Author: Lax
Subject: Harry Potter
Title: Bad Angel: Chapter One
Pairings: Harry and Draco, how cute!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter, guys, Warner Brothers and JK Rowling does, so don't sue. I give the WB enough money on there Harry Potter and Gundam Wing crap in their stores.

All responses are encouraged and suggested, in other words, send me some reviews! Flames are mean, immature, and disposed of by means of digestion.

Sorry this took so long. I PROMISE YOU THIS WILL BE OUT NEXT FRIDAY. NO JOKE.
Thank you, and have a nice day.
Bad Angel, Chapter 1

"Potions now?" asked Goyle, stupidly like usual.
"Yes, you dunderhead!" I answered back sharply. "You'd think after being here for 2 months you would know or schedule!"
"Sorry, Draco!" Goyle said, looking at me like I had something up my ass.

I wasn't in a bad mood or anything. Actually, I just wanted time to myself before class to think about some things.

Like the fact that for once, I was going to enjoy having a class with Gryffindor.

I entered the Potions dungeon. I had noticed no one was sitting, but rather standing, segregated by house. I joined the other Slytherins.

Soon later, Crabbe and Goyle trotted into the class, shutting the door behind them. Snape got up from his desk, clapping his hands twice for our attention. Everyone looked up at him, completely silent.

"Hello students. Today, we will be switching sitting arrangements in order to fit in with an assignment. They will be same sex, inter-house seating. I will assign your partners."

Various moans and groans spread between the mass of kids from both houses, the air heavy with anticipation and obligation. Snape sat down, looking over the class list.

"Mr. Crabbe..and Mr. Finnigan."

The boys trotted gloomily to their respective seats, sitting down. They eyed each other apprehensively, glares spread between the both of them.

"Miss Granger and Miss Parkinson." They shuffled to their seats, sharing looks of total hate.

"Mr. Weasley... and Mr. Goyle."

They sat.

"Miss Patil and Miss Bulstrode."

They too sat.

My muscles tensed up anxiously.

"Mr. Potter and...." Professor Snape snickered. "Mr. Malfoy."

I perked up, writhing with excitement. I slowly hid my hapiness with a groan of "despair", walking to my new seat and glaring at Harry with bewildered affection.

We couldn't take ours eyes off each other after we sat down. Our looks were the same: absolute hatred. But they meant two completely different things. One ment loathe, another, love.

I remember sitting down with Pansy Parkinson one day after we had sex. She was the first girl I had ever had a relationship with, and the last, may I add. I pet her hair as her head lay on my bare chest, the classic post-lovemaking scene. Asked the question "What's the difference between infatuation and love?" I answered with. "You need infatuation before love." She asked again. "What about lust?"
"A mere sexual desire."
And the second that look passed by, the simple glance of loathe and love, black and white, beauty and beast, I marked my words. I was infatuated with Harry Potter. To the point of love.

I felt my face soften as I thought of this. As soon as Snape cleared his throat for attention, I quickly turned my head, the same annoyed sneer usually carried upon my pale face taking its usual position.

"Now, children," Snape's voice wrung with an uncanny malice. "Here is your assignment."

We stared at him blanky, awaiting our doom. He shot us a look of frustration.

He didn't need a muggle microphone to make his voice heard. He screamed to a volume which seemed enough decibels to permanently scar our ears.

"AND YOU CALL YOURSELF SEVENTH YEARS? QUILLS, PARCHMENT, NOTES, NOW."

We moved numbly, obtaining our necessary materials in a matter of seconds.

He peered around, ashamed, a smirk upon his face, relaying our workload.

"You will create your own potion. It must be completely original. And if any of you complain about the dificulty of the assignment or finding an idea for the assignment, due to your lack of creativity, I will personally see to it that you fail. You must turn into me a copy of the recipe, with your names and purpose of the potion, and a vial of the potion. If the potion doesn't work or I find the idea insufficient or if it already exsits, you will also fail. Any questions?"

The tension in the room caused everyone to shudder. We were glued to him, nervously.

"Good. You have thirty minutes before the end of class. Please work out times to meet with your partner and discuss ideas."

Me and Harry turned to each other. My eyes locked on his face, the usual sneer kept upon it. Opening my mouth to say something, I was interupted by Harry.

"Before we begins this project, we should get one thing straight. This is a project. I want to do good on this project. Snape hates me enough, and I'll be totally screwed if I mess this up. I know you hate me, and well, I hate you too. But I think the only way to get through this project is if we keep some friendly ties. I will agree to play no tricks and throw no insults if you agree to do so as well."

He stuck out his hand, intending for mine to meet his and to shake it. I looked to his hand, then up to his eyes. I placed my hand into his, gripping lightly and shaking it.

And that's when my words came true. I felt a sensation through me, as if our connection was our destiny. Unaware if he felt anything, I shook it off and gazed at him, smiling a bit warmly.

"Agreed. I was going to say the same thing."

The same warm smile returned. I longed to kiss that smile, the rose-tinted lips that contrasted the face of an angel, to feel the blackness of his hair in my hand, the night of his hair and the day of my skin clashing beautifuly, the vivacity of our eyes meeting, one set pale, another a glowing emerald jewel. The contrast was great, and the irony greater.

Coming out of my trance, we worked with intruiging cooperation and managed to come up with a few good ideas. We settled on one; a potion that could freeze someone solid, causing them to die almost instantly. We agreed to meet in Harry's dorm tomorrow at 3 o' clock PM.

A dream come true? I thought so. I wrapped the blanket around me, snuggling the covers of my 4 poster bed. I couldn't sleep for the first time since I was 10. But not because there were monsters in my closet (which there actually was), but because I was excited. I mean, I doubt anything would happen...but still, the idea of being in a room, alone, for several hours, even if it was work, was a dream come true.

I smiled, cudding the covers and sighing happily. Nothing would happen, but maybe a friendship would bloom. That's better than nothing.

I dozed off, dreaming of my angel.