Disclaimer: Heavens, no! Never!

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews! I'm so glad you enjoyed that chapter. Yes, Snape definitely has a trick up his sleeve. It's going to be interesting, writing how this all plays out. And as for Hermione and Pansy - who knows? Hermione plainly hates the very ground she walks on.

As for the whole semester and term thing, thanks for reminding me of that. I fixed it in the chapter so it now says term.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

xxxxxxxxxx

Draco walked out of the Great Hall after eating dinner. He was in an exceedingly foul mood as he walked to the library. However, he did not show such a thing - his face bore his usual smirk, and he walked at his normal speed.

Potter. He had been forced to spend the evening with Harry Potter. He remembered the other boy's expression when Snape had announced that they had to do this project together; he looked just as appalled as Draco felt at the prospect. He had to admit, the look on Potter's face had sent a thrill of triumph through him, but it was just for a second. He was glad that Potter felt just as miserable as he did.

He just wanted to get this over with. When he'd confronted Potter in the hallway, he wanted to tell him to forget the whole thing. But instead, he'd told him to come to the library for their first meeting tonight. He'd honestly been surprised that Potter had agreed to it so quickly. The fury on the Weasel's face had been almost comical, and he could feel the anger radiating from the Mudblood when she was informed that she had to work with Pansy. And Longbottom ... who in the hell was he, telling Draco how to treat Potter? He could treat the other boy any way he wanted.

But there was something deeper to this, too, a sense of dread that consumed every cell in his body. He had a feeling that he knew exactly why Snape was doing this, and it was why he was so tempted to tell Potter to just forget all of it. It was a suspicion that bloomed in his soul, and he could not get rid of it, as hard as he tried.

The letter he had received from his father still echoed through his mind, the words taking up residence there and refusing to disappear.

You will spend as much time with Potter as you can, Draco. Make sure that you study him carefully, and get to know him better. Discover more about the boy, and do not let your temper get the best of you. You know how important this is, Draco. If you do not do as you are told, you will not only disappoint me.

It was a warning, loud and clear. Draco had to make nice with Potter in order to bring the Dark Lord's plan to fruition. And that letter had also informed him that Snape would have a part in this too, although it was said in a very discreet fashion. He was told to wait patiently for Snape to carry out his part of the plan.

And now, he had done so. What other motive could he have? And he had done it very cleverly too - he had made everyone work with someone they didn't like. He'd seen how Pansy and Granger stared daggers at each other. Merlin, Pansy had been supremely annoying lately, wanting to carry on a conversation with him at the most inopportune times. But she didn't deserve to have to work with the likes of that bushy-haired menace. And Crabbe and Goyle, whom Draco had grown to resent with every fiber of his being, had to work with longbottom and the Weasel, respectively. Well, Draco thought with a nasty sneer as he continued towards the library, they will have nothing to show for it once the projects are due.

Poison. If there was one thing Draco knew a fair bit about, it was poison. Lucius had told him some information about it, despite Narcissa's proclamation that he was too young to know. And what Lucius didn't tell him, Draco found out on his own. The Malfoy library was stocked with some very dark tomes, and he was able to get to them and read them without issue. Lucius was very adept at warding, so Draco had a feeling that the man had been perfectly okay with his son reading those books, even though Draco was sneaking around to do it. He was never confronted about it, but Lucius wasn't stupid. He would know exactly what Draco was up to, and approved of it.

He doubted Potter knew anything, though, and Draco felt another thrill go through him. He was exceedingly smug at the realization that he knew more than the other boy. He imagined the expression on the idiot's face when he would realize just what harm witches and wizards could do to one another. Life wasn't about fame and fortune, after all. Potter would learn the hard way just what power could do.

When he entered the library, he went right to the Restricted Section. He expected Potter not to be there yet - he'd be too busy talking with his little friends to bother showing up on time. Draco felt another smirk tug at his lips, knowing that he was going to enjoy getting on Potter's case for being late. After all, he couldn't make nice with the boy just yet, otherwise Potter would be on to him.

But Potter wasn't late, not at all. Instead, he was speaking with Madam Pince, who was looking at him with a pinched expression on her face. Draco had always thought the woman looked like a vulture, and she was unpleasant to everyone she came across. Even the Malfoy name didn't help Draco's case, which made him very annoyed. At least it was Potter that she was currently scowling at.

"Yes, I understand, Potter. But that does not mean I am happy about you studying such subjects," the librarian was saying. "Do not doubt that I will be watching every book you pick up. And that goes for you too, Malfoy," she added when she saw him making his way over.

"Yes, ma'am," Potter said politely, glancing at Draco. "Oh," he said sullenly. "You're here."

