Chapter Text
"Going somewhere, Potter?" Draco Malfoy would never get tired of the way that name fit in his mouth. How easy it was to sneer it like the greatest insult in the world, and even better, the way it always managed to turn those fiery green eyes on him.
Standing, flanked by his two biggest fans, just as Draco was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, Harry Potter turned around in the middle of the 2nd floor corridor. "What's it to you, Malfoy?" He sneered his name just as nicely as Draco did his. The sound of his surname said with such loathing from those too red lips never failed to send a shiver up his spine. He lived for these moments.
"Thought you might be trying to put your name into the Goblet. You're always trying to grasp for attention." Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle obediently howled with laughter. They may be thick as a wooden stump, but they were great yes men.
"I'm not the one trying to get everyone's attention right now." That was surprisingly perceptive of him, and it caused Draco to take a step back. "Besides, I'm not 17. How would I even try?"
"I heard those Weasley twins had some scheme concocted; figured they'd take pity on you and let you in." As far as saves went, it was pretty weak, but anything that kept those eyes on him was worth it. "Aren't Gryffindors always up for trying to kill themselves like a bunch of fools?" Glory be damned, Draco wasn't stupid enough to enter some foolhardy tournament, even if he were seventeen. Nothing was worth risking your life over.
"Really? You're the one that seems to be egging for it."
"Is that a threat, Scar Head?"
Before Potter could reach for his wand, however, his Muggleborn friend stepped in between them, a hand on his wand arm. "Stop, Harry. It's not worth the detention."
Reluctantly, Potter withdrew his hand, shoulders relaxing just a tad. He scoffed at him, before turning away, taking those eyes with him. How dare he walk away from him! This was all Granger's fault. "Listen to your little Mudblood friend, Potter, and know when you're outma--" To his surprise, the spell that sent him hurtling backward onto his rear end was not from Potter's wand, but from Granger's. Although, even from where he lay sore on the ground, he could see those bright green eyes glaring at him, and he couldn't help but smile in victory.
"...Harry Potter?"
The entire Great Hall fell into dead silence, all heads swivelled to where the Gryffindor awkwardly sat down to try and hide behind his standing friends.
"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore sounded furious, and even Draco couldn't help the sinking feeling in his gut, as if he were the one in trouble.
Sheepishly, the Boy-Who-Lived shuffled his way to the front, followed by a couple of stray "Boos" and "Cheaters". Strangely, he was not one of those people. He should have delighted in the fact that Potter was going to be taking place in a deadly tournament, which, if the look on his face was anything to go by, was completely involuntary. Just what trouble had this boy gotten himself into now?
Lounging around the Slytherin common room, surrounded by his followers, Draco Malfoy mused on his next course of action. Blaise Zabini sat regally in an emerald arm chair, flicking through his Ancient Runes textbook. The firelight from his right danced across his dark skin. Behind him, Pansy Parkinson, rested her arms on top of the back of his chair, reading over his shoulder idly. On the couch opposite of the one he lay on, Crabbe and Goyle stuffed their faces with pilfered pudding from the kitchens. Over their shoulders, he could see the Greengrass sisters studying at a wooden table by one of the windows that revealed only the murky depths of the Black Lake. Theodore Nott claimed to have seen the giant squid swim by once. Mostly they just saw the occasional grindylow.
"Seems the Gryffindor house isn't as loyal as they want everyone to believe," Pansy mused aloud. "Even the Weasel has turned against Potter. It's quite pathetic, actually."
"Yes, it does seem like the only person that talks to him anymore is that Granger girl," Draco smirked. "It's like second year all over again."
"Ooh, do you think he'll cry?" Pansy snickered cruelly.
He could just imagine those green, green eyes swimming with tears, and his stomach seemed to have transfigured itself into a bird. He let out a giddy sigh. "Oh, this brings out the artist in me..." How best to utilize this to mess with Potter?
An unconcealed sigh of grief drew his attention from the dungeon ceiling to Zabini's insubordinate eye roll. "Something you'd like to say, Zabini?" Draco sat up. His father had always taught him that he was to be at the top of the food chain in the Slytherin House, and to squash out any sign of sedition.
Unforunately, Zabini didn't look cowed. "We're not on about Potter again, are we? He's all you ever talk about."
"What's wrong? Gone soft, have you?"
Another eye roll. Damn, this wasn't good. Was Zabini trying to undermine him and take his position? "Some of us have more important things to worry about than picking on Potter. We've got our O.W.L.s next year, you know."
Draco frowned. Zabini used to always love poking fun at Potter. When did he become so studious? Behind him, Pansy began to frown too, saying, "That's true. My parents have been getting on to me about my grades lately."
Zabini closed his book and stood up. Even though his face held no malice, his words cut into Draco. "Messing with Potter was fun and all when we were First Years, but we're already Fourth Years. It's time to grow up." And then he ran away. Well, no, he actually walked calmly away, but Draco couldn't see it as anything other than a retreat after such a blatant attack on him.
Pansy smiled understandingly at him, before she too left, leaving him with only Crabbe and Goyle for intelligent conversation, which was a juxtaposition if anything. Trying to feel as if he hadn't just suffered a defeat, he stood up suddenly. "Disgraces to the House of Slytherin," he hissed, before striding very purposefully out of the dungeons. Nothing like a retreat, of course.
The idea was quite inspired of him, really. It required so little effort on his part, too. He needed only pass out a couple of the badges amongst the different houses, and before he knew it, nearly the whole school was wearing them, especially the Hufflepuffs. They could be surprisingly nasty when they felt one of their own was threatened. He almost pitied Potter, with how easily the school always turned against him. How quickly fame turned into infamy.
