The Opposite of Love

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and other characters (besides Misma and Draco the ferret) belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 4-Reminiscing of the Past

The next few days crawled by, and Potter was proving a point. Exactly what that point was, he couldn't say, but whatever it was sure wasn't swaying on Potter's part. Ever since he had talked with his friends, Potter hadn't left the confines of his tiny room. Well, not Potter's room-Draco's room that Harry had appropriated, which Draco had let him use so wouldn't hear Potter complain all the time. Which, unfortunately, he did anyways. Perhaps not complain, but he never made anything pleasant either. Yes, Potter was a rather annoying house guest. Since he stubbornly refused to eat anything in his presence, Draco had been forced to send a tray of food to his room, care of a house elf. The whole situation was enormously disturbing, and Draco couldn't figure out what Potter's problem was. Even if he was taken against his own will to Malfoy manor, Potter should have been on his hands and knees begging Draco to take him under his wing. Oh, and what a regal wing that was!

Today was turning out to be a rather dull day. Draco had at first wandered around aimlessly, startled that he had nothing important to do all day long. In Draco's former life, everything was about staying busy and never idling around. Draco smiled widely at this thought, hardly containing his excitement at the freedom he now possessed.

Draco was currently taking a tour of his own home out of boredom, admiring his newly acquired possessions that had been left his after his parents' death. Smashing a vase in his father's room proved to be highly therapeutic and Draco was currently on the prowl for something large and expensive Lucius used to own. Upon entering his mother's room, however, all thoughts of vengeance dissipated. Contrary to most married couples, Draco's parents slept in opposite rooms. It was excruciatingly difficult to believe that Draco hadn't noticed his parents' lack of adoration long ago. Perhaps, like most things in Malfoy manor, their love life was kept from Draco. He walked into the frigid room, not daring to touch a single thing that belonged to his mother. His throat tightened as he came upon her closet and Draco reached out with one of his slender hands to open the ornate door and feel the fine silks and extravagant robes and dresses his mother once wore. He sighed a bit, remembering how she loved to put on her old ragamuffin clothes and play with Draco in the garden when his father went on Death Eater business. His gaze fell downward and he smiled as he saw a wooden box buried beneath mountains of shoes and other clothing. Draco opened the lid, a true smile spreading across his lips as he recognized the box. Inside were dozens of pictures of him and his mother, laughing and playing happily in their 'secret garden'. It was Draco's happiest memories, and the moving photos ignited that happiness in his heart once more. Then he came across a picture of him playing with a muggle basketball and a fresh set of memories overtook him.

Lucius didn't allow his son to see any of Narcissa's family, simply because they were muggle lovers and were a kindly bunch. According to Lucius, Narcissa's family was a frail, cowardice family that shrouded the Malfoy's illustrious pedigree with commonality. Narcissa, endangering her own place in society and well-being, always showed Draco the hidden 'magic' of the muggle world. One of his favorites being the art of dancing. Lucius found dancing to be only a social event and consisted of two or three types of waltzes that conformed to any situation. Narcissa taught Draco many forms of dance, one of his favorites being interpretive and the tango. Draco turned to an embarrassing, albeit cheery, photo of himself at the age of 10 learning how to tap dance. He frowned in a way that only a select few knew to be a truly sad Draco. It was the most powerful emotion he showed, since a Malfoy never cries. Though Draco hated his father with an ever growing passion, he still held some of the same beliefs that he and many other more respectable family members had.

Draco soon found that he was tired of looking at his childhood artifacts and opted to spend some more time with his orb. Although he knew that he spent an unseen amount of time staring into it, he was loathe to admit that it was growing into an obsession. With a little more gusto than was usually apparent in his mannerisms, Draco flounced on his bed, wobbling slightly on his charmed bed which acted like a water bed without the water. He grasped the orb with both hands, eagerly conjuring an image he could ridicule. An image sprang to mind and Draco grinned mischievously, his mind boldly going toward that particular image. The orb showed the staff room at Hogwarts and zeroed in on the current teacher inside. It was Professor McGonagall drinking a glass of some herbal tea, looking boring as usual. But Draco knew this was a ruse, and something profound was about to occur. As if his mind controlled the image, his former teacher started humming a catchy tune from a popular wizard band and started shaking her hips to a beat that existed in her own mind. Draco threw back his head of fine blonde hair and laughed raucously. The image-McGonagall was now doing some sort of shake with her arms and was soon kicking her legs and dancing madly as if she had never danced before. Though from the looks of her technique, Draco could only say that she hadn't. His ruddy face pinched in held-in laughter, Draco cleared the image from the orb, not able to watch any longer. He erupted into a fit of giggles, burying his face in his arms.

