he repeated. The blonde dropped his gaze, eyes hidden behind bangs that hadn’t been slicked back.
“My father,” came the short reply. He watched as Harry’s feet moved away from his sight and felt the hand leave his person. Great. Now he was being left behind again. He heard slight shuffling as he bit his lip to not cry.
He started with a shriek as he felt someone touch one of the more sensitive bruises, only to see Harry jerk his hand back. The fingers were coated in a cream of some sort and as he looked down, he saw one of his bruises covered in the same. His brow furrowed and his head whipped up to look at the other in confusion.
“I thought you could use the help.” The brunette shrugged, a serious look on his face instead of a goofy smile that was normally there.
“…Why?” was all the Malfoy could push past his vocal chords.
“Because I understand. I always wanted someone there for me.” And he continued spreading the cream over Draco’s wounds.
Both boys stood in silent understanding while Harry tended to Draco’s injuries.
“Same question to you then. Who?” Harry looked up from wrapping the blonde’s chest. He then looked back down and continued.
“My guardians. They’re muggles. Aunt Petunia was Mum’s sister. They hate magic. Think they can beat it out of me.” That was all he answered. The rest seemed to speak for itself as Draco let Harry help him.
When he was all wrapped up and the supplies put away, both boys put their shirts back on and stood awkwardly next to each other.
“…Thanks…”
“You’re welcome, Malfoy. And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. But you might want to.”
“You should, too.”
“I’ve tried. I get sent back there every year. So I gave up.” That surprised Draco. Harry’d told Dumbledore about the abuse and got sent back anyway? He took a deep breath and extended his hand to Harry.
“Let’s start again. I’m Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. My father abuses me for not being the perfect son.” Emerald eyes widened at the gesture and shot up to search grey. His face relaxed into a small smile and he put his hand in Draco’s.
“Hello, Draco. I’m Harry Potter. My parents were killed by a crazy psychopath, and I was sent to live with my muggle Aunt and Uncle. They think they can beat the magic out of me. It’s nice to meet you as well.”
Maybe starting over would help things. Maybe it wouldn’t. But they both know now that there is a mutual understanding between them. They aren’t as perfect as they believed each other to be.
They are perfectly imperfect.
Steely grey eyes laced with pain looked back at him and observed the circles under his eyes and the sallow look his face was starting to take on. A Malfoy was supposed to be beautiful, handsome, attractive. Right now, this little Malfoy looked like a person who’d seen more than his fair share in his 17 years. And he has.
Perfection. It was everything. And he wasn’t perfect. Oh sure, the rumors around Hogwarts circulated about the “Prince of Slytherin” and how he’s perfect at everything. But he knew better. His –father- knew better. And his father wasn’t above reminding him of it every chance he was home.
These past summer holidays had been awful. The date to receive his Dark Mark had been set since the Yule holidays, but he didn’t want to be Marked. He did his best to convince his parents otherwise; he wasn’t ready and wouldn’t be able to serve His Lord the best he could which is what a Malfoy should do.
The beatings had always been bad, but they escalated exponentially this summer. However, his fath- no. –Lucius- always hit where no one would see. He was positive he’d had several cracked ribs for the entirety of the holidays. And every single beating was etched into his memory. Every trigger. Every hit. Every wound. Every night spent crying in his bed, trying not to jostle his injuries. Every resulting sleepless night. All of them were engraved into his mind.
He barely even noticed the tears streaming down his face as he was lost in his memories.
~~~
Today was a lazy day. It was a Saturday and he didn’t have Quidditch practice so here he was, roaming the corridors of his Sanctuary. Currently, he was on the third floor. Sure, he should be working on homework – Hermione would get on his case for that, but he didn’t care. He was restless.
As he was walking by the boys’ lavatory, he heard a small sound and glanced in, only to spot his rival: Draco Malfoy. Well, he wasn’t sure rival was the right term, but neither was enemy. Regardless, the other boy seemed to just be standing in front of the mirror, staring deeply into it. Why he wondered. The Malfoy didn’t have the air of confidence he normally had. That’s when he noticed what was wrong with the picture.
Bruises.
Scars.
Cuts.
All over the other’s torso. His brow furrowed and his nose flared in anger. He may not like Malfoy, but the boy had obviously been beaten. He’d recognize that posture and wounds like those anywhere. After all….
He knew it, too. The Dursleys weren’t kind guardians, but it was mostly Dudley and Vernon that even touched him. He knows what it’s like to be beaten. But why would Malfoy, he-from-the-perfect-family have marks like that? Who was doing it?
He considered leaving the other to his devices, but empathy made him walk up behind the wounded boy.
“Who?” The blonde jerked harshly and whirled around to face him.
“Who what, Potter?” he spat out.
“Who gave you those marks, Malfoy?” Quiet. Understanding. Sympathetic. The voice was strong in its quietness, demanding an answer.
“Why do you even care? It’s not like you’d ever understand. So just go away and forget you ever saw this or I’ll obliviate you.”
“I’m not leaving, Malfoy. You’ve been beaten. I’d know the marks and air anywhere.” And with that, Harry proceeded to remove his own shirt to show off the still healing marks from his summer holidays. He’d still had to stay with the Dursleys for a week before going to Grimmauld Place. And Vernon had made it a point to “teach the brat a lesson.”
Grey met emerald in startled realization. The “Saviour” wasn’t so perfect either. He wasn’t the “Golden Boy” everyone preached he was. He was just a boy who’d been abused, too.
Said boy approached Draco slowly and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
“Who?” he repeated. The blonde dropped his gaze, eyes hidden behind bangs that hadn’t been slicked back.
“My father,” came the short reply. He watched as Harry’s feet moved away from his sight and felt the hand leave his person. Great. Now he was being left behind again. He heard slight shuffling as he bit his lip to not cry.
He started with a shriek as he felt someone touch one of the more sensitive bruises, only to see Harry jerk his hand back. The fingers were coated in a cream of some sort and as he looked down, he saw one of his bruises covered in the same. His brow furrowed and his head whipped up to look at the other in confusion.
“I thought you could use the help.” The brunette shrugged, a serious look on his face instead of a goofy smile that was normally there.
“…Why?” was all the Malfoy could push past his vocal chords.
“Because I understand. I always wanted someone there for me.” And he continued spreading the cream over Draco’s wounds.
Both boys stood in silent understanding while Harry tended to Draco’s injuries.
“Same question to you then. Who?” Harry looked up from wrapping the blonde’s chest. He then looked back down and continued.
“My guardians. They’re muggles. Aunt Petunia was Mum’s sister. They hate magic. Think they can beat it out of me.” That was all he answered. The rest seemed to speak for itself as Draco let Harry help him.
When he was all wrapped up and the supplies put away, both boys put their shirts back on and stood awkwardly next to each other.
“…Thanks…”
“You’re welcome, Malfoy. And don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. But you might want to.”
“You should, too.”
“I’ve tried. I get sent back there every year. So I gave up.” That surprised Draco. Harry’d told Dumbledore about the abuse and got sent back anyway? He took a deep breath and extended his hand to Harry.
“Let’s start again. I’m Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. My father abuses me for not being the perfect son.” Emerald eyes widened at the gesture and shot up to search grey. His face relaxed into a small smile and he put his hand in Draco’s.
“Hello, Draco. I’m Harry Potter. My parents were killed by a crazy psychopath, and I was sent to live with my muggle Aunt and Uncle. They think they can beat the magic out of me. It’s nice to meet you as well.”
Maybe starting over would help things. Maybe it wouldn’t. But they both know now that there is a mutual understanding between them. They aren’t as perfect as they believed each other to be.
They are perfectly imperfect.