Nightmares and Hot Chocolate

I'm not scared. I'm not scared. I'm not scared.

With each aimless step he took, he repeated the chant in his head even though he knew that his efforts were in vain. The chant didn't diminish the choking grip fear had on him anymore than his feet were leading him in the right direction. As far as he knew, there was no right direction.

"I'm not scared." Sweet Merlin, even saying it out loud didn't help. If anything it made it worse. His voice sounded so weak, so frightened, so embarrassingly young like he was five instead of eleven.

The words were spoken no higher than a whisper yet here in the shadows they bounced around from all angles, loud as a scream.

Draco shuddered as he swallowed a lump that was starting to form.

He hated the dark, always had. In the dark, anything and everything goes and you're left in vulnerable state, unable to rely on eyes. It wasn't easy to anticipate an attack in the dark the same way he could anticipate his father's tolerance morphing from nonexistent to anger. In the darkness, he couldn't protect himself because he couldn't see the threat.

He had no idea where he was. There was nothing but pure, utter blackness as if all source of light was completely swallowed up, not leaving even a speck spared. Darkness was all around him. In the front and back, the corners and sides, streaming like steady waves.

He couldn't see anything, not even his own hand. He couldn't hear anything. Other than the loud throbbing of his heart, he couldn't hear even a whisper. The silence was too unsettling. Too eerie. It was foolish for him to walk blindly, but knew it would be suicidal to remain where he was like easy prey.

He cursed himself for not having his wand on him. That would have offered him protection as well as comfort. He wished he had it or at least have someone to share the fear with him. Like that lowly servant, Hagrid. He liked to believe that he'd feel less frightened with the giant looming over him. Or even his dog, Fang, who'd sense the danger and take him to the opposite direction. For Merlin's sake, he'd even settle for a Weasley, because if there was something out there, which he was sure he was, then he'd have something to offer in return for his safety.

Don't be such a coward, he told himself. There's nothing to be scared of.

It was a bold lie, one which brought him no comfort.

No matter what turn he made or how many steps he took, the unsettling knots of fear didn't loosen their hold on him. If anything, they tightened. The silence pricked him like ants crawling over his skin. He couldn't shake away feeling that something was with him. Watching.

I'm not scared. I'm not scared. I'm not-

He stopped, feeling the wet muck before he heard his foot making contact with it. Heart pounding, he looked down.

Then took in a sharp breath.

Unicorn blood.

During detention, he and his partner came across a figure that spilled unicorn blood. Was drinking it as it were water.

A hand, cold as ice and slimy like reptile skin, clamped his shoulder.

His heart that was ready to leap from his chest stilled and dropped all the way down to the pit of his stomach as he slowly turned around.

Crimson red eyes stared back at him, burning brightly like fire.

His mouth slid open but nothing came out. Not a word, breath, or sound. It was as if the eyes had taken his ability of speech.

Crimson red cut him into pieces with those piercing eyes. A smile began to form, lips curving into a sickening grin, revealing rows of sharp white teeth that could easily tear flesh apart. Blood oozed from the corners of that sick grin. A black tongue ran across those sharp teeth, eyes watching him intently, before he rushed forward, mouth opening wide.

A scream ripped from his mouth, fueled by the jolt running through his body as reality kicked in. His skin was plastered with sweat. His heart was ready to leap from his chest. It took him a good five seconds to realize he was still screaming. If took another ten seconds for him to remember where he was.

He wasn't at the manor. Dobby would have charged into the room immediately, hearing the screams, ready to assist his needs. He was at Hogwarts, back in his room at the Slytherin house.

Trembling, Draco placed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart jumping underneath, and laid back on his bed, gathering the blankets around him.

He wished he was at the manor. His father doubtlessly would be disappointed-annoyed most likely-to see his heir in this state, telling him to stop acting like a coward. His mother would be a different story as she usually was. She'd order Dobby to bring him something to drink. She'd sit on his bed and stroke his hair until his trembling ceased. She'd indulge him in a story, telling his favorite he heard millions times yet still demanded for her to tell him again.

