mini_fest | Fic: If Wishes Were Horses, Beggars Could Ride

Title: If Wishes Were Horses, Beggars Could Ride
Author: ???
Rating: G
Characters: Harry, Draco, Narcissa and mentions of Lucius
Prompt(s): Prompt #97 Harry/Draco Post-war. Life is not so good for the Malfoy's. They still have the Manor and their money but they're having to rebuild their reputations and nothing about life is the way Draco had envisioned. Christmas Eve finds him alone with his parents, feeling down and trapped. He decides to go out for a walk on the Malfoy grounds and happens upon Harry Potter standing at the Manor gates, looking like he's trying to decide whether or not he wants to (try to) come in
Warnings: absolutely none...well a smidge of angst if you squint and perhaps a bit of fluff
Summary: Between the wish and the thing life lies waiting.
Word Count: ~1500
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Dear

bryoneybrynn this prompt grabbed me as soon as I read it. I hope I've done it justice for you. I adore your writing and was a bit intimidated writing for your prompt. Many, many thanks to B for once again holding my hand and making this better. Special thanks to M and E for giving this a once over at the end and for your invaluable suggestions. All of you rock my world!!

If Wishes Were Horses, Beggars Could Ride

Draco pulled his scarf around his neck, tucking the loose end into his cloak, his breath coming out in smoke-like puffs as he struggled to compose himself. He stomped his feet on the frozen ground before casting a Warming Charm; he knew it was too cold for a walk in the gardens, but the house was too stifling.

"I can't spend another moment listening to him blather on and on about how next year we'll simply have to have our holiday party. Merlin's balls, Mother," he'd huffed to the woman in question, "the man hasn't set foot outside the Manor since he was released after the trials!"

"Language, Draco," Narcissa replied, her hand gripping his arm and keeping him from bolting out the door. "No one knows better than I that your father hasn't been quite right since the war."

"Quite right!" Draco snapped incredulously, "he's mad as a..."

Narcissa cut him off with a glare. "Do not finish that sentence."

Draco looked down at his feet and then raised his eyes to meet hers, utterly unsurprised to see anger flaring in them. He breathed out wearily. "I'm sorry, Mother. I was out of line."

She pulled him against her chest, her arms wrapped around his slight frame. "I understand. He's not the same man he was." He could feel her sigh. "The Dark Lord... broke his spirit. It's what he did best."

"Yes and now we all get to suffer because my father chose to follow..." Draco sighed again and shrugged out of her grasp. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Nothing I ever do will make people forget what we were... What we are."

"Darling, don't."

He looked at her sadly. "I'm fine. I just need some air. Make my excuses to him." He turned and strode down the hall, muttering under his breath, "It's what you do best."

Now that the cold air had helped clear his head, Draco regretted his parting shot at his mother. It wasn't her fault she was still in love with Lucius. He couldn't even blame her for hanging on to a dream, no matter how hopeless it was. A dream that would never be fulfilled. After all, he knew something himself about impossible dreams.

He started walking again, his crunching footsteps echoing in the silence. The sun was low in the afternoon sky and there was a hint of pink on the horizon. He could hear the peacocks calling to each other in the distance and he hoped that they stayed very far away from him. They got vicious in the cold, convinced every person had food for them. When they didn't, the birds attempted to take it out in one's hide, and over the years, Draco'd had more than one run-in with the nasty beasts.

As he walked, and allowed his thoughts to wander, he found them drawn, as usual, to one thing...or more specifically, one person. His very own impossible dream; Harry Potter.

He recalled a conversation he'd had with Pansy, before the traitor had married some rich Greek merchant and run away to Crete. He still resented the fact the bint had been able to escape, no matter how much he missed her. She'd always maintained that what had sizzled in the air between him and Potter had not been hatred but sexual frustration.

"If you can't kiss him, hex him," she'd quipped. He'd thought her utterly mad at the time. Then he'd seen Potter again, when he'd testified for Draco at his trial, and he found he couldn't discount her theory quite so easily.

