It was official, Draco thought as Professor Mcgonagall hauled him off by his ear.

Draco was the worst strategist there ever was.

And to think he'd even waited a week for the perfect opportunity. Draco knew when and where Potter had illegal dragon business, and had planned to get caught out late with the Terrible Haired Trio, which, if what Severus wrote in his "Loony Man In Charge" chapter could be trusted, would quite possibly result in one big happy quintet consisting of himself, three Gryffindors, and one giant gamekeeper trampling around the Forbidden Forest together.

Draco had quite liked those odds, considering he would have to be entering the forest soon anyway or face the dragon's wrath.

Now, lonesome dragged by his smelly professor, Draco couldn't understand what had gone wrong, but somehow he had gotten captured all by himself.

Snape was rather angry, Draco figured, but Draco was much too angry at the time to register much beyond himself. Snape heartlessly gave Draco a detention and it felt like fate. Draco suspected that the dragon was laughing at him from the tower.

So, it was to be Draco and the giant alone on this quest. He supposed one was better than none.

Draco spent the next week studying, making up with Pansy, and worrying about his detention, half hoping it would take place in the forest and half hoping it wouldn't. He wore his new boots every day, both for practice and so he could remember that they were going to be there for him, always. Pansy easily forgave him . . . after all, Linky was better with beauty charms than the entire female Slytherin body combined. The witch would be a fool not to forgive him, and she had told Draco as much.

When Potter, Granger, and Longbottom showed up at his detention Draco was sure that the dragon was laughing at him from up in his lair.

Draco inwardly readied himself for the stage, and plastered a sneer across his face as the others approached.

Oh, destiny was maybe a bit fun, Draco decided.

Many highs and lows later, Draco found himself paired off with Potter, having nearly scared Longbottom to death with a little practice in his boots. Easily deciding that Potter was the worst company ever, Draco insulted the boy while slowly leading him closer to where the dragon's magic was pulling.

When he felt the pull abruptly end, Draco froze and Potter seemed to freeze with him for no reason that Draco could understand. "What is it?" Potter asked him quietly.

Before Draco could answer another wizard appeared out of nowhere. He was tall, lanky, and dark-haired, wearing what Draco was pretty sure was muggle attire. He looked to be about twenty. His expression was blank, except for a raised eyebrow, and his pale skin made him look ghostly.

"Which one of you is looking for the staff, huh?" the wizard asked them. Draco didn't say a word.

"Who are you?" Potter was glaring at the wizard.

"Um . . . none of your concern?" the wizard drawled, and turned toward Draco completely. "It's you, then?" he asked.

Draco could only nod. He shot a nervous glance at Potter, but the other boy just looked angry and confused.

"Look . . ." the wizard sighed. "This whole gig? Keeper of the staff? It wasn't originally mine . . . let's just say it was left to me in a will of sorts. Now . . . the one before me, he was much better at this whole mysterious, all-knowing, popping-out-of-nowhere role . . . he was also kind of soft, surprisingly, and most-likely would have been a Hufflepuff. I'm not hating on you, I'm not. I was a Slytherin, too, okay? I'm just being straight with you, blondie, the color on your robes tells me all I need to know. There's a sort of test one must pass in order to call the staff out of hiding when its original keeper passes on . . . one that measures the purity of a heart."

"Right . . ." Draco couldn't help but snort. "Because the boy who murdered somebody at age one is more pure than I am."

Potter began to growl.

"Clearly," the wizard spoke on, "you two have some issues, but since I'm in sort of a . . . pickle, as they say, I may be willing to cut a deal with you."

Draco, having good luck with his recent dealings, listened eagerly as the wizard continued.

"The warlock before me, the original owner of the staff, was actually a keeper of the unicorns if you can believe it. He just passed away fifty years ago and I've been in charge ever since. Only problem is . . . I haven't been able to bring the staff out of hiding until I find someone who can pass the test. Obviously, I am not as pure at heart as my predecessor believed me to be, and without the staff I cannot reincarnate any of the unicorn souls. Soon there will be none left in this forest."

Draco was feeling decidedly tricked. The dragon had some nerve, sending him out to help other wayward do-gooders.

"If you can find someone to pass the test . . . I will let you use the staff whenever you need it."

Draco was feeling better already. He also was through lying to himself.

"Fine, if anyone can pass this test, it'll be our very own golden boy: Harry Potter."

While the wizard looked relieved, Potter looked livid.

"I can't," he hissed. "Malfoy, what are you playing at?"

"Oh okay, Potter," Malfoy drawled, gesturing for Potter to drop it. "We won't make you do anything. I'll do it."

As Potter turned to see what the other wizard thought of this, Draco frantically shook his head, pointed at Potter, and then held a finger to his lips. When Potter looked back toward Draco, he was already smiling charmingly again, and the other wizard was winking at him over Potter's shoulder.

"Great, you guys can call me Em." The wizard smiled. "I'll see you on the other side."

They were left alone again, and Potter would not stop asking questions, so Draco ignored him and went back to insulting the other boy.

"You are clearly a coward, Potter," Draco sneered, startling when the boy finally took his bait after what had seemed like an hour of useless insults.

"I'm not a bloody coward, Malfoy!" Potter hissed, stopping dead in his tracks.

"You won't do anything I say though?" Draco raised an eyebrow, hoping Potter would be as dense as an eight-year-old Zabini, and started scanning the area for any worm-like insects.

"You . . . you mean like . . . like truth or dare?" Potter asked, his huge eyes were suddenly very round. He started to walk again and Draco followed.

"Excuse me?" Draco coughed, not wanting to admit he hadn't a clue what Potter was talking about.

"Oh, I forgot . . ." Potter paused and pushed his glassed up the bridge of his nose. "It's a . . . a game my cousin and his friends used to play."