Draco smirked. "Where else did you expect me to be, Potter? Hoping I wouldn't show up, were you?" he sneered.

"There will be no fighting in this library, or you will be in more trouble than you can imagine," Madam Pince told them in no uncertain terms. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, Madam Pince," both boys replied, nodding.

"Good. Now get to work. The library closes in two hours," Madam Pince said firmly, and walked away.

"Bloody vulture," Draco muttered, and just for a second, he saw Potter's lips quirk up. "What?" Draco demanded. "What, Potter?"

"Nothing," Potter said, glaring at him. But Draco was sure that just for an instant, Potter had thought the exact same thing about the librarian as Draco had.

But he, too, chose to say nothing more about it. Instead, he snapped, "Go on then, Potter. Go and find the books that we need."

"No, sir," Potter said sarcastically, still glaring. "No," he said again, flatly.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no, Malfoy. I'm not your house-elf. I knew you were going to tell me to do all the work while you stand there like a lump, and I'm not going to let you do that. This is our project, not my project. And you can't use your name, or your father, to intimidate me."

Draco felt anger slice through him - never had Potter looked more sure of himself while Draco felt anything but. He was so sick of the bloody savior gaining the upper hand in every confrontation they had. He had to be better - he had to be stronger. The mention of his father only reminded him that the Malfoys' success in the Dark Lord's ranks hinged on Draco's abilities.

And he knew, as angry as this made him, that he couldn't just dismiss Potter's words. But he sure as hell could show him that he wasn't at all happy about it. This was only a miniscule, barely recognizable, first step in making nice with the incredibly dense Gryffindor, after all. "Fine," he snarled at him. "But Professor Snape will hear about how you're treating me."

Potter snorted. "I'm not afraid of Snape," he said, a peculiar expression stealing across his face for a single instant before it went blank again.

And Draco noticed it. He noticed it, and kept it in his mind to peruse for later study. For three years, Potter was extremely transparent whenever the subject of Snape came up. He would scowl, or glare, or look mutinous. It was plain to see that he loathed Snape, and the Potions Master, in turn, hated Potter. It would send a thrill through Draco when he saw Snape excoriating Potter in class. He had always despised how the other teachers pandered to the vaunted savior, the Boy Who Lived. He especially saw it in Hagrid, and a special hatred for the brute would always reside in Draco. He'd never forget the smile on Potter's face in Madam Malkin's when he'd proclaimed proudly that Hagrid was helping him buy his Hogwarts supplies. And Draco's severe injury from Buckbeak, and the hippogriff's subsequent escape from his fate, would never leave his mind.

But Snape was different, and Draco had been sure that someday, the man would play a major role in Potter having a little reunion with the Dark Lord. And he had been proven correct, hadn't he? This plan was Snape's, and Draco, who had always wanted to follow in his father's footsteps, was finally getting his chance to do so.

"If you say so," Draco responded to Potter's brash comment about not fearing Snape. "Since you're so insistent on me going with you to collect the books we need, let's just go, okay, Potter?"

With another vicious glare, Potter did as Draco asked, and they went searching for the books they required. All the while, Draco couldn't help but ponder the boy's strange expression at the mention of Snape, even though he tried to force himself to save those thoughts for later. After all, he was getting nowhere trying to figure the boy out, and this angered him. Potter had always been so transparent before.

After several minutes, Potter and Draco had each picked one large tome. "Here," Draco snapped, thrusting his book at Potter. "If you know what's good for you, you'll carry that over to our table."

Potter gave Draco a venomous look, but didn't argue. Draco smirked - even though Potter hated it, it was apparently enough that Draco had at least gone to look for the books. Potter wasn't going to object to carrying both of them, if it meant he could get Draco to do at least part of the work.

They sat down at one of the desks, and Draco decided to try and get away with more. He demanded, "Now get going. Look through one of the books and let me know what you find. Hurry up, I don't have all night."

It was clear that Potter wanted to shout at him; the expression on his face was priceless. "I told you, I'm not your servant, Malfoy," he snarled.

"Oh, please," Draco drawled. "Surely it doesn't take much to look through a book? I suppose Granger normally does all your work for you. The Weasel and Longbottom obviously aren't literate, and I bet whoever you live with has pampered you all your life." He looked at Potter closely. "It's been rumored that you live with Muggles," he whispered. "Is that true?"

Just like when he'd mentioned Snape, a strange expression flitted across Potter's face. There had first been anger, probably because Draco had insulted Granger, the Weasel, and Longbottom again. But then, his expression changed; it was one that Draco had never seen before on Potter, and it lasted for an even shorter period of time than the one he had seen when mentioning Snape. There was a look of severe pain and hurt that flashed through the boy's emerald eyes, and the very air around him seemed to darken with something unfathomable.

