Upshot

Draco's first thought upon walking into the room to meet Potter for their first coerced peace treaty 'collaboration' was that Harry Potter had idiotic hair.

Also, that his glasses were utterly hideous, and that he looked about one decade short of the much needed, in his case at any rate, high fat diet.

The combination of the three made Draco quite fortunate indeed that Potter had turned him down all those years ago... or so he repeated for perhaps the thousandth time in as many years. It was all a part of his 'I don't want or need the judgmental adrenaline junkie' campaign, the success rate of which was still pending. Although Draco was certain that if he kept at it long enough he would eventually believe in it totally and when that fateful day finally happened, maybe he would be doubly blessed enough to stop noticing Potter, both good and bad traits, altogether. For nothing was more galling than the fact that - despite their rather lengthy history - Potter managed to still pique Draco's interest.

Merlin, what a freak: an interesting freak, and maybe even a beautiful one - despite the aforementioned glasses and hair - but a freak nonetheless. And Potter's freak status was not alleviated, at *all* by the fact that said freak was currently glaring daggers at Draco accusingly.

Naturally Saint Potter would blame him for this little shindig.

He couldn't hold his halo'd idol Dumbledore responsible, oh no - that went against the natural order of things - so obviously it was Draco at fault. Just like Draco was at fault for Voldemort, civil unrest, and the fact that endangered dragons were being ruthlessly slaughtered for their hides. In fact, why didn't Potter just add all five goblin rebellions to the list if the Gryffindor git was so bent on passing blame...

Clearly the eye roll and scowl he shot Potter in response were highly warranted, even despite mother's claim that Potter got under Draco's skin far too easily. In fact, she would have been most pleased at the restraint Draco was showing - Potter deserved much worse.

And Draco was definitely *not* going to be the first one to speak, no matter how uncomfortable the silence, not with Potter's attitude being what it was.

"You know Malfoy, I don't have all day. So just tell me whatever boldfaced lies you've come up with to appease Dumbledore, although I don't know who you think you're fooling, and let's be on our way."

Right, so the gauntlet was thrown. Potter was going to be like that, was he? Well, if there was anything Draco could do, it was outwit, out-speak and out-sarcasm. Potter didn't stand a chance.

"Honestly Potter, you act as if I came here on my own accord. As if I had a choice. As if I'd actually, willingly, want to spend any amount of time with you. Just to set the record straight, this was our esteemed crackpot headmaster's idea, not mine - I'm the tortured one in this little scenario."

Ah, these were the moments that made life tolerable. Saying something naturally brilliant while enticing a raging, passionate, powerful Harry Potter to rise to his full fiery potential.

Pansy had once told Draco she thought it mentally sick that he got such a perverse thrill out of inspiring Potter's attention in such a manner. Draco countered that she should wait until *she* was the continually frustrated, wrongly perceived, and otherwise bluntly ignored party - by someone as charismatic as Potter at that - and see how she handled it.

Which had pretty much told her.

Because when he and Potter sparred with words, there was no one else that existed but the two of them, and that was exactly how Draco liked it - perverse or not.

Now all he had to do was sit back and watch Potter rise to the bait, and that part was nearly as fun as insulting the Gryffindork to begin with.

Unfortunately Potter was in rare form, and merely rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as if to say 'whatever' - utterly, and rather rudely, robbing Draco of his anticipated reaction.

Damn him.

Clearly the use of better ammunition - out of the rather large arsenal he had accumulated over the years - was called for.

"You know, neither of us would be here if it weren't for Weasley and his entirely uncivilized behavior," Draco continued coolly, inwardly gleeful. "If you insist on blaming someone, blame him. The mudblood must be having an adverse effect on him - after all, only a muggle would settle a dispute fist first... Oh, but that's right, you and those twin red-headed menaces pulled the same stunt on me last year. Well, I did warn you a long time ago about the company you keep, Potter. I suspect next year will bear witness to the lot of you eating your food with your fingers and grunting."

"No, I believe Crabbe and Goyle already share the monopoly on *that* sort of behavior, Malfoy. Perhaps you should spend more time worrying over your own company while keeping your nose out of mine... and don't call Hermione that!"

Pay dirt. There was that fire he had been aiming for. Potter really was entirely too easy. Though, admittedly, Draco wouldn't want him any other way.

And his green eyes shone particularly bright when he was angry, even through those incredibly ugly glasses.

Damn himself for noticing.

Though he couldn't honestly say which was worse - noticing the brilliant shade of Potter's flashing eyes, or his secret admiration that Potter would get so angry on a friends' behalf. Because really, why should it matter to Potter what Draco called his book-obsessed friend?

Oh, if Potter only knew... Half the things he said were for the sheer purpose of getting a rise out of Potter, anyway, and didn't stem from any real deep-seeded beliefs. Draco had eyes; he knew that Granger was quite the witch, despite her rather... unfortunate lineage. But hey, if it goaded Potter, all the better to keep right on using it.

The truly depressing part was that Draco gave fuck-all what Potter said about Crabbe and Goyle. In fact, neither Potter nor his sidekicks had ever said anything about them that Draco, himself, hadn't told them to their faces, many times over.

But Potter - Potter was a better friend than that to *his* friends. He was loyal and kind... well, at least to those he liked anyway.