"How would you like to hear the story of the Boy Who Lived, Dragon?"

Tears pricked his eyes, which were burning from the sudden onslaught. He missed his mother. He missed her terribly.

When his letter arrived, he was greatly pleased, riding on high dreams of what was to come. He'd be having great adventures. He'd ruled over the first-years, then the rest of the house. He'd prove to himself, his father, and everyone that he was the best of the best. Most of all, he'd do it all with his best friend, who he was most excited to finally meet.

Oh how woefully wrong was he.

A sudden knock freed from his thoughts, directing his attention over to the door. He eyed it suspiciously, checking quickly for the time.

It was a quarter to three. Who would be up at this hour?

Whoever it was clearly didn't want to be ignored, producing another knock on the door that was harder than before.

Draco grumbled, forced to leave the coziness of his bed to get his slippers and robes to answer the door. No doubt his screaming attracted a curious snake. It was likely Crabbe or Goyle. Or with his rotten luck, if the scream was loud enough, it was probably Pansy who'd eat this embarrassing moment up like cake. Or, Merlin forbid, his godfather who'd show no mercy to anyone, much less his godson, if they got in between him and sleep.

To his complete shock, it wasn't Severus demanding to know why he was screaming. It wasn't his friends. It wasn't even a snake. It was a small Gryfinndor clad in blue striped pajamas standing outside his door. And not just any Gryfinndor, but the one who rifled him up with interest then distaste when they first met. The one who challenged him like no one else had before. The one who was the star of his favorite bedtime story with the brightest, most unusual pair of green eyes he had ever seen.

Harry Potter.

His face flushed, mortified. Were his screams that loud?

For a moment, the two stared at each other. Not with usual hostility, but open curiosity. Having those bright-bright eyes on him, focusing solely on him, puzzled Draco. He could feel his face flushing under their gaze, and he looked down, unable to withstand it any longer. He saw that Potter was carrying something.

A tray holding two large mugs of hot chocolate, done just the way Draco liked it. Topped with whipped cream, dusted with cinnamon, with a stick of peppermint.

"I wasn't sure whether or not I should add marshmallows," Potter's words had Draco looking up at him. "I've always liked it that way, but my cousin throws a fit whenever they're added to his cup. Apparently he thinks they make it less sweet."

Less sweet? Marshmallows in hot chocolate? Was the boy daft? Draco opened his mouth to ask, then remembered who they were, sealing his mouth shut.

"May I come in?"

His head was already nodding before he could breathe, his body clearly out of sync with his mind that was screaming at him to turn the boy away. He moved aside to let him in and checked out the hall for any sleepwalkers who'd report to the rest of his house of his late-night visitor.

No one was in the hall, thank Merlin. Draco shut the door and, after thinking about it for a second or two, casted a duel lock and silence spell on it. Better to be safe than sorry, he mused.

Potter nearly spun as he looked around the room, surprise written across his face. A slight smirk curled the corner of Draco's lips, taking pride in it. It wasn't as extravagant as his room in the manor, but it was still elegant. Done in rich shades of green splashed with sliver, very spacious, and with a grand fireplace that took up most of the wall.

Definitely an improvement from Gryfinndor. According to Blaise, all the first-years shared a room as opposed to the Slytherins who had the choice of rooming alone, in a double, or a triple.

Potter looked away from his bed to the one across from his, noticeably missing a sleeper. He stared at the empty bed but made no comment. He turned back to Draco, who released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

He couldn't for the life of him understand why Potter was there. He had no reason to be. It wasn't as if they were friends. From the moment the boy rejected his hand, Draco decided that they would be rivals. Potter seemed fine with the notion, perfecting his part, firing up at the glares and taunts Draco sent his way. He was a git.

A git with manners, it seemed, waiting patiently till Draco gave his consent before he sat in front of the fireplace.

Noticing the chilled atmosphere in the room, Draco decided to be a good host and started a fire. Potter's impossibly-green eyes practically glowed like a cat.