"What, Potter?" Draco needled, immediately pouncing like a predator who had caught his prey. "Don't think I didn't notice that look on your face. It's true, isn't it? What, the Muggles don't treat you like the king of the world?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," was Potter's response, his expression now blank and his eyes holding a vacancy that both scared and intrigued him. "It's none of your business. We're here to talk about poisons, remember?"

"You just made it my business, Potter," Draco persisted. All the while, his mind was going into freefall. He remembered the first time he'd ever seen Potter - that first meeting in Madam Malkin's could never be forgotten. When he'd tried to strike up a conversation with Potter, he hadn't seemed to know anything about the wizarding world. His face had held a glazed look as the subject of school houses and broomsticks had come up. It was like he didn't have a clue what Draco was saying. Typical Mudblood, he had thought with profound disgust.

Little was he to know that, when he walked into that certain compartment on the Hogwarts Express, he would see that skinny little waif again, talking to the Weasel with a bright smile on his face. To find out that the boy was actually Harry Potter, the boy that the light pinned all their hopes upon, was unbelievable. Draco honestly thought that it must be a joke. To find out that he really was Harry Potter had come as a shock - his entire body had jolted as though he'd had a spell cast upon him. The confrontation between him, Crabbe, Goyle, Potter, and Weasley would stay with him for as long as he lived. To be rejected ... it stung more than he was willing to admit.

Draco couldn't deny that he'd always pondered what kind of life Potter lived. He imagined that the boy had been coddled, and been given everything he desired on a silver platter. After all, he was the one who had stopped the Dark Lord from bringing terror to all the unworthy. It was rather sickening, and Draco couldn't wait to see the moment when the light realized they had put their faith in the wrong person. Draco would show them - he'd show them all.

And now ... this. He observed quietly as Potter flipped through the pages in the tome he had procured, not even deigning to talk to Draco at all. His expression was still totally blank as he seemingly ignored Draco altogether, and it rankled him to no end. He was used to provoking a reaction from Potter, and the fact that he was getting none now made all his senses go on heightened alert.

"I found something," Potter said eventually, putting the book between them so that Draco could read. "It sounds pretty nasty."

Draco scoffed. He was positive that Potter had a rather weak constitution and therefore found anything mildly off-putting absolutely revolting. "I sincerely doubt that," he drawled, willing to drop the conversation about who Potter lived with ... but only for now. It would come up again when Potter least expected it - that, Draco would make sure of.

The two boys read over the description of the poison. "See?" Draco smirked. "This shouldn't be affecting your fragile stomach, Potter," he proclaimed. "It's not even fatal."

Potter glowered. "So, just because it's not supposed to kill you, it means it's perfectly okay to use?" he asked fiercely. "Has your father used it on anyone?"

"Don't you dare talk about my father, Potter!" Draco snarled, feeling his temper rise. "You know nothing about him!"

"Oh, I know enough to be getting on with," Potter said, his face suddenly enraged. "Or are you under the delusion that your daddy is actually someone to be proud of? Are you aware that he almost killed a girl who had done absolutely nothing to him?"

Draco knew exactly what Potter was referring to - the rumors surrounding what had happened to Ginny Weasley at the end of his second year. Speculation had swirled around him in the days after she had been rescued by Potter from the chamber, but he had never outright asked his father about it. Once he returned to Malfoy Manor for the summer, he knew he would get nothing out of the man if he questioned him about it. So instead, he listened out for any tidbit of information he could receive without Lucius knowing about it. Many times, when his parents had private conversations, a charm would be placed on the door so Draco couldn't eavesdrop. But occasionally, they would slip up, and Draco would hear things that were intriguing, but at the same time, somewhat frightening.

But there was no need to be perturbed, was there? Lucius was only doing what had to be done to free the wizarding world of the scourge that infested it. Draco had grown up hearing stories of when the Dark Lord reigned, and he was told that if all went according to plan, his family would once again be held in high esteem and would no longer be looked down upon by the misinformed public. If it meant that one silly little girl, who gazed at Potter sickeningly like he was the only thing in her shallow little world, had to die, then why should it bother Draco? And there were so many Weasleys, she wouldn't even be missed, would she? The fat cow of a mother could always just have another baby. And if mudbloods like Hermione Granger were purged from the school forever, Draco would never have to compete with her again. She'd never make him feel inadequate again.

But here, now, in front of Potter, Draco had to act as though he wasn't aware of as much as he actually knew. "I don't know what you're going on about, Potter, but you will not accuse my father of things he had no part in. We're learning about poisons," he sneered.

