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“Why does Professor Snape hate you so much?” Draco asks.
It’s out of nowhere, Draco and Harry stuck doing detention in the potions room together, hand scrubbing cauldrons. Snape had just left the room, telling them not to go anywhere and keep working.
Harry shrugs, “I’m a Gryffindor. Isn’t that reason enough for Snape?”
“No,” Draco says bluntly, “He hates your friends, but it’s different with you. It’s like he’s looking at the worst thing in the world.”
Harry huffs, leaning against the desk he’s working at. “When my parents were at Hogwarts, with Snape, they pulled a… a prank. My dad and his friends. Something happened, I don’t know the details. Snape almost died.”
It’s not the complete truth, but Harry’s not about to tell Draco all the details of Remus being a werewolf and everything.
“Merlin,” Draco scoffs, “I’d probably hate you too.”
“You
do
hate me, Malfoy.”
“Touche,” Draco smirks. “No, but seriously. I get why he’s pissed off, but it’s not like it was
you
who pulled that prank. That’s not really fair.”
Harry looks over at him, looking honestly surprised, “That sounded almost like you were defending me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I just don’t think you’re special enough for him to hate you more than the rest of your lion pride,” Draco rolls his eyes. “You don’t deserve any sort of special treatment, good or bad.”
“Well, thanks, Malfoy, that’s really nice of you,” Harry rolls his eyes in return.
There’s less tension between them after that. Arguing becomes lighthearted bickering, almost playful, and Harry even manages to get a laugh or two out of him.
It doesn’t change their dynamic permanently, but for that hour and a half they become something like unlikely friends. When it goes away, Harry still imagines Draco’s genuine smile whenever he sees him.