Draco took a seat beside him, keeping a good two-feet distance. The hot chocolate sat between them. They appeared fine. Just ordinary drinks. However his father always reminded him to be on his guard, especially when dealing with someone from the opposite side. For the sake of caution, he grabbed the mug that was closest to Potter. If this was a trap, then there was a slim chance Potter would sabotage his own cup.

A brow arched questioningly, but other than rolling his eyes that broadcasted clear annoyance Potter wisely kept his shut mouth, reaching for the cup that was closet to Draco. He blew into it before he took a sip.

Draco studied his "guest". Black hair wild, sticking out in multiple directions. His wide-framed glasses tilted slightly, making his eyes look bigger but didn't diminish their bright color. Dressed in a simple shirt and pants nightwear combination instead of the school's bulky robes, Draco was once again surprised by how young Potter appeared. He looked more like he was nine than eleven when they had met at Madame Malkin's.

When Potter took another sip of the hot drink, Draco finally decided to try his. If the boy was well enough to take a second sip, then the hot chocolate couldn't be poisoned. As the first sip hit his tongue, Draco knew that the drink wasn't laced with poison. It was laced with absolute deliciousness.

It wasn't a shock that it was a vast improvement from the gutter trash they made in the Great Hall, but that it suppressed Dobby's in flavor. The texture was smooth, the chocolate creamy and hot, and just the right amount of cinnamon and marshmallows.

Where had Potter gotten it? There's no way he had an house-elf prepare for him. Any fool with a half a brain knew better than to accept drinks from Hagrid; most of them were likely to be drenched in liquor. While it wasn't an unusual request for students to ask their head houses for a hot drink since they were technically the student's appointed guardians, he couldn't see McGonagall fulfilling such a request after the verbal spat the four barely escaped from in her office. Which meant…

A twinkle-he was sure it was a twinkle-gleamed in those green eyes, answering the question he hadn't voiced out loud.

"For the record," Draco said, trying to look as dignified as he could taking another sip of the drink. The second sip tasted better than the first. Chocolate, cinnamon, and marshmallows. He couldn't think of a better combination. "I happen to like marshmallows in my hot chocolate, preferably the mini ones. Any nitwit knows it makes the drink better."

The twinkle shone in Potter's eyes, making them glow brightly like an emerald star. His lips almost formed into a smile, shaping into the tiniest hint of a barely-there smile, causing something tight but warm to curl in the pit of his stomach. Or it did before the boy remembered who he was, who Draco was, and the nature of their relationship (or lack-of). Potter turned his attention over to the fire, sipping from his mug, dismissing him.

The warmth that coiled in his stomach heated to full-on rage. How dare he? How dare this pompous git come into his room, confuse him with those stupid eyes and almost-there-but-not-quite smile and hot chocolate, and turn away from him like he was beneath him?

"Is there a particular reason why you're in my room, Potter?" There was a vicious bite to his words.

"You invited me in, Malfoy." He could practically feel those green eyes rolling.

Uncultured, miserable smart-ass. Draco bit back on a growl that was close to ripping through his clenched teeth. "You know what I mean, you git."

"Is there some kind of snobby pureblood rule restricting a late-night snack?"

Sometimes it surprised Draco Potter wasn't put in Slytherin. He certainly had the sharp tongue for it.

"For your information, Potter," Draco spat out the name with as much disgust as he could muster. "It's custom for two gentlemen to have a late-night drink. Problem is only one of us is a gentleman."

"Glad to see you were finally able to be honest with yourself, Malfoy." The git had the nerve to smirk at him over the rim of his mug.

This time Draco didn't hold back, snarling a warning growl at the boy. For his sake, Potter better thank his lucky stars that his wand was far from reach otherwise a dozen dark hexes would be aimed at him.

Draco cursed himself for not taking up his father's offer on learning wandless magic.

"Ha, ha, ha. Hilarious. So not only are you a glory-seeking Golden Gryffindor, you're also a bloody comedian."

His words made the impression he hoped they would. He wasn't sure though if the outcome was one that he wanted. The glare Potter shot at him, those cut emeralds narrowed and hard, could rival that of his godfather. It was almost as dark as the glares his father reserved for the people who were fools to cross him. A glare that made his stomach curl in a rather unpleasant way.

