Love Pure As Hate

The sixth floor boys bathroom would have remained unused and silent for another day if not for the running of a faucet and a teenage girl's uncontrollable sobbing.

Drusilla Malfoy was slumped over one of the sinks, forehead pressed to the cool marble. She shouldn't have come. Although nobody ever came here, Prefects still checked the corridor, and if she was found alone in a boys' bathroom, the rumors would reach the Slytherin common room before supper. Today she simply lost the capacity to care. Her eyes were puffy and red, and mascara ran in black rivers down her cheeks.

All the things she had spent her entire childhood locking away had come free. Anxiety that gnawed at her stomach. Fear that sat heavy in her chest. And doubt that whispered she was a failure and disappointment to her entire bloodline. Her mother most of all.

"I can't help you if you won't tell me what's wrong," Myrtle said, hovering nearby. The ghost watched her with a sympathetic expression. "Did the boy break your heart again?"

Drusilla flinched as though she'd been struck, but shook her head. "I can't do it. I've tried... I've tried everything. The necklace, the wine... nothing's working. And if I don't do it soon... he'll kill me. And Mother..."

She dropped to her knees as if the admission had taken all her remaining strength.

Myrtle took a seat in the air beside her. "You're safe here, Drusilla. Take all the time you need. Take it from me. I've shed enough tears to flood every bathroom in all of Hogwarts. Outside these walls, it's never as bad as it seems."

She gave a humorless chuckle. "That's easy for you to say. You're already dead."

Myrtle chuckled herself, having more warmth than the living. "The worst thing that could ever happen to me already has. But dying wasn't so bad. Barely felt a thing."

"That's not very comforting, Myrtle. There are worse things than death. I've seen them."

"Why don't you ask that professor for help? Snape, was it? You've been telling me for years that he's awfully fond of you."

Drusilla shook her head and rose to her feet. "He's a Death Eater. Just like Father. They're all selfish, spineless cowards. Any of them would betray their own nan if it meant getting in the Dark Lord's good graces. I would, and I probably will, if I live long enough..."

"Well, take all the time you need. Nobody ever comes-"

Myrtle's words died on her lips, and Drusilla glanced in the mirror. A tall figure cautiously approached from behind, and with her vision blurred, she assumed it to be another Prefect. She wiped her eyes and started making excuses when she froze.

"Harry?" Her heart skipped a beat and she spun around. "What do you want, Potter!?" she spat, his name coming out like a curse. "Come here to mock me, have you? Been following me again?"

He couldn't fully suppress the suspicion on his face. For the past year it seemed to have fully replaced the hostility from childhood, and the growing ambivalence between them these last several years.

Then the suspicion melted away, along with the hostility. Even the ambivalence seemed to fade away. The sympathy on his face was unmistakable, as was an even tenderer emotion. He tried to say something comforting, perhaps offer his assistance, but it ignited something hot and vicious within her.

"I don't need your pity, Potter!"

Harry raised his hands slightly, palms out, voice low and careful. "Dru, please. I'm not mocking you. That's not why I'm here."

The nickname hit harder than any Unforgivable Curse. No one else ever called her Dru. Not her parents. Not even so-called closest friends. Only Harry, and only when their lives were in peril or when he needed her attention, and only when they were alone. The sound of it now, gentle and concerned, made the anger in her chest flare that much hotter.

"You know me better than that," Harry continued. "Whatever's going on with you and the Death Eaters, I can help. You don't have to do this alone."

"It's all your fault!" The words tore something loose inside of her. The Dark Mark burned under her sleeve as if the Dark Lord himself was standing there beside her.

The impossible task. The threats. Mother crying. Betraying the one place that ever felt like home. Condemning the only people that ever treated her kindly.

It all bubbled to the surface in a single accusation. "All of it! My father in Azkaban! My mother missing! Everything! IT'S ALL! YOUR! FAULT!"

Her hawthorn wand was already in her hand.

She didn't know what spell she recited. She only knew it cracked through the air like a whip, unfocused and furious. Harry barely got a shield up in time. Porcelain exploded. Water sprayed. Myrtle's shrieks echoed somewhere above them.

"Drusilla, no!" she screamed. "Stop it, Harry. Stop it! STOP IT!"

Harry dove for cover and slung a stupefying spell at Drusilla that went wide when she fired back with half a dozen spells of her own.

Under normal circumstances, he was the stronger duelist. Drusilla was precise, almost elegant, and ruthless when she needed to be. But Harry was in a league of his own at Hogwarts, and everyone knew it.

Right now none of that mattered. She was a loose cannon, throwing wild magic with no pattern, no restraint, no rhyme or reason or regard for her surroundings. Curses were half-formed and barely coherent. A blasting hex that had aimed at his chest veered and took out an entire row of faucets. A cutting curse sliced the air so close to his ear he felt the scorching heat from it. The bathroom became a storm of flying debris and uncontrolled power, all the while a ghost screamed at the top of its lungs.

Harry defended on pure instinct, shouting for her to stop and calm down, but the words only seemed to further enrage her.

