The Opposite of Love

Chapter 3- Coping With His Situation

The bedroom was gradually lit by a blanket of sunlight, sneakily pulling itself across the floor toward Harry's bed. With its fiery hands it pulled itself onto the bed and slinked across it, coming to rest on Harry's face. Still in a dreamlike state, Harry's eyes fluttered open gracefully to meet the clinging light. Harry yawned and distantly wondered if Ron was up for a snowball fight today. He looked next to him and was momentarily shocked to see that there wasn't another bed there. He then sighed, remembering where he was with a sinking heart and a deep groan. What a horrible Christmas he was bound to have! Harry pulled his knees up to his chin, trying to make himself as small as possible. He sat like that for a few minutes, sulking, before he was rudely interrupted. A loud banging of the door came first, then the all too familiar sight of black and silver, which Harry now knew as the ugliest colors known to mankind. Harry barely looked up, favoring Malfoy with a look that would have bothered anyone else. Malfoy merely stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, his nose cocked into the air. Harry snorted.

"If it began to rain you'd drown with your nose that high up," Harry intoned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Malfoy glared, his eyes squinting into two thin lines.

"Breakfast is in ten minutes."

"I'm not going, thank you."

"I figured you wouldn't, so I'll be eating alone and you can just starve until you decide to drop your pompous attitude." Malfoy paused while Harry let out a laugh. Draco raised his face high into the air, closing his eyes in a superior way. "Which you won't, so I'll just be leaving now. No use wasting Christmas morning looking at garbage, now is it?"

"Sod off, Draco."

"Sodding, Mr. Potter," Malfoy chortled, slamming the wooden door behind him. Harry growled in frustration, fruitlessly throwing a pillow at the closed door. He once again slumped into the haphazardly thrown bed sheets in misery. What was he going to do, stuck in this horrid mansion? Harry groaned loudly, all of a sudden feeling uncomfortable in whatever position he lay in. His eyes lazily scanned the room before they fell on a door in the corner leading to a tiled bathroom. He instantaneously felt grimy all over and decided that a shower would be a welcome relief at that moment. He walked into a room lined in marble, and was slightly surprised at the grandeur of even this small tower's bathroom. Harry unceremoniously stripped himself and turned to look at himself in the mirror. The mirror showed only half his body, the lower cut off from the mirror. He ran a hand through his hopeless mass of hair, wondering if he could somehow use a binding spell on it. Harry never found himself attractive, nor tried to make himself attractive to others. He knew that all anyone ever liked him for was for his celebrity status, with the exception of his close, inner circle of friends. He felt like he wasn't attractive at all. Well, the top 10 hottest guys in Hogwarts list did have his name at the top. Then there was that group of first year girls that were often seen following him around, giggling. As well as Mrs. Weasley gushing that he had turned into an "extremely handsome young man". Not discounting the other fifty or so other evidences of his growing attraction. He smirked at the mirror, remembering Hermione informing him that one of the main reasons he was 'so sexy' was because he didn't have a clue in his head. He was humble and shy around girls, yet so brave in battle. A true heartthrob. He shook his head and continued to play a strange staring contest with his reflection as if hoping the other would back down. But as reflections go, it only backed down when Harry turned to begin his bath.

He stooped low, trying to figure out how to enter the shower. There were no handles, and it wouldn't push open. Harry silently begged the door to open, hoping against all hopes that the shower did not require a password. How silly would he be if he had to find Malfoy to coax the password from him! Harry stared perplexedly at the shower door for a few minutes, but then grew restless and turned frantic, pounding on the door. As if the door was succumbing to him, the door vanished long enough for Harry to step into the shower. He was confused for a mere second before he realized that he had once been notorious in his youth for making things happen when he was angry or scared. Harry felt slightly edgy, also remembering that every time he did accidental magic was when he was with the Dursley's. Thinking of this only confirmed his belief that being in Malfoy manor was similar to being stuck in his cupboard once again.