Draco was tempted to turn away, to escape from those strange eyes, but forced himself to meet the boy's gaze, responding with a glare of his own.

It was Potter who looked away first, muttering something under his breath so low Draco couldn't hear.

A victory won. A slight smirk lifted the corner of Draco's lips, which deflated as he studied the boy. Though arguing was a normalcy between them, it didn't sit well with Draco. Just as it didn't make sense for Potter to come all the way here, a lone Gryfinndor in the snakes pit, late at night with hot chocolate, to start an argument with him. Well, technically, he was the one who initiated it but still. Also there was the hot chocolate. Why on earth would Potter go through the trouble of making him hot chocolate of all things? If it had drops of potions that would make him nausea or burp slugs, then that would be understandable. But it didn't. No spells, no hexes, no drugs of any sort. Nothing but chocolate. Made for a boy he hated.

Another thing that confused him was the look Potter had given him moments ago when he made that comment about mini marshmallows, and again when he greeted him at the door. That strange, unreadable look in his eyes responsible for the bouts of warmth that churned his stomach. It was similar to the look Potter had when they were in the forest with Fang, watching him closely as he brushed aside his words of him being scared. The same look that appeared when Hagrid escorted them back into the castle. Granger and Weasley were behind them, the girl nearly choking on her laughter thanks to Weasley's ridiculous impersonation of his screaming, which he made more girlish and shriller than it actually was.

He expected Potter to join in, holding his stomach, gasping for air, tears streaming down his cheeks as his friends poked fun at Slytherin's expanse. In some ways, as much as he hated to admit it, Draco wouldn't fault the boy for laughing. He sneered at Potter's words of him being scared only to scream ten seconds later at the sight of a hooded figure who was the inspiration of his nightmare. If the roles were reversed and Potter had been the one who screamed, Draco wouldn't only join in the laughter. He'd make sure by the following morning, the entire castle heard about the incident.

He snuck a peek over at the esteemed Golden Boy, trying not to notice how short the distance between them was or how their steps moved in perfect sync. He expected to see a smirk. He expected to hear a snicker. He expected the boy's head to turn back at his friends, nod towards his direction, and then for all of them to die from laughter.

But Potter surprised him. Just as he had done in the forest, escaping without a scratch. Just as he had done in flying class, turning a moment that could have one of mortification into one of triumph. Just as he had on the train. There wasn't a single speck of smugness in his eyes that watched him closely. Baffling him with their steady, almost-questioning gaze. Asking him something he didn't understand or have the answer to.

Maybe Potter enjoys having his fun in private, Draco thought, attempting to forget the suggestive implication of the words. Maybe he wanted to wait till Draco was alone, soften him with one of his favorite drinks (which was so delicious it should be illegal) and exploit his fear. He definitely had more than enough leverage. He heard him screaming like a baby.

"Why are you here?" Words that were meant to be a quiet thought flew to the surface, coming out from his mouth.

"Because tonight was really frightening. It had an effect on all of us. On Hagrid, me," Potter looked at him, those emerald-greens cutting right through him. "And you. I know you were scared tonight. I could see it in your face. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

There was so many things wrong with that sentence, causing so many emotions to bounce and jumble inside him.

Of all the things that could have been said, of all the reasons Potter could listed for his visit, comfort was the very last thing Draco expected to hear. Potter actually managed to outdo himself with his surprising words. Even with the words said, it didn't make a lick of sense to him.

"You hate me, Potter."

The boy shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. "Everyone could use comfort Draco. Even prats like you. Besides it's no big deal being scared of the dark. Or of monsters. If anything, it finally showed that you are indeed a person with actual feelings."

Stunned, Draco didn't even know where to begin, unable to figure out which one was the most insulting. That before this night Potter thought he was a unattached thing with no feelings. That it took him being scared for Potter's perception of him to change. Or the fact that Boy Wonder believed his fears were measly things that were insignificant as bits of dust.