Which, now that Draco thought of it, came back to the original dilemma: Potter was *supposed* to have been his friend. That loyalty and kindness was supposed to belong to *him*, not some red-headed remnant of the Teutonic era and the one girl in the whole school who clearly had no life whatsoever.

So yes, Potter had to go down. This meeting did have a purpose, Draco suddenly remembered - it was funny how he forgot that for awhile - but Gryffindor snobbery must be paid for tenfold; the Malfoy family pride was at stake.

"I'll call her whatever I damn well please, Potter," Draco replied through narrowed eyes, "you have no say in what I do. You gave that right up years ago, when you mistakenly refused my hand."

For a minute there was confusion on Potter's face, as if he were struggling to remember what in the world Draco was referring to - which only served to anger Draco further. Didn't the git even have the common decency to remember turning down Draco's poignant, wonderful, fantastically heartfelt offer?! But then recollection passed across the Gryffindor's face, followed by a look that said, in not so many words, 'dear Merlin, you're *still* harping about that?'

And Draco, despite his flaming hot anger, was dismayed. Because obviously, what had been a turning point for Draco in his life had had no impact on Potter at all. In fact Potter treated it as if it were nothing... as if Draco were nothing.

The 'why' of it all really, really bothered him. Why couldn't Potter have liked him back then? He was just a kid then, an innocent. He had done nothing at that time to have merited such hostility, other than defend himself - the Weasley had started their altercation that first time, after all.

"I don't regret the decision I made then," Potter announced with utter seriousness. He left all jokes and insult trading aside temporarily, as if willing Draco to understand this point once and for all, although they had never really discussed it.

Draco genuinely didn't know how the hell he was supposed to understand anything, however - the whole damn thing made no sense at all.

"What do you mean you don't regret it! You turned down my offer of friendship without provocation, you prat! A little cruel, especially for you, don't you think, Potter?"

The translation of which, meant 'You're supposed to be the good one, asshole, who the hell gave you the right to judge me?!' but he figured Potter got that without him having to reiterate it using foul, uncouth language to spell it out.

But there was the gist of it, regardless. That Potter could befriend a loner like Granger, and an ill-bred wretch like Weasley, but not Draco, who could have - given half a chance - made just as good of a friend to Potter as the others.

But the fact was, he hadn't been given that chance. Potter had never really bothered, in over five years, to try and get to know Draco at all. He had judged Draco on surface impressions alone that first day, which made the supposed 'savior of their world, defender of the downtrodden' nothing but a big, fucking hypocrite.

Why did no one else see this?

Gryffindors were all that was good and holy Draco's derriere. He'd seen house elves with more sense.

"No, I wasn't being cruel - *you* were, to Ron, and I would do the same again," Harry corrected, his voice rising with passion. "The fact remains that you were then, and are now, an egotistical, arrogant, self-involved bully - a fact that you prove damn near daily. Why would I want to be friends with someone who is like that? I don't fancy waking up with a knife in my back, thank you very much."

Oh, this was just too rich - Potter was blaming Draco for being defensive and hostile all these years when, in reality, it had been said savior and his dear friend Weasel who had fucking started it first!

Screw uncouth language and screw Potter, too. If Potter could consistently get away with losing his temper, maybe it was high time Draco gave it a go himself.

Harry Potter certainly made him mad enough.

"He laughed at my name, you idiot. I was not going to stand there and take it like a fucking Hufflepuff! To think I was actually trying to impress you at the time. And furthering that note, where the hell do you get off labeling me? You don't know me, don't pretend that you do! You've only seen what I've wanted you to see... Someone who can stand up to you and your high horse when no one else is willing to."

Draco had intended to rant further still but a sudden, high crash drew his attention. The pictures in the room Dumbledore had set aside for them to meet in were shaking, rattling on the walls, and if that one noise which caught his ear was any indication, a glass somewhere within the room had just shattered.

Draco looked around, abruptly panicked, but one look back at Potter immediately squelched the fear that they were on the cusp of something menacing. Potter's nostrils were flared, his hands were clenched at his sides, and he was shaking in a way that suggested he was trying very, very hard to control his anger and thus his magic.

Potter was actually causing this.

Draco's anger temporarily gave way to awe, and not a little fear. So this is why Lord Voldemort was afraid of a mere teenager, one even younger than Draco. He had never understood that point before, despite that whole 'Patronus at thirteen, always comes back alive after skirmishes with Voldemort' thing, but he certainly got it now. In a way, Potter reminded Draco of his father.

For Potter, really, truly angry, was positively scary. But he was also, strangely, all that much more attractive for it.

Maybe Pansy was right. Maybe Draco was perverse and sick, because seeing Potter like this was turning him on, and he was rapidly forgetting just why it was so important that he hang on to his justifiable indignation.

"I know all about people judging others based on surface impressions, Malfoy," Potter said at last, albeit through gritted teeth, while the room around them started to settle down, "and I never thought I'd hear that day when someone would accuse me of doing it. So I'll tell you what. You think I don't know you? That I'm wrongfully judging you and have been all these years, even despite your obnoxious behavior? Then show me. Go ahead and prove me wrong. I'll eat every bad thing I've ever said about you if you somehow manage to pull it off, miraculous feat that it'd be."

With that Potter thrust out his hand.

"Go on," he urged, "take it."

And Draco, dazed by the whole affair, preoccupied by a raging rush of hormones, confused by Potter's mood swings, and secretly thrilled that it was *Potter* offering *his* hand this time, tentatively took it.

To be continued...