Harry reached for the quartz taps, turning on the water and suiting it's temperature to his preference. Hot water beat relentlessly on his frigid skin and he felt his shoulders considerably relax. Drawing himself into the steam the heat mixed with water created, he sighed contentedly, bowing his head, rolling his shoulders in pleasure, and bracing his hands on the heated marble in front of him. Droplets of water collected into larger drops that trickled over his now flushed skin. He moaned softly before snapping out of the sensations he was falling into. He felt utterly ridiculous now, shamefully realizing that he had gotten overly excited, no, more like absorbed in his shower. He shook his head roughly, reaching for a bar of soap on a shower ledge. He turned the hot water down a bit, keeping the water itself chaste. He started off by rubbing the soap uninterestedly across his skin. Then when had started to spread it across his chest, he lingered a bit on his lower abdomen, scrubbing a trail of milky suds in all the right spots. As if teasing himself (A/N: Ok, does anyone else feel naughty reading this as I feel writing this? Talk about dirty and enticing! Anyways....) He diverted the soap trail to the scruff of his neck, running it sensually around to the base of his neck, lifting his chin as he nudged the soap to tickle the soft skin. Going back to it's original intention, Harry once again set the soap's course down south, grazing his nipples...Harry jolted as if shocked, feeling violated and raped by his own hand. Determined not to let anything lustful happen again, Harry took the violating soap in his palm fully, making mechanical movements across the rest of his body in grim earnest. Although he had thoroughly cleaned his body, Harry hesitated on shampooing his hair. He remembered all too well the muggle commercials that advertised shampooing one's hair to be sexually arousing.

Harry happened to glance at the bar of soap that had caused him so much grief. He discovered the Malfoy crest magically bound to the soap. Harry scowled at it intently, but felt a small, somehow redundant pang of guilt upon doing so. Lucius Malfoy was now dead along with his wife Narcissa. Before all Harry could concentrate on was his own discomfort and his loathing of everything involving the essence of a Malfoy. Now he took his time wondering how Malfoy's parents had died. Lucius Malfoy was a confirmed member of the Death Eaters, Voldemort's clan of loyal henchmen. He obviously died because of his involvement in Voldemort's inner circle. The thing that Harry couldn't figure out was Malfoy's reaction to their deaths. In the past whenever Malfoy threatened or showed his superiority to anyone, he always mentioned what had become a famous catch phrase, 'My father'. Yet when he told Harry that his parents had died, not an ounce of emotion seeped into his voice at the mention of his father. Yet when he spoke of his mother, something had triggered grief in his voice and demeanor. Certainly he had to be upset over his parents dying, this Harry knew. But was his mother held in higher esteem than his father? Harry didn't know the answers to his blatantly rhetorical questions, but he knew that in time he would fit the puzzle pieces together. After all, he thought derisively, I have nothing better to do.

Tired from the once invigorating (albeit bothersome) shower, Harry turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. He walked from the bathroom, muttering 'candes nox' before he realized he didn't have his wand. The lights turned out anyway, and Harry figured they just turned off whenever anyone left. He shivered slightly as cold air met his wet skin, shocked to see a change of clothes placed tidily in the center of his now neatly made bed. Harry walked around, amazed to find that the Christmas wrapping paper was out of the floor and all his presents were piled on a corner table next to the window seat. He also smelled a slight scent of pine in the air, and he breathed in the freshness. Feeling slightly foolish, Harry remembered that wealthy wizards owned house elves. It was true he was worried about finding clothing, but he should have known that it would be provided for. He would have to adjust quickly to this lifestyle if he was going to have the upper hand with Malfoy. He just hoped that the dress robes before him did not belong to Malfoy. Fingering the intricately woven cloth he knew they were about the same size, but he rationalized that his fear of wearing his Malfoy's clothing was entirely unfounded. He was sure Malfoy had enough clothes to wear at least two different changes once a day for a year. He slipped the clothes on, feeling slightly naked without his usual muggle clothing beneath the robes. The robes were a dark blue and had several layers for winter weather, perfect for venturing outside in.

Feeling emboldened, Harry reasoned that he could at least roam outside the castle. He searched quickly for a cloak, finding a matching blue one in a closet now filled with various sets of robes for his disposal. He gave himself a small glimpse in a mirror to make sure everything was in place before setting off from his new room.