Draco's face flushed in anger, then shame as memories of detention played in his head. Him running away, screaming, the second he saw the hooded thing-person-whatever the hell it was. Potter staying behind, not shying away from those burning red eyes.

"And I suppose you're an expert in conquering fear? Is that it, Potter? You know your way around darkness and monsters?"

The boy shrugged to Draco's irritation. Draco swore to Merlin himself if he did it once more, he would not be held responsible for what his fists may do. "I wouldn't call myself an expert, Malfoy. I'm just saying I'm used to shadows. And darkness. The cupboard was always dark and cold. Cramped, too. Over the years I gotten used to it. As for monsters?" There was it again, that infuriating shrug. "My relatives could be pretty nasty, and that's putting it mildly. Especially my uncle. When he gets angry-" He stopped himself before he finished that sentence, shaking his head as if he could rid himself of the words.

Up until that point, Draco was ready to snap at him. Then the words were processed and sank in. He paused, stunned, realizing his biting reply was worthless. Unnecessary. And would be cruel to say after what he was just told. Cupboards? Nasty relatives? A vicious uncle?

What Potter had said to him shocked him as much as the comfort one did. Perhaps even more because they collided with the image he previously had of Potter's lifestyle, which he believed was similar to his. Luxurious in the highest standard, the finest of the finest, showered with praise and admiration.

Okay, maybe, the last one was a bit far-fetched since flattery was a fleeting rarity in his house. Specially if it was coming from his father. Still, though, he expected Potter to be used to a lavish life, one far from terrors. Hearing about this cupboard and these relatives, he was beginning to wonder more and more how his life was like before he came to Hogwarts.

"They…put you in cupboard?" Hearing those words shaping into a sentence didn't comprehend, even though they came from his mouth.

"For most of my life, yea," Potter stirred the hot chocolate in his cup before he swallowed down a gulp. He shrugged again, and this time the movement didn't irritate Draco as it had before. Without looking at him, he said "I didn't tell you this to make you feel sorry for me, Malfoy. I don't need pity. It's just the way it is. I'm just saying scary things don't only exist in the forest. It can exist anywhere."

Like in your own home. Potter didn't say it nor did Draco offer them. The boys didn't need to. The words were there, hanging in the air.

A jumble of emotions hit Draco at once; shock being at the front center. He was shocked by the Potter's words, his unflinching honesty. The comfort and hot chocolate. Underneath the shock was, to his amazement, an uneasy but familiar taste of anger sweeping across him, caused by Potter's words and the images those words created. He felt disturbed, uneasy, as if there was a score that needed to be settled between him and those relatives.

"Muggles?" Draco guessed.

Potter nodded.

Of course. Draco shook his head with a snort. Muggles were a nuisance, the whole lot of them, yet fools like Dumbledore and the Weasleys believed the species were precious things meant to be treasured. Idiots.

Almost as if Potter could read his thoughts, a small trace of smile began to crack on his face. It disappeared all too soon before Draco could be sure of what he had seen.

Underneath shock and unease was…well…sympathy, a feeling which stunned him but at the same time didn't surprise him as much it should.

Maybe because you've always had a not-so-hateful, not-hard spot for Potter.

Remembering the countless times he demanded to hear the tale of the Boy Who Lived and his dreams of his hero becoming his friend, Draco couldn't bring himself to discharge the thought.

He took another sip of the hot chocolate, needing something to do since his brain was being bloody useless at the moment.

Useless enough for this to happen:

"Why do you hate me?"

Hearing a question that has been flowing around his mind for weeks, one that was meant to be kept in the deep vaults of his brain, being spoken out loud by his own lips that were acting as if he was spelled, Draco nearly choked as he drank another sip with the liquid going down the wrong end. He nearly spat it out in the process

Potter, for once, looked just as stunned hearing the question as Draco did saying it. However, unlike Draco who needed moments to compose himself in more orderly manner, it didn't take him long to recover. Nor did it take him long to answer.

