𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Harry hated Snape. The greasy old bastard loved watching him suffer. It was probably his only pastime in life, besides drinking Fire-Whiskey. That was why he was stuck being Draco Malfoy's partner in Advanced Potions. Again.

The cauldron was bubbling dangerously and Harry eyed it with some suspicion before snapping at Draco, "Will you turn down the bloody heat, Malfoy?"

Draco turned to glared omnipotently at his rival and sneered. Of all people, Professor Snape had to place him with Potter. Dumbledore and his damn unification of the houses; it always got in his way. Ever since his first year at Hogwarts, Draco knew that the white-bearded freak had it out for him, just because he was the son of Lucius Malfoy.

Glowering at Potter, Draco spat bitterly, "You can turn the cauldron down yourself, Potter. Just don't blow it up. This is my grade you're talking about. I, unlike you, care about what other people think about me. But, I suppose your Muggle relatives never taught you anything about public appearance, did they, Potter?"

Harry ground his teeth in irritation and bent his head down to appear that he was actually trying to cut the Mandrake root in equal pieces, but as it was, he could hardly see in front of him he was so angry. Somehow, despite all his best intentions, even if they were not very good, he nearly came to blows every time the sodding prat was within two meters of him.

It had been like that for five years now, and, it seemed, this year would be no different from the last. Not that he had expected it to be. Some things, the Gryffindor admitted, would never change.

Steadily trying to ignore the Slytherin's ramblings, Harry bent close to the cutting board, feeling the blood rush to the skin on the back of his neck. He hated Goosebumps.

The svelte boy continued to try goading his raven-haired partner. "I suppose that's why you like House-elves so much, Potter. You can relate to them so well. Ever since I met you, I always wondered why you were so bloody special. You're a dirty little Mudblood lover with nothing special except your deformed forehead. I don't see anything godly about that," the Slytherin remark conversationally to Potter. He lifted his delicate ivory hand and brushed away a tendril of nonexistent silver hair from his unscathed forehead.

Yet, Potter was being terribly patient today, and he continued to cut the Mandrake root diligently in a concentrated effort. It was odd, though, Draco admitted. By now, Potter would usually be threatening him and his family with vague and absurd remarks. Draco, holding in a bored sigh, lowered his stormy eyes to his own cutting board; slowly beginning to dice the daisy stems that their potion required. He would just let the boy mull for a bit. Time was all he needed and he had plenty of it.

Don't loose control. Don't take the bait. Don't... Harry repeated to himself in his head, his eyes gently closed so that he would not be forced to even acknowledge Malfoy's presence. Yet sometimes that was impossible. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, despite every concentrated effort, to do otherwise. The sharp blade beneath his hand seemed cool and almost pleasant to the hotness of his face, and unconsciously, he curled his fingers about the hard metal edge, unaware of the thin sliver of crimson that leaked down his pale skin, becoming almost instantly absorbed by the Mandrake root.

Draco frowned slightly at Potter's lack of response; so resolutely, he continued to harass the emerald-eyed boy. "Yes, nothing godly about killing your own godfather, either, Potter. You're the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Bloody-Die, so you kill other people? I'd do it too, if I were you. Being the famed Golden Boy isn't as wonderful as you thought, is it?"

The shuffle and scrape of a chair momentarily filled the room, and jumping to his feet, Harry raised his hand, about to strike. How tempting it all seemed, how tempting in it's natural quality. There seemed nothing wrong with his actions at all, they were impulsive and basic on every human level. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes slightly glassy in anger, perhaps not even seeing the cool figure before him; only the gray tumultuous eyes giving away the Slytherin's uneasiness.