It wasn't until the door clicked shut that Harry realized that he had no clue where he was going. He knew he was going outside, but how was he going to find the exit, let alone the staircase that gets there? Harry sucked in a breath, reminding himself that walking down a hallway was considerably easier than anything he had ever done. So why was he sweating so profusely? Determined not to let the empty corridors get him down, Harry resorted to gazing at the moving portraits. Completely predictable were the portraits themselves. The entire Malfoy line was shown, some portraits which must have dated back centuries. When Malfoy said pure blood, he had definitely meant it. Each ancestor had the distinctive pointy face, pale skin, and some even had the exact same smirk. Harry rolled his eyes. He didn't give a damn how rich and pure blood this family was. In all forms of speaking, it was just pure evil. Well, perhaps not pure. In fact, evil wasn't entirely true of the family. All moved in an aristocratic way, holding themselves with dignity. Yet Harry knew that behind the faces frozen in action in the painting there was cowardice and arrogance.

Feeling a bit more lost than before, Harry had come upon a choice of staircases. One set led straight up to what appeared to be another tower, and the other headed steeply downwards. Harry shrugged, figuring that going down was easier than going up. The hallway surprisingly didn't get darker, but seemed to light itself every few feet or so. More portraits were shown, more up to date ones. As he arrived in a circular room encrusted with crystal, a mural was displayed proudly in the farthest wall not shrouded by crystal. It was the most recent family painting, done what seemed to be just a few years back. Lucius Malfoy was younger and barely moved except to blink and arrogantly smirk at Harry. Narcissa Malfoy stood next to him in her best robes, looking quite startling in the picture. She didn't smile, but Harry felt that Narcissa desperately just wanted to throw away her pride and start waving madly at Harry. Nestled between his two parents was an extremely young Draco Malfoy, only of about five years old. His face mimicked his father's, and Harry once again felt a slightly strange sympathy for Draco. How could a five year old be so obedient and hateful? He wondered briefly if it had something to do with Lucius' hand clasping Draco's shoulder so firmly. Harry pulled himself away from the ghostly picture and set himself back on his task.

He rounded corners, ducked under hangings, and skirted past dozens of end tables to find nothing. Perhaps Malfoy mansion had a charm on it where anyone who was not a Malfoy instantly got lost for years. Harry finally found some sort of room, but his face fell as he realized that it was a kitchen. His heart fell soon after that when he heard Malfoy's voice booming in the room, ordering around house elves. Harry tiptoed forward, sneaking a peek into the kitchen to see what was going on.

"Stupid bloody bastard, he's so damn arrogant...The Boy-Who-Lived can't eat breakfast with everyone else because no one's there to wipe his ass afterwards!" Malfoy ranted, occasionally knocking pots and pans onto the floor. A pair of house elves followed their master, blindly cleaning up whatever he knocked to their level. Each house elf wore a potato sack and looked so woebegone that Harry was beginning to see what Hermione fussed about with her S.P.E.W. campaigns. One particular house elf, its ears flapping like wings beating, accidentally tripped over a skillet. Malfoy didn't take any notice as the house elf, to Harry's horror, began beating itself over the head with said skillet. Angered beyond belief and remembering Dobby, a former Malfoy manor house elf, Harry made angry moves to walk straight into the room when Draco heard the crashing sounds himself and whirled around in what was definitely anger. Draco ripped the skillet out of the house elf's trembling hands, holding it over his head as if to strike. But he did not strike, but placed the pot in a sink and picked the house elf up and deposited him on a counter.

"Tell me, elf, what would Lucius Malfoy do if he were still here, hm?" Draco questioned, his face taking on an extremely calm yet intimidating _expression. The house elf trembled pathetically, terrified of its own answer and not trusting itself to speak.

"M...m....Mr. Malfoy would...t...t...tell us to...keep...hitting ourselves, sir..."

"Who is the master of this house, elf?"

"You are, young Malfoy."

"That's right, elf. So from now on, my word is law. If I see one elf in here harm themselves in any way, I will fire them and make sure that no one bothers to employ your shameful, scummy selves again," Malfoy concluded, setting the elf back on the floor. Malfoy gave one final swell of superiority before departing from the kitchen. With the coast clear, Harry dashed past bewildered house elves to find that there was a back door in an adjoining room. Harry flung open the back door, inhaling the sweet smell of fresh snow and cool winter air, momentarily forgetting his earlier encounter. He began walking out towards the wide expanse of the Malfoy estate, the incident making itself more evident in his mind.