"Because you made it clear that you don't like me. In fact you made it more than clear. Why else would you get us into trouble with Professor McGonagall?" Potter shook his head, a frown curving his lips. "Bet it gave you sick pleasure."

As a matter of fact it did, until the old bat decided to punish him too. "Who ratted me out, along with my friends, for having some fun with Longbottom?"

"Who made fun of Neville after he fell off his broom?"

"Who purposely ruined my new shoes when we were in the hallway? Who attempted to sabotage me in Transfiguration? Who almost made me look like a fool in flying class?"

"Who has been nothing but a complete jerk to me and my friends since we got here?"

Draco didn't need to think of a reason. He had more than plenty for each of the offenders. For Granger, she was an annoying know-it-all who believed answering every question and studying every word in their textbooks made up for her shameful blood status. As if. For Weasley, the list was almost as long as his wishlist during the holidays. His family were nothing but fools and blood-traitors. Believed that Muggles were amazing when they were the reason the wizarding world was nearly in extinction. He was a disgusting, irritating, nasty brute who wouldn't know manners if Draco threw the book at him. And more importantly-

"They stole you from me!"

Potter's mouth nearly hit the floor. Draco's left hand pressed against his mouth before anymore embarrassing things could be said.

Great stinking Merlin! What was his drink laced with Vertitaserum? Strong drops of powerful liquor? Those were the only explanation he could think of as to why private, unneeded-to-know thoughts were being blurred out. Unless somehow the nightmare terrorized him so much, it left a loose-lips affect on his mouth, a thought that was ridiculous as it was impossible.

The silence between the two boys went on and on, stretching from moments to minutes. It was almost as quiet as it had in the shadows, back in his dream. Except this one was worse. Much worse because he was the one who caused it.

After what seemed like forever, Potter sucked in a sharp breath. Draco almost sagged in relief, then immediately tensed as the following question rolled from the boy's tongue.

"What do you mean stole me from you?"

He wanted to die. He wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. Hell, he'd even serve another detention if it meant escaping this horrible moment.

He cursed Potter to hell and back for his inability to ask safe, uncomplicated questions. He glanced over at Potter, expecting to see something. Disgust, annoyance, satisfaction. All he saw was surprise. Not shock, but surprise. And question.

Draco's hand slowly dropped when moments passed and those green eyes remained clear. Still he didn't answer the question. Not yet.

Remembering how much he dreamt of meeting, then befriending Potter, Draco realized with a sharp twist in his gut that he was no better those stupid fangirls he always mocked. He was just like them. Dear Christ, he could probably be elected for President of their fanclub. Telling Potter would make him seem like a stalker.

On the other hand…Draco looked into those eyes, needing to be sure of what he was seeing. Brilliant color. Clear patience. No agenda, plot, or sick pleasure behind them. Draco found himself being fond of that look more than he cared to admit. What were the chances of Potter looking at him like that again? What if this was the chance to make up for what happened on the train? His only chance at achieving his dream?

"What are you talking about?"

Don't be an idiot. Draco swallowed the remains of his drink as if they could give him courage.

"Draco?"

Why did his name always sound different when Potter said it? How was it that was it took for him to open up?

"I've always hated the dark. Even with my stuffed dragon, all the comforting charms placed at my bed, they still found a way to get inside my head and give me nightmares. My mother had a way of making them go away. She'd tell me the story of a boy my age that defeated this powerful dark lord. This young boy who had great power. You were all it took for the nightmares to go away. Since then, all I could do was think about how much I wanted to meet you. How more than anything I wanted to be your friend. When I got my letter, I was excited because my life-long dream was finally going to come true," His face was burning as hot as the fire, but that didn't stop the words from spilling from his mouth. "I had all these ideas on how I would impress you. Ride with you on the train and tell you everything about Hogwarts. I even had my father arrange for us to get the best suite in the Slytherin house because…"

Finally reaching the point of absolute, painful mortification the words water-fall ceased. Draco quickly clamped his mouth before another word leaked.

Potter looked back at the empty bed, noticing that it didn't only look tidy but untouched. Draco felt those eyes on him again and struggled not to submit to his desires of becoming a puddle.

