For Ana, who might have bad taste in pairings, but always has good taste in scenarios.

Written for the QLFC: Draco always secretly had a thing for Harry during their time at Hogwarts, why else is he always there during one of Harry's moments, ready to insult him?

Position: Keeper, Team: Tornados

1,676 words.

Golden Snitch - Wand length: 10-11": Write about a Slytherin

When Harry's name was called out of the Goblet of Fire, Draco thought his heart had stopped. The world definitely had.

Out of all the things Potter had done, this was by far the most stupid. Never before had the Gryffindor willingly placed himself in danger, despite all of Draco's teasing.

As Harry got up, panic written all over his face like the title page of a book, Draco thought back to when they had first met, before everything had happened.

A pale boy with messy black hair and bright green eyes walked through the door to Madam Malkin's. Draco felt his breath hitch.

Those eyes were curious and mesmerising, and he found himself talking, trying to get to know him. Father had always said that no one would want to talk to you if it wasn't in their interest, so he bragged about his wealth and skills, hinting that he could ask his father for anything.

If the boy thought Draco's father did as he asked, perhaps he'd want to get to know him too, knowing that he could ask for favours.

Instead, Draco felt as though he was losing the boy's attention. He tried a different tactic, talking about the boy instead. Father always said that people loved to talk about themselves.

But instead the boy's eyes merely got rounder and rounder, and Draco felt as though maybe he was going about things the wrong way. A horrible thought struck him. What if the boy was a Muggleborn? Father would never allow a friendship then. He asked the boy if his parents were of the right sort, and felt himself relax in relief when the response was an affirmative.

Draco noticed the way the emerald green eyes sparkled when the boy spoke of magic. He felt himself like the boy a little more. Lots of purebloods forgot about the beauty of magic - Crabbe and Goyle being prime examples. Suddenly, Draco felt as though he needed to know everything about this boy.

'What's your surname?' he asked, perhaps a little desperately. But before the boy could reply, Madam Malkin had whisked him away.

If Draco had known then that the boy was Harry Potter, perhaps the conversation would have gone a little differently. Perhaps Harry would be sitting by his side, enjoying the excitement of the Triwizard Tournament. Perhaps they would have been friends.

Perhaps they could have been more.

'Draco?' Pansy asked.

He had been staring for too long. Hastily, he swallowed the fear in his throat, but he couldn't take his eyes away from the red and black figure walking down the aisle between the tables.

'Can you believe Potter?' he asked, putting as much venom into his voice as possible. 'What an attention seeker, right?'

'Yeah,' Pansy replied, relief evident in her voice. 'Totally.'

She said something else, but Draco wasn't listening. Harry wouldn't last five minutes against the other candidates, particularly Krum, with what his father had to say about Karkaroff. He needed to get him out of there, and he needed to do it soon.

'Something will be happening this year, Draco,' Lucius said, not looking up from his papers. He never looked up from his papers. 'I want you to promise me to keep your head down.'

'Of course, Father,' Draco replied. He didn't bother asking why - his father would have given him the information if he wanted.

Draco had other means of finding out what he wanted. As he left his father's study, he placed a Galleon against the side of the doorway, preventing the door from fully closing.

Later that evening, Draco was lying on his bed facing the ceiling, mulling over what he had overheard that day. School was going to be dangerous in the coming year. Not for him, and not for Harry, but for Muggleborns.

'Mudbloods,' he corrected himself aloud. The term didn't have the same ring to it as it had when he was young. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. If Harry didn't differentiate between Muggleborns and purebloods, when he had managed to defeat the Dark Lord at such a young age, when he was the best in their class at all practical magic, then why should Draco?

But that was a thought for another time. For now, he knew that although Harry would be safe, his friends wouldn't, and that was enough for Harry to get involved. But how could he warn him?

Draco's eyes fell upon Dobby, who was dusting the books on his shelves. Dobby, who had hero-worshipped the Boy who Lived for as long as Draco could remember.

'That bloody Potter,' he said aloud, making sure to look up, as though he were just talking to himself. 'Always thinking he's untouchable. Well, Father has something planned, and I for one think his plan's brilliant. Potter won't stand a chance at school this year.'