The scene in the kitchen had shocked him beyond all belief. He had deliberately ordered a house elf not to hit itself, the exact opposite of what Lucius Malfoy would have done. Once again Harry had that weird feeling that Malfoy had changed overnight. The thing that didn't make sense was when exactly did Malfoy change his attitude? The moment Lucius had died? Before he died? Then again, who was to say that Malfoy had changed at all? He still acted rotten toward Harry, so that hatred was still intact. Perhaps Malfoy just hated elves hitting themselves. At least Malfoy has at least one shred of decency, Harry thought, but was not comforted by that thought. He smiled merrily as he imagined Hermione's reaction on Malfoy's boycott of house elf abuse. It certainly put a new twist on things. Abandoning his train of thought he gazed across what he guessed to be the "backyard" of Malfoy manor, except it must have been at least one acre larger than the Dursley's backyard. A brick wall closed off Malfoy manor to the world, except common sense told Harry that there was more than a single brick wall protecting Malfoy manor. What made this desolate castle safer than Hogwarts? The mere fact that he was sent without his knowledge was insulting enough, and Harry wanted nothing more than to know why he couldn't just stay at Hogwarts and face Voldemort already. What good is it to come here, get his wand taken away, and waste time forgetting all the spells he had learned? What did Dumbledore want him to learn here? It must be some sort of survival thing, because there was no way it could be anything more. Harry sighed, trying to clear his mind that had been whirring nonstop ever since he had entered the hall, and that was still buzzing with unanswered questions.

Harry circled a small pond further out, looking at the animals flourishing inside. A sort of purple frog jumped onto a spinning lily pad, lashing out his tongue to eat passing bugs. If a bug wasn't near, it would open its mouth wide and turn on some sort of 'fly vacuum' as flies zoomed in like metal to a magnet. He smiled as some of the fish flipped into the air, showing off their brightly flashing colors. It seemed as if even the fish around here were magical. Animals Harry had never seen scampered back and forth, including a half-Squirrel, half-Dragon creature that tried to burn the hem of Harry's robes when he looked away for too long. A stork-like bird swooped down to get itself a fish, immersing itself into the animated pond. He felt like he was being watched at all angles and he had a sneaking suspicion that the trees themselves were able to uproot themselves and change their location. He walked until he reached the other side of the wall, pausing just to look at it. What if he was to escape? Could he? Harry looked around him for something to get him over the wall, and eventually found a rock pushed up against the wall. Harry climbed the rock , hooking his feet expertly into crevices and lifting himself to the top. At one point he scraped his knee, cursing in an undignified manner as he managed to pull himself to the very last crevice, up and over the side of the rock with a great multitude of effort. He stood on the rock as best he could with his now bleeding knee, staring out over the wall. He gasped when he looked, shocked beyond all words at what he saw.

The sun was no longer it's golden yellow color, nor was it just by itself. Two purple suns stood beside each other instead. Yellow clouds stretched across a teal sky, reflecting the sun's purplish hue. There was no ground seen, only a dark void to which nothing escaped. A lone dragon lazily propelled itself across the sky, and flying faeries and pixies swooped down to laugh and dance to get Harry's attention. On a distant cloud another home was there, except it was made from clouds and other colorful wisps of materials. Harry gazed in wonder at this fairy-tale world, wondering if what he was seeing was real or only a hallucination. He wondered what would happen if he jumped over the wall. On one hand, he could fall into oblivion. On the other, he could land flat on his feet with the countryside of England before him. He didn't have long to figure it out, however, as he felt something tug his robe and he tumbled back onto the soft grounds of Malfoy manor. Harry adjusted his misplaced glasses, feeling his spirits dampen as he stared up at a profoundly cross Malfoy.

"The hell were you doing? Going to fly away, are we?" He yelled, staring down inelegantly at Harry. Harry ignored Malfoy's question, his mind still reeling through the fantasy world outside the castle.

"Was that real?" Harry asked, sounding amazingly curious rather than bothered by Draco's shouts. Draco was taken off guard for a second before screwing his face in a look of pure loathing and stared down at Harry's curious face.