"I didn't tell you this because I wanted you to feel sorry for me, Potter," He refused to look at him. "You're not the only one who despises pity."

He didn't look, but could feel the boy's head as he nodded slightly. He swallowed a nervous lump, wishing he had more hot chocolate to soothe the foul taste his speech left on his mouth.

"You know," Potter said after a long, excruciating minute. "If the hat had it his way, we would have been roommates. It wanted to put me in Slytherin. Said I'd be great there."

Draco's jaw nearly kissed the floor.

"But I asked it to put me in Gryffindor instead. Ron had told me certain things about Slytherin. Being known for housing past and future dark wizards and witches."

Goddamned wretched rat. Draco didn't think it was possible but he hated that worthless Weasel even more than he did. A lot more.

"My mind, though, was already made up when I saw that you were sorted. After the scene on the train, I wanted to keep my distance from you."

Draco swallowed and bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something that could snap this frail moment. The action was detected by Potter.

"You were a prat, Malfoy. You know it, too. Ron was the first friend I made. The first friend I actually had. And you were mean to him. You reminded me too much of my cousin, Dudley, the same one I told you about earlier. He was a terror to me in the Muggle word," He stumbled over the m-word, still not used to it. "I didn't want to deal with another Dudley in the wizarding world."

Draco didn't know which was worse. Being compared to a muggle of all things, one who had the nerve to question the mixture of marshmallows and chocolate, one of the monsters Potter had to tolerate. Or hearing a confirmation to what he always suspected but never wanted to know. Never wanted to be true.

That he ruined his chances with Potter all on his own.

He tried too hard, aimed too high, and failed miserably. He should have restrained himself back on the train, keeping the comments to a tolerable minimum. He could have kept better control of his mouth back at Madame's when he first spotted Potter. Even though he didn't know who he was, this strange boy being swallowed up in over-sized Muggle clothes, there was something about him that made Draco take more than one glance. That made him engage-or attempt to engage-in conversation with him. Looking back, he should have gone with that feeling. Maybe if he had, things would be different.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." Potter said softly.

His stomach tightened like a fist. His face was too warm. His eyes were starting to sting, causing him to blink till the itching was tamed.

Don't be stupid, Potter. You didn't hurt me. It doesn't matter. Those were the dreams of a naïve child.

All the things he should have said. All the things that could have stopped the foreign feeling pricking him. Could have rescued him from the mess his big mouth gotten him into.

He didn't say a word of them. He didn't say anything at all. He just kept still, staring straight ahead, focusing on his breathing.

Those dreams may have been naïve, Draco, but they were still dreams. Your dreams.

He turned away from the fireplace to Potter. Those clear, big eyes. The most unusual, vivid shade of green. No agenda or hostility. Glowing like an emerald flame.

Draco swallowed again.

What if this was his chance? Possibly his only chance?

Draco took in a breath and gathered up all the courage he had in his body. Slowly he offered his hand to the boy.

"I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Potter stared at the hand, then at him.

The more he stared, the more his face burned. One second turned to two. Two turned to three. Three changed to four. Four morphed to five.

Idiot, he cursed himself. Idiotic, ridiculous, stupid little-

A small hand grasped his, shocking Draco with its soft smoothness and warmth.

"Harry. Harry Potter." he said with a smile.

A smile lifted Draco's lips. They shook on it. Potter stared at their joint hands for a second or two before he took his back. Draco tried not to notice the strange coldness that pierced him, getting too used to the boy's warmth.

To his relief, though, Potter's smile didn't disappear as it had before. It stayed on his face as he turned to the fireplace, watching the flames dance. Draco followed his lead.

"For the record, Potter," Draco said. "I'm…glad that you decided to give me a chance, though I'm warning you. If you ever tell someone like Weasley or Granger that I said that, I'll simply deny it."

"I figured you would," Potter looked over at him, his smile turning a bit smug. "And I thought we were friends. We did just shake on it. Friends are allowed to call each other by their first name, Draco."

