Harry Potter was not a man of singular passion; his passions went deep, and played him like a fiddle.

This was the realization that Draco Malfoy came to, as he found himself slammed up against the castle wall, in a quite deserted part of the dungeons. Draco had been haunting the area because it was dour and eerie. Now, it was neither, so Draco Malfoy wanted Harry Potter to leave. And the fastest way towards that goal was to figure out what Harry Potter wanted.

Sadly, Draco knew that simply asking the Gryffindor wouldn't be the best move. Instead, he smirked.

"Why!?" Harry hissed at him.

"84." Draco Malfoy said, "Or did you want a more specific why? I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, in that case." Draco wore his arrogance like a shell, and even when he was laughing at himself (as he was in this case), he was nearly expressionless - just a trace of a smug smirk.

"Why haven't you told anyone the secret Hermione told you about me?" Harry Potter said, having at least the decency and common sense to not mention it.

"Typical. Of course you haven't figured it out yet." Draco Malfoy said, playing for a bit of time, as he organized his lines.

"Figured out what?" Harry Potter demanded - ever so impatiently. It was tempting just to let him hang, to see how much more purple his darkish face could turn.

"I am going to end you, Potter. You will crawl before me, and acknowledge my inherent superiority in all things." Draco Malfoy said, the edge of ice in his cold tones emphasizing his seriousness.

Harry Potter's eyebrows creased, and he looked as confused as Greg did when Draco gave him a puffskein. "What. The. Hell. Does that have to do with Anything?!" Harry Potter abruptly let Draco Malfoy drop from his previous position of "pinned against the wall by a fist in his solar plexus," starting to pace. "You've always hated me. That's nothing new."

Draco Malfoy deliberately brushed his spotless robes off, enjoying the frustration writ large on Potter's face. "As to that..." Draco said, curling his fingers around his chin, running his index finger over his lips. Better talk before Potter explodes, he's turning a rather alarming shade of puce, and those fists aren't just for looks. "It would appear that I've now got some competition."

"Competition?!" Harry Potter said, looking entirely too baffled.* Draco Malfoy set that thought aside for consideration later.

"My father, Lord Voldemort, whomever." Draco Malfoy clarified. "My vengeance is coming, never fear. But for now, I will hold your secrets safer than your friends."

"Why?" Harry asked, his hands flexing into fists and back out again, in a strange sort of nervous habit.

"To use them against you, of course." Draco Malfoy said, "So, if you ever need to talk -"

"Why would I ever talk with you? Unlike you, I have friends."

"There are things you can't tell your friends."

"I tell my friends everything."

Draco leveled a look of skepticism at Potter then, smirking smugly, "No you don't. If you did, they'd be worried sick. You hide the truth, so they won't be concerned." Draco leveled a ten-galleon smile, "I can assure you I won't bear you the slightest shred of concern, no matter what you say."

Harry Potter somehow managed to look both flabbergasted and considering at once. "If I ever want to talk, I'll let you know." he growls, before stalking off, his hands still curling and uncurling into fists.

[a/n: this was originally supposed to be two different conversations, but Draco said his part fit, so I let him work it in.

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*Harry, having been in deathly danger since eleven, has quite managed to forget that it's not normal.