Inked Dragons

The Start of Something Beautiful

Draco had spent a considerable amount of time daydreaming, ruminating, and replaying his two previous conversations with Harry Potter and then thinking back to their school days and certain memories of the young Harry. So when Harry returned for his third session, Draco nonchalantly dropped into the conversation: 'if I was your righthand man, I'd insist on more leather trousers,' as he began to work on Harry's right shoulder.

Harry smiled. He was, on this particular day in question, wearing them again.

Harry turned his head to watch Draco. 'What else?'

'Lose the careless public image, the rumpled Auror uniform, and the temper, which just keeps everyone at arm's length. I get that it's righteous anger reserved for the dinosaurs in the Ministry and the Wizengamot but it won't help your cause. You can let people in, you know.'

Harry didn't want to show his surprise that Draco had seen right through his public front but he supposed it was a case of recognising what you know. He muttered, 'they don't deserve letting in, or my respect, because nothing changes. Perhaps, one day, they'll show me they can embrace change and I'll embrace this world more fully. And, perhaps then, I'll use all the ironing and cleaning spells I want. I'll even get my hair cut properly—'

Draco barely contained his whimper of protest.

'Have you considered that you might be approaching this the wrong way around? You need to bring them in, subtly woo them with your Potter magnetism. I mean if they all revere you like this, imagine if they worshipped you because you'd charmed the pants off them. I know you're quite capable of being charming. All the staff at Hogwarts simply adored you—'

'All...?'

Draco grimaced. 'Well, okay, not Sev or Umbridge—'

'Quirrell tried to kill me. Lockhart nearly succeeded, while trying to erase all my memories too. Crouch Jnr put my name in the Triwizard Cup so there was a small matter that year of dragons, drowning, deadly mazes, and dead Dark Wizards being resurrected using my blood. And then there's that huge Dumbledore-thing of literally training me to die at the right moment—'

'You're so melodramatic—'

Harry ignored him. 'I think that leaves Minnie, Poppy, and Remus. And the more neutral Sprout, Flitwick and Madame Hooch. But yeah, sure, they all loved me—'

'Slughorn and Trelawney—'

'Slughorn only wanted me for his collection and Trelawney predicted my death every other lesson—'

'Hagrid?'

'I'll give you Hagrid. His love was unconditional. But that's not even a 50:50 divide.'

They both smiled to themselves at the quick exchange done in humour but Draco paused and said, 'I'm still right. Imagine if you charmed them with your humorous exchanges and sparkling green eyes that penetrate the soul...'

'No need for the poetics,' Harry said sarcastically. 'Anyway, they don't want to be charmed by me. They keep me around like a pet puppy, seemingly harmless so long as I sort out their crime problems and don't speak out of turn. Until they start listening to me, I can't be bothered.'

'Keep telling yourself that.'

'What do you mean?' Harry watched Draco closely, slightly on edge.

'You have a reputation for speaking out of turn all the time. Your temper is renowned.'

'I get frustrated by them blocking change.'

'There's more to this than you simply disrespecting them because they don't listen to you. Yes, the image is clearly a sign that you refuse to concede to them.' It was like a sudden unravelling of the mystery to Draco as he spoke aloud his half-thought-through theories. 'You're perpetuating a story of the poor orphaned boy, neglected by his Muggle relatives, who they've welcomed into their arms and he's come good but remains so humble. It's an image the public lap up.'