Hate Transforms

This begins during Half-Blood Prince. It is overall canon, with a few tweaks in details (like how Malfoy knows Harry is in his compartment or dates of specific events)

On the Hogwarts Express in one of the first compartments Draco Malfoy sat mildly paying attention to the conversation between Blaise and Pansy. They were discussing some nonsense about this season’s new robe designs, while Crabbe and Goyle looked lost as usual. He could care less. Honestly owning the clothes was what was important.

Besides this year he had no time to think about his fashion. He tried not to think about the task he had been assigned, or about the Dark Lord. He hated being trapped by his destiny. If he chose to be a Death Eater and follow in his father’s footsteps this would be a different story. He would actually feel privileged by the honor of being given such an important task at such a young age before being officially initiated as a Death Eater. But instead he felt ill just thinking about what was being asked of him. He felt as if he was being set up to fail, just to give the Dark Lord an excuse to wipe out him and his entire family. The Dark Lord was upset, to say the least, after Draco’s father’s failure at the Ministry last summer.

“Draco… Draco!”

“What are you yelling at me for?” drawled Draco.

“Well I only asked you eight times what you did over summer!” replied Pansy incredulously.

“Nothing special,” he answered.

Blaise raised one manicured eyebrow, “Really, no two weeks in Italy, or the south of France? I can’t imagine you not bragging about some extravagant holiday in an equally extravagant locale.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but mother thought it best to lay low, seeing as how my father is still in Azkaban.”

“How is he?” asked Pansy.

He narrowed his eyes dangerously, “How do you think?”

“So, with your father away in prison, who is to take the mantle?” Blaise asked in a dangerous tone. He knew where this was going and hoped it wouldn’t take too long for Blaise to get to the point. “Well, Draco? Have you seen him?”

The him was obvious. “If I have, do you think I would admit it to you lot?”

He hoped this would be enough to stave off any more questions, but luck was not with him today. Blaise’s one comment spurred a wave of inquiries from everyone else, even Crabbe and Goyle. So he threw them a couple of cryptic remarks and foreboding implications. As he baited them the compartment door opened a bit when the train bumped. He nodded to Goyle who immediately got up and closed it.

Suddenly Draco felt as if he was being watched. He looked out the door and saw no one. Great, now he was becoming paranoid. The feeling didn’t leave him for the remainder of the trip.

When the train began to slow everyone reached for their trunks to pull out their robes. His trunk was in the overhead rack by the window. He pulled out his robes easily and looked over at Crabbe the buffoon trying to pry his out. He seemed to be having some trouble moving his trunk to face him so he could open it. Then Draco saw something extremely unexpected, a foot next to Crabbe’s trunk up on the rack. A foot that seemed to be detached from its owner or perhaps the rest of the owner was hidden.

Potter. Potter and his bloody Invisibility Cloak.

When the compartment door opened Potter entered and hid up on the rack, but why? Well he was determined to find out. Now that everyone was up and moving there was no way for Potter to escape without being noticed until the train stopped. Then he would wait for the others to leave before finding out exactly what he wanted to know.

Finally the train slowed to a stop and the rest of his fellow Slytherins left, and he provided some vague excuse about getting something from his trunk to stay behind. After closing the door he reached for his trunk with his left hand and for his wand with his right. There was no sound of movement, so Potter must still be in the corner of the rack by the door.

Without further hesitation Draco whipped around pointing his wand to where he knew Potter to be and yelled, “Petrificus Totalus!”

Potter must have been on the edge ready to get down because Draco heard a thud as he hit the ground and now long legs were visible. Slowly Draco made his way over to the prone form, and removed the cloak revealing a very surprised and angry Harry Potter.

“Eavesdropping, Potter, I would have thought you were above such behavior,” drawled Malfoy lazily as he squatted next to the brunette boy. “Or does the Golden Boy believe he is above even the rules that dictate you noble Gryffindors.”

Malfoy rose and began to pace the compartment, then paused when he asked, “What were you after? I wonder.” Then with a flick of his wand he released Potter of the body-binding curse, but with another flick ropes bound his hands and feet. “Talk, Potter.”

“Let me go, Malfoy!”

“Not until you answer me!”

“Bugger off!”

“Tsk tsk Potter, not the answer I was looking for. Why did you sneak in here?!” Draco was quickly losing his temper. As if his life wasn’t stressful enough, now he got to add the nosy Boy Who Lived.

“I just wanted to see whether you Death Eaters were stupid enough not to notice I was here! And, what d’you know, none of you noticed!”

“Well I wouldn’t say none, since you are currently bound and kneeling on the floor,” Draco said with an arrogant smirk. He wondered what had gotten into Potter. Usually he wasn’t this bold or defiant, especially when he had lost the upper hand.

There were still students slowly working there way off the train, so he had time to taunt a little more. Another smile played on Draco’s lips as he watched Potter try and struggle free. The Golden Boy’s biceps flexed and strained as he tried to break the ropes. Even with his Quidditch toned muscles he was no match for the magical binds that held him. Potter fought a little longer before he hung his head in reluctant submission.

Draco liked him like this: on his knees and defeated, willing to succumb to Draco’s will.

“Just let me go alright,” pleaded Potter in a quiet voice Draco had never heard before.

Draco got down on his knees to look Potter in the eyes, “Why would you think we are Death Eaters?” He wasn’t sure why he asked, or why the answer seemed to matter so much. But all he cared about was knowing why, and proving him wrong. He was not a Death Eater, and he didn’t ever want to be one.

Potter met his gaze with a fiery stare that sent chills down Draco’s spine then growled, “Not them, you. I know what you are. Like father like son, right Malfoy.”

A sharp pain, from out of nowhere, shot into Draco’s chest. Through gritted teeth he leaned in so their noses were nearly touching and whispered in a pained voice, “Once again you are mistaken, Potter. I am not my father.”

Their eyes remained locked for another moment, until something in the air between them changed. Potter’s eyes widened slightly as the sincerity in Draco’s words sank in. The animosity was melding with something else, something more complicated. Without warning Potter closed the distance between them and their lips met in the most gentle of touches. Draco didn’t pull away, and Potter took this as encouragement, deepening the kiss. When Potter’s tongue tentatively stroked his lower lip the shock wore off and anger replaced it.

“Fuck you Potter!” he spat, punching Potter in the face and leaving him bound in the train compartment.