"Fine," Potter growled. "But your father is guilty, Malfoy. I know it, and I know you know it, too. All of Voldemort's followers are cowards. Just like those people who decide to use this poison, rather than face their enemies in a fair fight."

"You dare to say his name?" Draco couldn't help that his voice rose an octave.

"Shhh, or do you want Madam Pince on our backs again, Malfoy?" Potter snapped at him. "And it's just a name. His name is Voldemort." Draco involuntarily flinched, and Potter laughed. "Get used to it. And I bet he'd use this poison. Bloody coward."

Draco's face contorted in fury. "It's not cowardice, Potter. It's called strategy," he spat. "You can't get off your high horse enough to know the difference."

Potter laughed again, harshly, that same darkness sparking in his eyes that had been there when Draco had mentioned who he lived with. Merlin, he wanted so desperately to discover what constituted that look. "Strategy," he said, the word coming out strangled. "Yeah. Right. Whatever, Malfoy."

There was a lull in the argument as both Potter and Draco read the description of the poison again. Apparently, if ingested, it mimicked the symptoms of the flu, which witches and wizards would get once in a while. There were many wizarding cures for illnesses - for example, if you had a stuffed-up nose, all you had to do was take Pepper-up Potion, and you were cured. However, with certain strains of the flu, witches and wizards had to fight through it the same way as Muggles - fluids, rest, and above all, time, would cure it. The one difference was that the flu was never fatal to witches and wizards, as it was to some Muggles.

This particular poison was very tricky to detect - it was a clear liquid, and you couldn't spot it if it was poured into a glass of water, or any other drink. It had no smell, and no taste. It could only be detected if one was actually testing to see if it had been placed in one's drink.

The book said specifically that it was invented in the 1940's, during the war against Grindelwald. The symptoms would last different lengths of time, depending on how much you ingested, and the reaction of your immune system. The reason it had been invented and used was to weaken witches and wizards who were said to be excellent fighters. If even the greatest dueler, like Dumbledore, was suffering from its effects, he would have been easily beaten in a duel.

"Cowardice," Potter reiterated when he had finished reading through the page again. "I reckon even Grindelwald wasn't willing to use it against Dumbledore, because he wanted to face him in a fair duel. That's saying a lot, isn't it, Malfoy, when you'd rather weaken an opponent through deceitful means than give them a chance to defend themselves, and admit that you're as human as they are if you lose?"

"Yeah, because you're always throwing yourself into danger," Draco drawled. "Always looking for the opportunity to play hero. Always protecting the weak, aren't you? The knight in shining armor, the savior of all damsels in distress."

Potter gazed at Draco meaningfully, and the blond didn't like the look in his eyes one bit. "I don't try to play hero, as you put it," he said quietly, and for once, there was no anger in his voice. Draco suddenly felt dread seize him - he had an ominous feeling that he was not going to like what Potter said next. "The fact is, when no one bothers to help someone who's in danger, or when I see someone being treated horribly and no one lifts a finger to assist, I'm going to help them," he said, his eyes meeting Draco's directly.

And then, so quietly that Draco could barely hear him, he whispered, "Even if I hate them."

Draco's breath caught in his chest, and he knew his face had blanched. Don't you dare lose it, he told himself, his heart racing wildly. He knew exactly what Potter was getting at, and it made his insides feel as though they were clenching up. It was the first time Potter had alluded to the Crouch incident in front of him in a one-on-one conversation, and it was bloody unbearable.

Anger. He had to be angry - that was the only way he could cope with the sudden pressure constricting his lungs. He pictured Potter, on his knees in front of the Dark Lord. Potter, scraping and grovelling, begging the man to leave him alone. Potter, finally broken, sobbing in pain and agony. Potter, his emerald eyes vacant, his body limp and lifeless, his face frozen in terror. Potter, who would die if his and Snape's plan succeeded.

But, for some reason, the image didn't help him - it only made him feel worse. He did feel a sudden burst of white-hot anger, but he realized with dawning horror that it was directed at himself, not at the boy sitting next to him, who looked at him with ... what was it? It was something profound, like he wanted Draco to understand something that he just couldn't comprehend.

Draco jumped up from the table, suddenly unable to stand one more second with the abominable Gryffindor. "Take your sermon somewhere else, Potter," he said in a voice that contained more desperation than it did fury, and he despised that realization. "I don't need to hear it."

And with that, he high-tailed it out of the library. He could hear Potter calling his name. He could hear Madam Pince saying in a very angry tone, "What do you think you are doing, Mr. Malfoy? I am appalled - how dare you act this way in a library!" But he didn't care.

All he knew was that once again, an all too common occurrence was happening - he honestly couldn't understand all the feelings churning inside of him.

And once again, it was all the fault of Harry bloody Potter.