This had ceased being a rivals' duel the moment he saw her with mascara running down her face. It had become the thing they always became when they were alone together. Something ugly and familiar, an addiction both of them had sworn to quit a dozen times over but could never quite manage to break. Love as pure as hate.

One of Drusilla's spells nearly took off his head. She regretted it almost immediately, only to do it again immediately after.

Stone shattered. Debris exploded outward. A jagged chunk of marble caught Harry hard across the shoulder and collarbone, hard enough to stagger him and draw blood.

Pain flared white-hot, making it difficult to see or even hear. And the same snapped restraint inside of her snapped inside of him.

The foreign spell was already on the tip of his tongue. The one the Half-Blood Prince had written in the margins of the old potions book. The one he had created himself specifically for dealing with enemies.

Harry didn't think. He only wanted the chaos to end, and his lifelong enemy stopped.

"Sectumsempra!"

Across the bathroom, Drusilla's body jerked and spasmed. She stared at Harry in surprise then growing horror, standing absolutely still.

Lacerations opened across her body in dozens of places all at once. Arms, torso, chest, the side of her neck. Even one on her cheek. Blood poured. She screamed, drowning out even Moaning Myrtle. Then the sound turned into raw, broken sobbing as she collapsed onto the flooded floor.

The pain was everywhere and absolute. It was as though her very cells were on fire, but nothing could compare to her heart. Empty, and broken.

She looked up at him through the mess of blood, tears, and running mascara, voice barely more than a whisper.

"You really do hate me, don't you?" It was a realization more than a question. After all these years, she finally knew the truth. "How stupid of me."

Harry stood, frozen, wand still raised. Horror and regret flooded his face. He ran and dropped to his knees beside her, hands shaking, already grabbing for anything he could use to press against the wounds. Any one of them could be fatal.

"I didn't… Dru. I didn't mean to… hold still. I'm sorry..."

His voice cracked. The same hands that had just ripped her open were now desperately trying to keep her from bleeding out. Any other time they might have felt nice.

Drusilla stared up at him while the blood kept pouring. The pain was at least sobering. Somewhere beneath all the screaming and crying, a decision was settling into place. It was as though her entire life was suddenly shifting into clear focus.

She didn't have friends. She didn't even have enemies. She certainly didn't have a lover. All she had was herself. That's all she'd ever had to begin with. She would betray Hogwarts. It had never been her home. Just another escape from reality. A stupid girl's castle to hide in waiting for a charming prince to come and rescue her from the monster.

The impossible choice had been made for her.

Dumbledore would die. Hogwarts would fall. And the Dark Lord would rule over all damnation.

Drusilla looked around and saw the water had turned crimson. A small, exhausted smile touched her blood-streaked mouth.

Perhaps she would simply die here. Then the decision would be taken from her. It'd be so much simpler.

Harry kept pressing against the worst of the wounds, still apologizing, still trying, while she closed her eyes and let the comforting thought settle like a final, private mercy.

If she lived, she wouldn't betray anyone. They had already betrayed her. And if she died, who cared?

The Boy Who Lived. The Boy Who Ruined Her Life. The Boy Who Broke Her Heart.

"And The Girl Who Died In His Arms..." she whispered.

Her vision tunneled. His warm touch a distant memory. His frantic lies nothing more than noise.

(A/N: Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. I didn't think much of the "Malfoid" craze at first. I thought some of the art was cute, but mostly just thought she was a poor man's version of Diana Cavendish from "Little Witch Academia". But then I started thinking about the story implications within the series, and it blew my mind. Malfoy at the end of the day was a supporting character, a bully and rival to Harry, and served at the behest of the plot in a very, VERY story driven series originally intended for elementary school children. At his core he's very different from "Malfoid", and therein lies the absolute brilliance. A familiar character with a twist. One that singularly changes the entire series for the better in my personal opinion.

That's not to say J.K. Rowling made a mistake (far from it). She went in one direction because it suited her and the story she wanted to tell, and Harry Potter is an absolute masterpiece. This is audience participation and emergent fandom at its finest. This was the first scene that came to mind when I thought of "Malfoid" and Harry being in love, and I've already seen some excellent fan art of the scene. Speaking of, my personal favorite fan art has come from SYTOkun. Please check him out and support him on YouTube and Twitter.

As for the one-shot itself, I didn't want to use "Draco" as her name. "Draconia" is a popular headcanon, but it felt clunky in conversation, and I couldn't think of a good nickname for Harry to call her. I went with Drusilla because it fits the nobility motif most pure bloods have, and I thought "Dru" was cute sounding. Although I've been a big fan of "Harry Potter" for YEARS at this point, I've always been rather reluctant to write my own fanfic. The series is very, VERY story driven, and I'm a very, VERY character driven writer. It was just a little intimidating, and most of my writing inspiration comes from what I consider to be "wasted potential", or frustrations I have with a story or its characters. I've just never really had that with "Harry Potter". Until now...

I'm not sure if I'll write more Drusilla Malfoy stories, but if you'd like to read more, please let me know.

All credit goes to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, who has blessed me with this story, and all of you wonderful readers. God bless)