An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Harry said, “I’m tired of us squabbling like cats—and I get the impression you are too. So can we agree to get along, or at least agree to disagree? Or would you at least tell me what it is you hate about me so much?”
Draco readjusted his stance. He stepped forward and set both feet firmly on the ground in front of Harry. “You want to know why I hate you?” he breathed viperously. “I hate you, Potter, because you can do no wrong according to Professor Dumbledore. I hate how that stupid scar of yours commands the crowds wherever you go—and I hate how you’re always the center of attention—and that you ever had the nerve to say no to me. I hate how bright and green your beautiful eyes are, and I hate the blank look on your face whenever you look at me like that…”
Stunned by the confusion of words he had just heard, Harry worked his mouth on a soundless question. When he recovered his voice, he managed to say, “Malfoy… what do my beautiful eyes have to do with anything?”
