Warnings: Very Slytherin and intelligent Draco ahead! So that means it's a bit OOC. So I warned you, no complaining.
This is a 'what if?' universe. What if Draco made Harry his enemy on purpose? What if he wasn't all that bad of a guy?
The conversation is right from the book so I don't own that, but Draco's thoughts are my own fabrication.
Note: to those who are waiting for my What Makes the Difference story to be updated, don't worry, it's coming.
Ulterior Motives
Draco Malfoy knew that as sure as Dumbledore liked lemon-drops and Severus hated children, the Dark Lord would return. He had grown up with stories of the man-turned-monster for as long as he could remember; his father constantly telling him of the strength and power that was Lord Voldemort; his mother constantly whispering to him of the madness and depravity and cruelty.
This was only cinched when he had asked his godfather, as a neutral party separated from the constant clash that was his parent's marriage. Severus had looked at him seriously, him a boy of ten, and told him quite clearly that the Dark Lord was indeed very powerful, and indeed very cruel, and his era was far from over.
Long before he ever received his Hogwarts letter, he knew that it was only a matter of time and circumstance. He didn't know what he was going to do about it however.
If the Dark Lord did revive, then Draco knew, as the heir to the Malfoy family, he would be expected... no required to follow and take the mark that still marred his father's arm. He also knew that his mother wanted anything but. She had whispered to him that once Malfoy's were a proud family that bowed to no one; be they king, queen, or dark lord. It was this family she had thought to marry into but, she said, his father turned out to me naught but a boot-licker. And she had said that with a most disgusted sneer.
When he'd asked Severus the man had only studied him intently before answering with a question of his own.
"Are you willing to spend the rest of your life with your head bowed in submission?"
No, he most certainly was not.
So when his father took him aside before he left to catch the Hogwart's Express and told him in very clear, clipped tones to befriend the Boy-Who-Lived before he returned for Yule holidays and gain his trust completely- well, his decision was made.
His father already saw him as a junior Death Eater; to befriend and gain the trust of Harry Potter would make it simpler to get a hold of the boy if need be. To kill him in simpler terms.
And wouldn't that be a blow to the Light.
It simply wouldn't do. Draco knew that his father would punish him severely for failing; even worse if he found out it was on purpose. But Draco knew the path he wanted to take and it did not involve grovelling on his knees for a monster. Really his clothing alone was much too expensive for such things.
He didn't know how he was going to go about making Harry Potter hate him; at least he didn't until he opened that compartment door.
It was the boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop, the one that practically screamed 'I-have-been-abused-and-neglected!' sitting across from, of all people, Ronald Weasley. It was as though the Three Fates had set this up for him to succeed flawlessly.
"Is it true?" he drawled. "Their saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"
Weasley's back had gone up the moment he had open the door, which was to be expected given the family feud between the Malfoy's and the Weasley's. Even better that Potter seemed to be taken with Weasley, and judging by the way he had defended that oaf Hagrid, this would be simple enough to pull off.
"Yes," said Potter, eying Crabbe and Goyle warily. If Malfoy's hunch was correct and Potter was mistreated, he most likely had no love of bullies.
"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," he said airily, as though they were unimportant… which really, they were, "and my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."
Weasley coughed slightly and Draco nearly laughed at the hilarity of the red-head playing into his hands so perfectly. He gave a well perfected glare, "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasley's have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford."
Weasley's face turned a nice shade of cherry and Draco turned back to Potter, who was bristling at the slight to someone who, quite possibly, was his first friend.
"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." And he held out his hand to shake.
He had been expecting all sorts of reactions. The boy came from a long line of Gryffindor's he was the Boy-Who-Lived, it simply wasn't possible that he'd be anything other than a Gryffindor himself. So Draco had been quite prepared to be whaled at in some indecent muggle fashion, or for Potter to blow up like Weasley was looking ready to do.
He wasn't expecting the reaction he got. Potter eyed his hand coolly and made no move to shake it. Then in a disdainful voice he said, "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks." It was a positively Slytherin response.
Draco got chills and, he knew from experience, a slightly pink tinge to his pale cheeks. There was no way that the Boy-Who-Lived was Slytherin; the saviour of the Wizarding world? Yet Draco met that cool gaze and knew that Potter was much more than he appeared on the surface.
It actually gave him a bit of hope. Oh, it was one thing to make the other boy hate him so that his father couldn't manipulate the boy through him for his Dark Lord. But Draco really hadn't put any real hope in Potter being up for the challenge that was set before him. Because as sure as Dumbledore was eccentric and Severus had no patience, it would be up to Harry to face off against Voldemort. He knew it in his bones.
"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. He really meant the warning too, although not quite in the way he was going to word it. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riff-raff like the Weasley's and that Hagrid and it'll rub off on you."
Both Weasley and Potter stood up, burning with indignation. But where Weasley was all fire fit for a Gryffindor, Potter was a cold, calculating fire. As though he was weighing his odds of winning, and finding them to his liking.
"Say that again," he said.
"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Draco sneered, but his heart was leaping. The Potter before him was untapped, untrained power.
"Unless you get out now," Harry sneered right back and Draco was becoming more and more convinced that the other boy would land himself in Slytherin. It wouldn't do. He'd be eaten alive.
So Draco pushed further, knowing that it was necessary for everyone. "But we don't feel like leaving, do we boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some." It was so crass of him, but if it worked…
Goyle took the hint, or his stomach got the better of him, and leaned over to snatch some food near Weasley. Weasley snarled and leapt forward to probably do some violence, when Goyle jumped back howling in pain.
Well that was unexpected. Did they seriously booby-trap the snacks?
No, it was a rat, hanging off Goyle's finger. And Goyle was thrashing about making an absolute mess of things. Really this was not how he envisioned this encounter ending. Finally the rat flew off and hit the window to Weasley's cry of "Scabbers!" What a ghastly name to give a pet.
Draco, thoroughly embarrassed, heard footsteps approaching and; with a snap at the goons that, for reasons completely unknown to him, he had been friends with his entire life; made his exit, pushing past a bushy-haired girl and storming back to his compartment.
Later, when he was watching Potter sit himself on the stool in front of the madly whispering student population, he found his shoulders inexplicably tense. They remained so during the long wait with Potter under the Sorting Hat, his lips furiously moving as he seemed to argue with the hat. Draco knew he had been right. The hat wanted, most likely, to sort him into Slytherin and Harry, having not had pleasant experiences with all things Slytherin so far, was arguing against it.
His shoulder's lowered slightly with relief when the hat called out Gryffindor, in a very put-out tone. He ignored Pansy's questioning glance as he tuned out the rest of the sorting. His father's punishment would not be pretty but, Draco smirked in a very satisfied way, he had succeeded.
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