When he heard his drawers shut with a snap, along with a muffled squeak, Draco knew that his plan had worked.

'Why so tense, Potter?' Draco asked. He had been tracking the Gryffindor's movements for days now, and knew he'd go through the courtyard.

Draco was running out of ideas. He had noticed that the good for nothing Weasel had abandoned Potter just as he needed him most, but for once it might actually work in Potter's favour. He could drop out of the competition, Draco was sure of it. He just wasn't trying hard enough. Maybe without the support of his best friend, he'd look for a way to do so.

But Draco wouldn't leave anything to chance. He had spent every free minute of the first few weeks at school creating the "Potter Stinks" badges. Of course, he had passed it off as a genius idea of the moment, encouraging his friends to wear them for a laugh. He had no idea that the badges would catch on so quickly, but he was pleased. He could tell that Harry was close to snapping.

But he hadn't yet.

So Draco took matters one step further.

'My father and I have a bet, you see,' he continued, smirking to hide the grimace of worry that tried to worm its way onto his face. 'I don't think you're going to last ten minutes in this tournament.'

A flicker of annoyance passed over Harry's face.

'He disagrees.' Draco paused for effect, for the Slytherins around him. 'He doesn't think you'll last five.'

'I don't give a damn what your father thinks, Malfoy,' Harry replied, but Draco could tell that he was scared. 'He's vile and cruel, and you're pathetic.'

Harry always got angry when he was scared. Draco had to remember that. He couldn't actually mean it. But that didn't stop it from hurting.

By their third year, Draco would do anything to impress Harry. As his father always said, you get people to notice you by making them notice you. He saw how Harry ignored everyone who wanted to be his friend, all except Ron and Hermione. He had seen last year how Harry reacted when Draco had called Hermione a Mudblood.

He had only meant to warn them, whilst still keeping up appearances. But Harry had noticed him. Enough to keep an eye on him, to make a note of whatever Draco was doing. And Draco relished it. If he couldn't be Harry's friend, then he would make sure he was the most important person in Harry's life apart from that.

After all, there was only a fine line between love and hate.

Harry hated him, that was clear. But how could Draco make him like him? Bravery, he decided. That was what Harry valued the most. So he put on his best air of bravado and walked up to Buckbeak as though without a care in the world, though his heart was pounding in his chest.

'I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?' he sneered at the beast, though his tongue was covered in a thick layer of fear. His father's voice came, unbidden, to the forefront of his mind. Degrade your enemy, and he will seem half as tall. 'Are you, you great ugly brute?'

Buckbeak roared with anger, and suddenly Draco remembered what Hagrid had said at the start of the lesson. He backed away, but it was too late. Before he knew it, he was on the floor, his arm burning with pain, tears springing to his eyes.

Harry never came to see him about it, not even once.

Even when Draco upped the ante, knowing of Harry's hero complex.

Even when Draco asked his father to condemn the brute, in the hopes that Harry would have to talk to him.

Harry had the Hungarian Horntail.

That was his first task.

A bloody Hungarian Horntail.

Draco gripped the edge of the stands so tightly his knuckles turned white. He was dimly aware that he should be shouting insults and booing with the rest of his friends, but he found that his throat had turned to parchment.

When Harry barely managed to make it behind a rock in time to escape the dragon's breath, Draco's heart leapt in his chest.

That was when he realised it.

He didn't want to be friends with Harry. He didn't want the Gryffindor to look at him as though he were another Weasley. He didn't want to be admired by Harry. He craved his respect, because he craved his affections. He wanted Harry to acknowledge him, in a way that he never had if Draco didn't antagonise him first.

Harry made him want to change, to be his best self, but Draco didn't know how, and he didn't know who his best self was. He didn't even know if Harry would give his best self a chance. But for once, that didn't matter. Well, it did, but it wasn't what mattered most. So as Draco stood there, praying to Merlin that Potter would get out of this situation unscathed, only one thought crossed his mind.

Shit. I'm in love with Harry Potter.