"Of course it's not real. It's a special blocking charm used at this mansion since it was built. One step over that wall and you'd plummet down the face of a mountain. I don't fancy trying to tell Dumbledore why his golden boy chucked himself down a mountain, so don't try going over it." Malfoy was frothing in anger, turning around swiftly and slipping slightly on the slick ground. He managed to right himself and walked with renewed superiority. Harry chuckled, pleased that Malfoy had embarrassed himself even a tiny bit.

Harry immediately decided not to go back into the castle, not wanting to see Malfoy's face anymore. Instead, he fell backwards from his sitting position and started making a snow angel. He felt a little silly, since it had been a few years since he had allowed himself to play in the snow without a snowball fight ensuing. His long legs kicked together and he even laughed a bit, not fully understanding why he did. He stopped after a bit, a smile still playing on his face. The memory of the fantasy world outside of the castle walls had somehow brightened his spirits immensely. Harry smiled broadly as snowflakes sprinkled softly onto him and stared at the gray sky above him. He stopped smiling, however, as he heard an audible rustle next to his head.

Harry sat up quietly, twisting his body around while supporting his upper body with one hand on the ground. He peered curiously at a small, dark green bush ahead of him, growing against the brick wall. The bush gave another startling shake, causing Harry to jump slightly in fear. Then Harry realized how completely ridiculous he was, jumping in fear of a bush. The-Boy-Who-Lived, eh?, Harry thought disgustedly. They won't be writing this 'battle' in any books. Harry stood up completely, tiptoeing towards the shuddering bush. Harry stretched his arms out, closing in on the bush. Within the space of a nanosecond, Harry split the leaves of the bush apart and something that resembled a ball of snow flew into his face. Harry let out a very unmanly scream, flailing around helplessly as the thing clung to him and then dropped. Harry pawed at his face, still shocked that there was once something squirming on it. Common sense caught up to him and he looked down. A bundle of white was curled up in the snow, shuddering violently. It seemed as if the creature was just as scared by Harry as Harry was by it. Harry reached down and touched the creature. The thing uncurled itself and Harry gasped in surprised delight when a snow white ferret stared timidly up at him. Harry reached out and picked it up, holding the ferret close to his chest. After a few seconds the ferret stopped shivering, falling into the heat of Harry's body.

"You poor thing," Harry cooed, petting the ferret lovingly. The ferret turned its head to look at Harry and inched it's face near to him. Harry was slightly scared since he knew that ferrets did bite. His feelings went away, however, as the ferret started to tickle his nose with its licking tongue. Harry giggled, snuggling with the ferret.

"Hm, looks like we're both stuck in this castle," Harry whispered, walking with his newfound pet. Upon arriving at the castle, Harry realized that Malfoy might not want a ferret in his house. The fake Mad-Eyed Moody had once turned Malfoy into a ferret, much to the delight of Harry and his friends. For the next three years at Hogwarts they teased him mercilessly about the incident, loving the sport of taunting their arch-nemesis so much that they did it whenever plausible. Thinking of this, Harry hesitated, but then decided that if Malfoy hurt his ferret, he'd hurt Malfoy equally.

"Know, what? I think I'll name you Draco."

*******

"What the hell is that thing?" Malfoy asked slowly, anger lacing his voice. They were standing face-to-face in the middle of a dimly lit anteroom. Draco had his arms crossed across his chest, trying not to strangle Harry. Harry smiled at him coyly, holding onto Draco with pride.

"His name is Draco the ferret," He announced, grinning at the look of horror on Malfoy's face.

"I refuse to have that disgusting animal in this house."

"Disgusting? The only disgusting animal here is you," Harry said, rubbing his nose to the Draco the ferret's pinkish nose and cooing softly.

"Don't make me have to hex that rodent. Now put it outside or I will."

"Hex Draco and I have every right to kill you in your sleep."

"I can protect myself by magic. You don't have any magic, now do you?"

"I may not have magic, but you can't hide in your room forever. Besides, the house elves wouldn't notice if I slipped some poison into your dinner. I can make poison, now, can't I?" Malfoy rolled his eyes, but didn't seem to find any comeback.

"Fine, keep the damn thing. But if that thing gets near me, it's dead."

