a/n: i apologize if this is exactly like something you've read before. i'm really paranoid about that. also, this is the first story i've uploaded, so please be gentle. c: and umm i think that's all i really have to say? this will probably be updated fairly quickly. PLEASE review!

warnings: self-harm, angst, some violence, slash, adult situations in later chapters (not that descriptive).

What We Take; How We Win
Prologue

He used to believe he was the best. His house was the biggest, his family the most respected. He knew from a young age that fear was more important than affection. Power was engraved into his brain. It ran through his veins.

...

From the day Harry rejected him on the Hogwarts Express, Draco was determined to show him he'd made the wrong decision. He was Draco Malfoy and only a fool would say no to him. But now, as he watched the blood swirl around the shower floor and down the drain, he felt heavy with the realization that Potter had been right. He was draco malfoy, who made all the wrong choices, who begged for praise like a dog, who took the coward's way out every time. And only a fool would follow him.

But what else could be expected? Golden Boy Potter, the Boy who Lived, the Chosen One: he could never be wrong. The right choices - the reckless, heroic ones - ran through his veins.

...

Contrary to the things he'd heard as a child, Draco couldn't find any real difference between his blood and other blood. He'd seen plenty of the stuff and it all seemed to spill just the same. And he reminded himself of this, time and time again, slicing open his pale body and watching the Gryffindor red seep out. Proving that despite his name, he was just a person, another stupid person who was just passing the time between birth and death.

He knew Voldemort used that word on purpose. "You've been chosen." Chosen. Chosen. Whether he knew Draco's insecurities or just liked the irony of it, he said it on purpose. And it cut him open. And he cut him open.

...

Although he'd never admit it, he knew what he was doing was wrong. He didn't really want to hurt anyone. But to fail, and to look into your father's eyes and see blatant disappointment, no matter if your father's a monster... Because that monster walked alongside your stroller with his chin up, and that monster was there for your first word. He wasnt really listening, but he was there. And he was your father.

Since the day Draco was born, that monster was ruining him.

It took him sixteen years to really understand that being a Malfoy wasnt as glamorous as he'd once believed. Power, when youre not in charge, is relative. They all worked for the same boss, and to that boss they were interchangeable. The Dark Lord did not care what your name was. He only cared that you obeyed him. So being a Malfoy was mostly about obeying.

...

When Draco met the Chosen One, he was young and as innocent as he ever was. He didnt know about the solar system. He knew the world revolved around him.

He saw a pretty boy in a robe shop and wanted to be friends. Then he saw the boy again, this time on a train, and the boy spit words from his pretty mouth that tore Draco down and crushed him into bits. He, Draco Malfoy, was not what this boy wanted. He was not the center of the universe. He could not have anything he desired. He could have only what he took, and he learned quickly at school that respect could not be taken.

But hatred could.

So it began.

The bad insults, the teasing, the empty threats. For years he wanted nothing more than to tear Harry Potter down the way he'd been torn down. He wanted Potter to question the ideals that had been bestowed upon him the day he was born. He could have only what he took, so he took what he could, and what he ended up with was his own blood running down the drain.

In retrospect, it wasn't worth it. But regret doesn't undo mistakes.

Then the war began. And Draco blamed Harry for all of it. When the smugness faded from his fathers eyes, and his mom stopped smiling, and his breath hitched at the thought of being Chosen, it was all thanks to Harry bloody Potter. And when everyone was scared and he was their Shining Beacon of Unwavering Hope, well, that made him even less tolerable. Because there is no hope in power. There is no beautiful future where all are equal and no one cries - there is the future where you win and the one where you lose. And Draco was losing.

Potter always caught the snitch, and Potter always won.

Now, Draco tries to steady his arm, casts a few healing charms (only on the scabs - he likes to let the wounds be for a few days), dries himself off and climbs into bed. The other boys in his dormitory are asleep already, their steady breathing - and Crabbe's snoring - the loudest things Draco's ever heard. He thinks of casting a silencing spell but knows he won't sleep anyway. He never does anymore.

...

Still, if the world were a pyramid, Draco Malfoy would be on top.