Friends. They were actually friends. Draco couldn't control the smile that graced his face, hearing the word. It sounded just as good as hearing his name.

"Fine, Harry," he corrected himself. "Then as your new friend, I'd like to make one thing clear. If anyone hears about the screaming or a single word of this conversation, I'll cut you up into pieces, mix you into dog food, and feed you to Fang."

The sound that came from the boy's mouth was a cross between a snort and a snicker. Both of which caused him to spit out the last of the hot chocolate he had taken in. Luckily for Potter, there was a shield around the fireplace to protect it from being drenched. Sadly for him, the spell didn't extend to his shirt.

Draco didn't bother hiding his snicker, letting it out loud and proud.

"Ha, ha, ha, Draco. Good to know I'll serve as your amusing clown."

"Glad you see things my way, Harry. I believe this will be a truly beautiful friendship."

Harry rolled his eyes, snorting. Draco laughed more.

That night he dreamt he was back in the shadows, only this time he wasn't scared. And he wasn't alone either. Someone was with him, trenching through the blackness with him. He stopped walking, hearing their footing cease a second later, before he looked down at the small hand firmly grasped in his own. He looked up, watching a smile spark in bright emerald green before it curved his mouth.

Draco sighed happily, curling up in his bed till he noticed a few strange things that quickly woke him up.

His bed was closer to the window than it usually was. And it was warm, too warm. Not unbearably, but more so had the warmth came from his blanket alone. The source of the extra warmth was something far larger than his pillow (though not as much as him). Something that Draco was practically clutching onto like it was his stuffed dragon.

Potter.

Draco's heart thumped heavily as a rock.

So it hadn't been a dream. It couldn't be. The fact Potter's body heat was warming his hands confirmed it. That and the strands of black hair brushing against his lips.

Potter had actually came to his room last night. He actually made him hot chocolate. In the beginning, after Draco was able to digest what was going on, they had fallen into their usual routine of insults and sarcasm. Until his mouth opened, revealing private thoughts. He-unwillingly-shared. Potter shared. After sharing the two were able to open up to each other. Not only that, but…they actually became friends.

The idea was still mind-boggling to Draco, but this was the one time he refused to question it. Potter had accepted his hand. He agreed to be friends. If not questioning it made Draco a fool, then he was happy to become one.

He remembered shortly after their handshake they really started to talk. Potter had told him more about his relatives who were even more vile than he thought, about the cupboard and the "accidents" that gotten him into trouble, and how life in the Muggle-world was extremely different from the wizarding one. He revealed that before the gamekeeper giant collected him, he had no idea that he was a wizard. Much less a famous one. Draco in return told him what it was like growing up knowing magic, getting private lessons on his powers by tutors when they became to shown at seven, and all the magical places and stores that needed to be seen not only in London but all over the world.

They talked and talked until their eyes were heavy and their mouths felt sore from so much talking. Harry would have gone back to his room if Draco hadn't called him a silly git and insisted that he stayed. To his surprise, the boy had accepted his invitation. Continuing to surprise him, Harry had crawled into the bed that would have been his and fallen asleep almost instantly. Draco had attempted to sleep in his own bed, but after a few minutes his attempts were fruitless. He stared over at the sleeping boy, thought it over, and without hesitation climbed off his bed and into his, pulling the blankets over their heads. At some point in the night, he turned over and pulled a sleepy Potter against him.

The realization should have made him blush, should have raised questions in his head. Instead, it caused a small smile to curl his lips, watching Harry nuzzle against him, looking too comfortable. He couldn't help noticing how well the boy looked in the Slytherin-green sheets, how their bodies fitted well against each other.

It would be heartless if I disturbed a good sleep, Draco thought. And this is too nice.

Deciding to prolong the moment, Draco fell back into bed. He fixed their bodies until they were right, both on their sides, Harry's face facing his chest, his head resting on the soft mane of black hair.

Goodnight, Harry. Thanks for making the nightmares go away. Draco smiled and went back to sleep. And for the hot chocolate.

This was too fun to write. I simply love Drarry too much. Please review; it'd made me happy ;)