"Deal. Now, if you'll excuse me." Harry tried to push past Malfoy, but Malfoy blocked him from going up the staircase.

"You have to report to Dumbledore that I'm not killing you. Mind you, I am very close and the temptation is killing me. However, I am not one to shirk my responsibility, at least when it concerns my own well-being."

"Own well-being? How do I concern your own well-being?"

"Not you yourself, idiot. I have reasons for keeping you here, not just to protect you. In fact, I'd be the first one to throw you to Voldemort. Not only the first, but the one who would enjoy it the most."

"After Voldemort, yes."

"I'm tired of conversing with you, so let's just get this over with." Draco walked back into the room he came from, now followed reluctantly by Harry. The room was a sort of private study with burgundy walls and a bookcase in the corner. Malfoy sat down in a large armchair, plucking his enchanted orb off a coffee table and gazing into its depths. Harry sat in an opposite chair, his mind slightly intrigued with what he was about to see. Once again, the orb showed Dumbledore's office, except this time there were two figures sitting across from his desk. Harry recognized them immediately.

"Ron! Hermione!" Harry yelled, forgetting all decency and rushing over to Malfoy to look over his shoulder. Malfoy gracefully moved his head in annoyance, standing up in his seat.

"You probably have bugs or something. Here." He gave Harry the orb, and Harry eagerly took it, ignoring the insult and looking rapturously at his friends. Harry smiled fully for the first time that day, gazing longingly at his two best friends who held gingerbread men in their waving hands. Draco snorted disdainfully at the scene, mumbling something about 'uncultured brutes'. Harry directly ignored him, still smiling like an idiot at the image of his friends. They appeared very well rested and well kept, wearing Weasley sweaters and pushing aside other gifts as not to upset Harry.

"Harry! Happy Christmas!" Ron guffawed, overjoyed at the fact that he was talking to Harry.

"How's....everything?" Hermione asked, abruptly silencing Ron's gleeful noises. Ron listened too, leaning close as if Harry would start whispering. Feeling no need to disguise his emotions, however, Harry simply let out a long string of thoughts and feelings.

"Well, Malfoy is worse at home than he is at school, seeing that he thinks he's doing some sort of charity by locking me up with him. I barely had anything to eat, since he's so full of himself that he thinks I'm going to look at him during my meals. To tell the truth, if I had anything to say about it, which I don't, I'd be there with you all, happily eating and drinking. Except now I'm here, with that." Harry pointed accusingly at Malfoy, and Malfoy smirked, pointing to himself and mouthing 'me?' Harry scowled, resisting the urge to jump him in front of his friends. Ron and Hermione saw this, looking appropriately angry for Harry's benefit.

"Well, Harry, we've tried discussing it with Dumbledore but he said it's in your best interest," Hermione said politely.

"We also tried blackmailing him, but it seems that he has a lot more on us than we do of him," Ron mentioned. Harry smiled at theirefforts , sitting back in his chair and sighing.

"I know Dumbledore has my best interests at heart, but why here? Doesn't he understand that I'm on the very forefront of this damned war every day?"

"A bit dramatic, aren't we?" Malfoy slurred, looming above Harry like some sort of ghastly beast. Ron scowled, glaring at Draco.

"Look here, you. If you do anything to hurt Harry I will beat your skinny arse into the ground."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. You see, with so much money around me, I can't hear anything poor." Ron's hair prickled in anger and he looked embarrassingly ready to attack at nothing. Harry glared at Malfoy, shooting daggers at him. Malfoy smirked, stepping back and daring Harry with his eyes to strike. Harry sighed, suddenly fatigued and ready to ponder things in his own room. Harry pointedly ignored Malfoy, looking back at the comforting image of his friends.

"Harry, I don't know anything for sure, but please stay strong. We'll miss you, and we've locked up your things and your broomstick..." Harry's throat tightened. The painful reminder of missing out on quidditch was engulfing him, and Harry didn't feel much like talking anymore.

"I have to go." Harry set the orb on the table. The scene cleared immediately, leaving the room in silence. The swishing of a cloak was audible as Malfoy left the room. Harry buried his face in his hands, mulling over this information in his mind. He didn't even know if he could last until tomorrow let alone a week or more. Something had to be done, and Harry was determined to do it.