The bastard had grown up. Nicely, damn him. He filled out his red Auror robes perfectly and his hair, while still in need of help, was no longer completely disreputable. And the first time he'd turned those green eyes on Draco at the Ministry, Draco felt his knees turn to water.

The cold wind whipping his hair over his forehead pulled Draco from his musings and an old rhyme popped, unbidden, into his head.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride

If Turnips were watches, I would wear one by my side,

And if "ifs" and "ands"

Were pots and pans,

There'd be no work for tinkers!

In his mind, he saw himself as a small boy, standing in the portrait hall, wishing with all his might that he'd be big. His Uncle Delphinus had looked down at him from his portrait and recited that poem with a laugh. When Draco asked his father about it, the only explanation he received was a sharp rap to the head and a warning to "stay away from that batty old man". It was his first lesson in learning that wishing was a waste of time.

His most recent lesson had come earlier in the week when he'd been sent to the Pederson estate in response to a report that old Mr Pederson was being plagued by nightmares. His wife, Estefania, believed that somewhere in the house there was a cursed object causing the nightmares. The elderly gentleman was so upset he had locked himself in his study, refusing to leave the room for food or sleep.

Draco knew the Pedersons had lost both their sons in the war and he had suggested to his supervisor that perhaps he wasn't their best choice. Belford looked down his long nose at Draco and told him to take the assignment or quit. The choice was his to make.

"Damned if you go, damned if you don't. Some choice," he'd muttered as he stomped through the cold.

Mrs Pederson's reaction to finding Draco Malfoy on her stoop was to greet him with her wand pointed at his heart as she screamed 'Death Eater scum' in his face, her spittle hitting his cheek. He made a hasty retreat before he could find out exactly how unstable she might be. When he was safely outside the gate, he sighed. All he wanted was to be left alone to do his job in peace. It was all he'd wished for from the moment he'd been hired.

Draco shook his head; he should have known that it was a futile wish. For some people, the world they knew might be at peace, but he doubted it ever would be for him. His father's sins were many and people's memories ran too deep.

Stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets he continued his walk. Before long he heard that infernal peacock screeching again. He was near the front gate; perhaps there was an animal on the other side.

He moved cautiously in the fading light until he could see the gate. He was startled to see a figure there. A man. Draco looked again and shook his head in disbelief.

His pace quickened and he moved until he was standing at the thick iron bars. On the other side, looking as if he'd been there for some time, was Harry Potter.

"Are you out of your mind?" Draco asked in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

Potter didn't move for a moment, then he took a deep breath. "Came to see you."

Draco arched a brow. "You came to see me?"

"Yes, but I can't get this bloody gate to open and I didn't want to disturb your parents by dismantling the wards. Could you open the gate, Draco?"

Draco didn't move. He just stared.Draco? Since when did Potter call him Draco?

"Please."

Draco hesitated a moment longer, then he raised his hand and muttered an incantation. He stepped to the side as the gate swung open, creaking in the cold.

Potter took a tentative step forward.

"Why are you here, Potter?" Draco repeated.

"Because it's Christmas Eve."

Draco snorted. "Well spotted. Your point?"

Potter bit at his lower lip. "I once heard that at Christmas you're supposed to tell the truth."

Draco's eyebrow rose, and Potter pressed his lips together, his face taking that determinedly Gryffindor set that Draco knew all too well.

"The truth is," Potter said slowly, his eyes fixed on Draco's face, "I like you and I'd like the chance to get to know you." He hesitated. "Again."

Silence hung in the cold air between them and then Potter took another cautious step closer, removing his glove from his right hand. He extended it toward Draco, a hopeful half-smile on his face. "Harry Potter, nice to meet you."

Draco almost rolled his eyes, before catching himself. He stared at Potter speculatively, considering the offer placed in front of him. It was mad, he knew. But If wishes were horses... He removed his own glove before taking the offered hand.

"Draco Malfoy. Would you like to come in for a drink...Harry?"

Finis