DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with JK Rowling or her creations.
SUMMARY: The unintentional, unadulterated, and undeniably dynamic love & life of two gits inhabiting 12 Grimmauld Place. Drabbles and fic-lets shamelessly posted on a regular basis. HP/DM, G at times, M at others.
"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."
Draco stared at him heatedly, searching desperately for the appropriate thing to say, but the shock of the rejection kept his vocabulary just out of reach.
No one had rejected him before. No one.
He dropped his hand to his side. Fine. If Harry Potter was more intent on being friends with someone like Weasley- and over someone like Draco!- he wasn't worth it. Draco didn't care how famous or how worshipped or how charming Potter might've been- no, he'd crossed that line, and nothing he could do could save himself from being hated now.
Yes, Draco decided, he hated Potter. And he decided he'd always hate Potter.
He glared at Harry, who was apparently determined to get him out of their compartment. Potter was positively threatening him, in that obnoxiously smooth and controlled way he'd manage for years to come. Potter, he was sure, hated him too.
Something inside of Draco sunk. He immediately wished he could've taken it all back, whatever it was that ruined the moment.
He'd never be friends with Potter. And he'd hide his regret over that as long as he lived.
A/N: Totally just watched the first movie again today. Can you tell?
