Harry

As they neared the house Harry caught hold of Malfoy's arm. "You don't have to do this," he tried. "I know this isn't who you are."

Malfoy laughed derisively; clearly it was too dark for eyebrow raising. "And what do you know about me, Potter?"

Harry thought quickly. To tell the truth he had always privately [and sometimes less privately] suspected that Draco Malfoy was a thoughtless and thoroughly evil little git but that was not going to help in the current situation. "I know you don't want to become like your father," he said suddenly. "You can't stand him; hate him even."

Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks. "I respect my father," he said bluntly

"I respect Voldemort," Harry replied, quietly exulting as Malfoy flinched at the name. "But I don't want to become him."

"No, of course you don't" Malfoy snapped. "Saint Potter with his silly little Mudblood friends: the next Dark Lord? Now there's an unlikely ending. However," his eyes met Harry's; filled with a fiery brilliance. "However," he repeated softly, "Draco Malfoy becoming Lucius… well that's not so impossible is it?" His voice changed, becoming aristocratic and haughty once more. "Now, really Potter this conversation is ridiculous; if you think that I'm going to let you go because I hate my father you have another thing coming."

"So you do hate him?"

"I thought we'd established that. On the other hand if I appear before the Dark Lord without you I will certainly be killed as will dear old Professor Lupin and I believe we had decided against that particular course, being in all respects inferior to the plan whereby we survive."

"You survive," Harry said, discovering that he didn't care what he was saying anymore, but knowing somewhere deep inside that this conversation was possibly the most important one he had ever had. Somehow, impossibly, he had to convince Malfoy not to hand him to Voldemort. "Remus and I will still suffer a horrible, agonising death."

"That's a possibility I admit," Malfoy answered; he had started walking again. "But frankly, Potter, it's a risk I am willing to take. Now unless you want that risk to become a certainty I suggest you start following me again."

"Couldn't we just-"

"No!" It was a shout; something had reached him.

"If you hate your father so much why don't you stop trying to be him?" Harry asked.

"Because," Malfoy's face contracted in pain. "Because… it's what's expected of me. So much easier…" his eyes were bright with anger once more. "Leave me alone Potter, just, for once in your miserable little, perfect little, life, give in." His voice was rising again and Harry stopped.

"Why do you hate me?"

"I don't hate you, I'm just extremely jealous of you," Draco screamed.

There was silence as Harry stared, gobsmacked at his enemy.

"Happy?" he panted. "Are you finally happy now, Potter?"

"No," Harry said quietly and he wasn't. What reason did Draco Malfoy have to be jealous of him? Harry's parents were dead, betrayed by a friend they thought they could trust, and he had never known them or their best friend who had been jailed unfairly for a crime he hadn't committed. Harry himself had been tormented for the first eleven years of his life, living with the Dursleys who detested him almost as much as he hated them. And yet Malfoy was jealous of him?

Malfoy shut his eyes. "They'll have heard that," he said quietly.

"Probably," Harry agreed. "You're jealous of-"

"Don't," Malfoy said, painfully. "Please… don't ask me any more questions. I should have remembered to warn you before we set out." He opened his eyes again and started towards the house once more. When Harry didn't follow he turned and said, "veritaserum," as if it explained anything.

Harry still hadn't moved. "Why are you jealous of me?" he asked; Malfoy swung round, obviously infuriated but softened slightly as he realised Harry really wanted to know; that he didn't understand.

"Because," Draco said, then he stopped trying to fight the words back down. "You," he sighed and gave the same look as before: what do I care? This time washed with night time darkness. "You have friends you can talk to."

"You have friends," Harry reminded him.

Malfoy laughed mirthlessly. "Well you try and have a conversation with Crabbe or Goyle that doesn't start with 'I wonder what we're having for lunch today?' or 'Mmm lunch was nice, I wonder what's for tea.' And oddly enough I stopped finding that very stimulating after the first hour of our acquaintance."

"We could be friends," Harry lied; this could be the way in.

"You hate me," Malfoy pointed out.

"Maybe I wouldn't if you weren't such a little bastard."

"That's hardly likely now is it," Draco drawled, starting back towards the house.

"Malfoy, Draco, I," for Remus then, "I want to be your friend."

"Really, you want to be my friend?" Draco asked, awestruck. Then he laughed. "This is a joke… I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Why not?"

"Because Potter, to be perfectly frank, I don't believe you. This particular feeble lie is just another pathetic attempt to stop me handing you over to Voldemort and we decided we didn't like that plan, remember?"

"I have a new plan," Harry said.

"Really, you do surprise me."

"Sorry," Harry apologised, playing his final desperate card. "You're right; let's just do it your way. My plan is far too difficult; you'd never manage it."

"Reverse psychology: very good Potter. What's the plan?"

Harry laughed. "It'll be dangerous."