"But not you?" Draco questioned, still not sure what to say.

Potter frowned. Draco tried again.

"Could enemies play this as well, Potter? Or is it too friendly of a game?"

Potter gulped. "It would be stupid . . ."

"But are you scared, is the question?"

Slowly, the other boy shook his head, no, he wasn't scared.

"Well, then, are you going to explain the rules sometime today, Potter, or . . ?"

Potter scowled, but explained. Afterward, Draco made it clear that he would lie if Potter asked him about Em or the staff, and told the other boy that he was going first. Potter picked dare. Draco made him lick tree moss, then lied when Potter asked him what his most embarrassing moment was. Draco felt some guilt, but wasn't about to tell Potter that his most embarrassing moment was a tie between when they'd first met in Madam Malkin's, the train incident, and their first-flying-lesson-which-Draco-still-wasn't-thinking-about. Potter actually ate a beetle, then asked Draco if he'd ever hugged anyone.

Draco snorted, seeing no reason to lie this time. "I don't like touching other people, Potter." He grinned. "Well, except a select few," he added, before he could stop himself.

"That's what I asked anyway," Potter growled, still looking sour about having to munch that bug.

"My father, my godfather, my great aunt, Pansy . . . and Cass. That is all, I think."

"Not your mum?"

"Oh yes, of course." Draco nodded.

"Who's Cass?" Potter asked next.

Draco tsked, his mind suddenly filled with inappropriate images of Cass' dark hair sweaty and stuck to his forehead. "It isn't your turn, Potter," he said and proceeded to make the boy touch a giant slug before answering his question.

"He's a boy that I like," Draco lied, waiting for Potter's reaction. He definitely felt guilty this time, but couldn't help the farce. He hated Potter so much that it made him want to do stupid things.

"So he's your friend at home?" If anything Potter looked jealous for some reason.

"No," Draco started, which wasn't technically a lie, though the next words out of his mouth were. "He's my lover."

"Your what?"

"My older, French lover . . . he's gorgeous."

"You mean what, exactly?" Potter squeaked.

Draco knew he should just end it all right there, and leave Potter wondering, but he really, really didn't want to.

"I hug him," Draco explained, even though he knew his own second cousin didn't really count. "And kiss him . . . and do other secret things with him, Potter."

Potter seemed to have something stuck in his giant eyeball suddenly.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked the blinking boy.

"Er-fi-fine," stuttered Potter, not looking fine at all.

"Are you . . . are you actually scared, Potter?" Draco couldn't help but laugh. "Are you telling me you can eat a beetle, but are scared at the thought of me kissing someone?"

"I'm not . . ."

"I bet you won't kiss me, then," sneered Draco, after only a moment of thought, he added, "you're much too scared. I know it."

Draco bit his lip instinctively. Of course, that had been a ridiculous idea. Harry Potter wasn't really that stupid. He wasn't going to just kiss Draco because Draco baited him to it. Who did that sort of thing? Draco absently wondered, but he couldn't think over the quick pounding of his heart. This was terrible feeling! What in the hell was Draco even doing? A nervous gulp told him that his mouth had gone dry and Potter still stared at him, unmoving and tense like.

Finally, Harry took a step forward and turned up his chin. "I am not scared," he stated in a tone that suggested even the thought of being scared was disgusting.

"Er . . . you are too?" Draco said, unsure. Then, he added in a firmer tone, "of course you are, Potter, you're scared."

Draco had no clue if Potter was scared. All Draco knew was that he was scared himself. If Potter didn't kiss him, the other boy would have this over Draco for a long time and Draco hadn't a clue what his father would even do if someone told him Draco had taken things one step too far with the Boy Who Lived during a game of muggle truth or dare in the Forbidden Forest.

He'd probably send Draco to the dungeons for ten years. This went against everything his father had taught him! Once again, Draco wondered what he was doing. Draco would probably have to restart Hogwarts again at age twenty one.

If that was even possible and, yes, this was insanity.

Harry Potter still just stood there and stared at Draco and Draco really needed Potter to just move because if Potter didn't, Draco would. He really would. Why he would Draco didn't have a clue himself, but he did know that he was, for some insane reason, seconds away from kissing Potter. His father's words were the only thing holding him back and, even then, he found himself leaning forward.

Potter stopped him with a hard shove, but Draco quickly realized Potter hadn't even registered Draco's failed attempt when he hissed, "I'm not scared to kiss a Slytherin."

"How about a Malfoy," sniffed Draco, and seriously what was Draco's mouth even doing anymore? Why couldn't he just shut up?!

"I'm not," growled Potter, as he shoved Draco back into a tree that Draco was sure hadn't been there before.

Then they were kissing and something deep inside Draco's subconscious burst open and a warm feeling filled his gut, painting his spine with ice at the same time. Their noses clashed and Draco tasted blood and sweat and fire, not with his tongue but with his breath.

Draco saw himself happy and smiling and kissing Cass on the mouth. He saw himself confessing to Pansy that he knew what she meant about him liking other boys. He saw his and Potter's reflection together in the mirror, faces touching, arms around each other.

Draco gasped and pushed Potter away, he was still glaring and Draco could only blink back at him.

Lastly, a lone vivid image of a dark closet and a black-haired boy with eyes as big as the house elves and as green as his Slytherin tie popped into Draco's mind.

Draco couldn't believe it. His one good dream in nights full of nightmares, and this meant . . . that . . .

Draco had a crush on Harry Potter.

Potter.

"Obliviate!" hissed Draco, belatedly realizing he'd even drawn his wand on the other boy.

Potter stared blankly back at him and Draco could only think three words over and over.

Worst. Strategist. Ever.