Less Like His Father
Title: Less Like His Father
Author: scarysnapey
Team: Death Eaters
Word count: 100x4
Characters/pairings: Harry/Draco
Challenge: #117 Critique
Two years ago, Harry told Draco that he was too much like his father.
“You would be better off if you learned to accept critique, Draco.”
“Critique? ‘You’re too much like your father,’ is not critique, Potter. It’s you being an arse.”
“Sod off,” Harry glowered, and this time when he slammed the door, he never came back.
Draco soldiered on, in a way that was uniquely and overtly Malfoy, straight-backed and with his nosed tipped high. Some things are genetic, and you can’t be rid of them unless you actually want to. Unless you are willing to try.
---
One year later, Draco packed his bags and left the Manor without a word to his parents. He locked his Gringotts account, opened a new one, and rented the cheapest flat he could find out of the galleons he had in his pocket.
He got a low-level job at the Ministry and worked hard, came home sweating, exhausted, and passed out on his one-person cot.
It didn’t take him long to work his way to the top. Some things are genetic, and Draco supposes that success is one of them, whether you start with nothing or with far too much.
---
Three months later, Draco firecalled Harry. He stuck his head through the Floo and prattled on about his success, describing in detail his well furnished flat and high paying job.
He expected something by way of an apology. He expected Harry to eat his words.
What Draco didn’t expect, was Harry to point out that he was right: once he stopped being his father, Draco became someone worth being.
That night, Draco could not taste his food. He hungered for that elusive satisfaction, and perhaps a bed that didn’t feel so empty. He wanted Harry Potter. It was that simple.
---
Two days later, Draco opened the door to frenzied knocking, and nearly fell to the ground when Harry pounced inside.
“Potter, wha-”
“Shut up, Draco.” Harry cradled his head in his hands, on the verge of losing it. “I’m going to tell you the truth: I hate this, from your rundown flat to your stupid dining room table. It’s all wrong-”
Draco turned away. “Potter the critic,” he mumbled.
“-because I’m not in it.”
Taking a chance, “I’ve got two chairs at my ‘stupid’ dining room table.”
“Good,” Harry said firmly. “Because I’m going to be here in the morning.”
Author: scarysnapey
Team: Death Eaters
Word count: 100x4
Characters/pairings: Harry/Draco
Challenge: #117 Critique
Two years ago, Harry told Draco that he was too much like his father.
“You would be better off if you learned to accept critique, Draco.”
“Critique? ‘You’re too much like your father,’ is not critique, Potter. It’s you being an arse.”
“Sod off,” Harry glowered, and this time when he slammed the door, he never came back.
Draco soldiered on, in a way that was uniquely and overtly Malfoy, straight-backed and with his nosed tipped high. Some things are genetic, and you can’t be rid of them unless you actually want to. Unless you are willing to try.
---
One year later, Draco packed his bags and left the Manor without a word to his parents. He locked his Gringotts account, opened a new one, and rented the cheapest flat he could find out of the galleons he had in his pocket.
He got a low-level job at the Ministry and worked hard, came home sweating, exhausted, and passed out on his one-person cot.
It didn’t take him long to work his way to the top. Some things are genetic, and Draco supposes that success is one of them, whether you start with nothing or with far too much.
---
Three months later, Draco firecalled Harry. He stuck his head through the Floo and prattled on about his success, describing in detail his well furnished flat and high paying job.
He expected something by way of an apology. He expected Harry to eat his words.
What Draco didn’t expect, was Harry to point out that he was right: once he stopped being his father, Draco became someone worth being.
That night, Draco could not taste his food. He hungered for that elusive satisfaction, and perhaps a bed that didn’t feel so empty. He wanted Harry Potter. It was that simple.
---
Two days later, Draco opened the door to frenzied knocking, and nearly fell to the ground when Harry pounced inside.
“Potter, wha-”
“Shut up, Draco.” Harry cradled his head in his hands, on the verge of losing it. “I’m going to tell you the truth: I hate this, from your rundown flat to your stupid dining room table. It’s all wrong-”
Draco turned away. “Potter the critic,” he mumbled.
“-because I’m not in it.”
Taking a chance, “I’ve got two chairs at my ‘stupid’ dining room table.”
“Good,” Harry said firmly. “Because I’m going to be here in the morning.”