Sitting in a tree in the courtyard, he observed his devious plan in action. Everywhere, you could see the little badges pinned onto the black Hogwarts robes, flashing a yellow "Support Cedric" before morphing into slimy green letters that read "Potter Stinks." When the mild murmur of the chatting of the students fell into hushed whispers, he knew his prey had drawn near. There, through the leaves, he saw Harry Potter bump shoulders with Hannah Abbot on his way into the courtyard, a trail of snickers following close behind. With his determined gait, he expected Potter had surmised the origins of those badges and was coming to confront him about it, but instead he veered over to where Cedric Diggory was laughing with his posse. He pulled Diggory away and the two were talking about something together in hushed whispers, their faces awfully close together. Something about it rankled him.
So when Potter finally turned away from Diggory, he shouted out to him, "Why so tense, Potter?" The boy turned to find him instantly through the trees, and a paradoxical rush of relief and adrenaline kicked through him. He dropped down from the branch gracefully, robes fluttering behind him in what he hoped was a menacing way. "Do you like my badges? Made them especially for you." And there was the real ingenuity of his plan. Now, whenever Potter would see one of those badges, he would think of him. He'd lay up at night, consumed with rage.
Potter glared at him, but otherwise didn't retort. Well now, that just wouldn't do. He swaggered over to the boy, silver eyes looking him up and down. He'd grown much taller than him over the summer. He loved the way he could look down on him now, the way Potter had to look up at him. "My father and I have a bet going, you see. I think you won't last ten minutes. He disagrees. He thinks you won't last five."
Ah, there it was. Potter pushed himself right up against him, and in that half of a second, he had the strangest thought that Potter was going to kiss him, and then his hand was pushing Draco back so that he stumbled backwards.
"I don't care what your father thinks, Malfoy," Potter shouted at him, his eyes glowing with anger and looking right at him, only at him. "He's vile and cruel. And you're pathetic." And then, that electric feeling under his skin was yanked away, as Potter turned around to stomp off.
How dare he turn away from him! How dare...! With a growl, he reached for his wand, ready to throw some hex at Potter, anything just to make him turn around and look at him. But then suddenly the world was growing around him, and his screams had turned into tiny squeaks. Just as he realized that someone had turned him into a ferret, he suddenly found himself flung down Crabbe's trousers.
"It was utterly humiliating," he complained to his Head of House. "Uncle Severus, you have to do something about that Professor. Even McGonagall said it was against the rules." His cheeks reddened with shame at the memory. When the Transfigurations teacher had finally reverted him back to his original form, Potter had been laughing at him, looking down at him on the ground. It was the worst.
The Potions professor didn't seem to care one lick, as he didn't even bother to look up from his grading, the harsh slashes with his quill loud in the silence of his office. "Mr. Malfoy, how many times have I told you to address me as Professor Snape when you are at school?"
"Sorry, Professor." He had grown up calling him Uncle Severus, so it was a little hard to break the habit. "So are you going to tell Dumbledore to sack him?"
Professor Snape paused in his grading long enough to look up at him with an annoyed glare. "Mr. Malfoy, I care very little for your pigtail-pulling and even less for your whingeing. Unless you have any questions regarding your classwork, I suggest you leave my office." And then Snape magically shoved him out into the corridor, the door slamming shut behind him in a reproving manner.
He stood there for a minute, feeling just a little bit betrayed. What did he mean by "pigtail pulling"? He hadn't pulled anyone's hair, or any pig's tail for that matter. Well, he wouldn't be getting any justice from Snape, so he'd have to take out his revenge on Potter. It was all his fault, anyway.
The First Task of the Triwizard Tournament was dragons, and Draco couldn't be any happier. Not only were dragons the greatest of the magical beasts, but he'd probably get to see Potter burned to a crisp too. The Slytherins around him cheered, some waving their flags and others their noise makers. Some of them cheered for Krum, would rather the Bulgarians win than Potter. Others cheered for Diggory, out of whatever shred of school pride they might have had. No one cheered for Potter.
He was but a crimson speck on the rocky terrain. The stands were high up and far away with protective wards to shield them all from dragonfire. Potter had no such wards. He just narrowly dodged a column of fire from the Hungarian Horntail, and for a moment, Draco's heart leapt into his throat. It was one thing to think about him dying in the abstract, but sitting here, watching Potter frantically put out the flames at the hem of his robes, the very real thought that he might witness the death of this boy, that there just might not be a Harry Potter for him to pick on tomorrow sent a sinking feeling of dread down his gut.
But then, Potter had Summoned his Firebolt and sent the dragon on a dangerous chase, and managed to return with only his broom lightly singed. He quickly brought up his Omnioculars, to see that the boy was indeed unharmed. More than unharmed. He looked...powerful, ecstatic. His eyes shone bright with unconcealed mirth, and he hollered in victory, sweeping up the golden egg. He looked like freedom.
He remembered another time he had seen that same look on Potter. Last year, during Care of Magical Creatures, when the hippogriff had landed on the ground, and Potter had sat on its back, looking like he just might sprout his own wings and fly himself. How his lips had looked too red and his hair an endearing mess that just begged to be finger-combed. How Draco had sauntered up to the hippogriff after that, trying to keep that passionate gaze on him.
The realization didn't hit him like a strike of lightning; it crept into his brain slowly, like any other normal thought. He wanted Harry Potter to look at him. All of that time he had been teasing and bullying him, all that posturing, all of that peacocking, had all been for his attention. Like a little boy pulling a girl's pigtails. Hot shame crept up his neck and settled on the tips of his ears.
He understood three very important things then: he, in fact, did not want Harry Potter to die; Potter was breathtakingly attractive; and he, Draco Malfoy, just might fancy him.