As he did this, the orb seemingly out of its own thoughts came upon the image of Harry Potter in his bathroom, steam billowing around his head. Draco looked up to wipe his eyes and spotted the image. He immediately stopped laughing, wondering what he was doing beside the bathtub with his clothes on. The answer came immediately when a soapy rat slopped water across bathroom tiles. Instead of scolding his newly acquired pet, Potter simply laughed and rubbed some more pet shampoo in its filthy coat. Draco stopped himself, trying to remember when he had ever owned a pet, let alone had any kind of pet shampoo in the house. He quickly scanned the room and noticed a bottle of what appeared to be Draco's own specially formulated shampoo and conditioner. On closer inspection, he realized that it really was his own highly potent and highly expensive hair tonic which stayed locked in his room. How Potter had gotten to it was beyond him, and now was not the time to figure it out. With a flash Draco left the confines of his room, intent on showing Potter just how angry he could really get.

Upon reaching the room, Draco blindly pulled the heavy door open, nearly foaming at the mouth in rage. He slammed the door behind him, shaking the thin tower walls. He stomped into the bathroom, halting mid-stride when he saw what kind of havoc was playing in this bathroom. Instead of crouching down at the side of the bathtub washing his pet, Potter was now in the bathtub, playing with his ferret. Potter appeared to have discarded his clothes and was efficiently scared at Draco's intrusion, his hands gripping the rat to his chest in an act of protection. An image came to his mind of Potter as Snow White, protecting woodland creatures and singing to them. Just as quickly the image cleared and Draco found words again.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Draco shouted. Harry's eyes widened then shrunk into slits, glaring at Draco from across the room.

"You're asking me that? I'm not the one barging into other people's bathroom trying to peep at their privates!" Harry shrilly screamed back. Draco held one finger up, prepared to counter before the sickening thought of even being considered a peeping Tom, especially Potter's, teased his mind. He closed and opened his eyes, trying to physically clear the annoyance in them. It was not working.

"Where do you get the audacity to accuse me of this?"

"Ever since you decided that my bathroom was a public place!" Draco rolled his eyes.

"Just where the hell did you get that shampoo, pray tell?"

"This? It was in some other bathroom around here..."

"Exactly. Not yours. This shampoo." Draco grasped the bottle in his hand, holding it up for more effect, "Costs more than your life. It is made from a specialty shop halfway across the world, magically bound with the International Wizard's Hygiene seal of approval, and it is only available in Paris, France. And you, my oh so ignorant guest, used it on a filthy rat!"

"He's not filthy!"

"Only because you used my shampoo!"

"Details, details," Harry murmured in a distracted way, looking around himself. Without any sort of pause or bother, Harry began lifting his wet form out of the bathtub. With a sharp swish of his robes, Draco had spun around in a complete 180, his eyes wide as saucers at the boldness of Potter. His eyes then narrowed as he realized that Potter could be doing this just to get some sort of rise out of him. Well, it would not work. The sound of barely contained snorts of laughter came from the bathtub, and Draco couldn't help but peer over his shoulder at what Potter thought was so funny. To his complete embarrassment, Potter was still clad in a pair of jeans; a pair of wet jeans; a pair of drenched jeans which clung tightly to the skin...

"What's the matter Malfoy, feeling a bit bashful are we?" Spinning around to face him, Draco firmly stood his ground.

"I don't want to tarnish my eyesight from something as completely ghastly as you."

"Use all the big, fancy words all you want, Malfoy, but deep down you know that you admire my well-toned chest." Harry said in an overly pompous voice, slightly puffing out his chest in mock vanity. Draco set his eyes upon the ceiling, calmly trying to count to ten and quail his anger. It wasn't working. Not when Potter had taken to smirking condescendingly at Draco through a mess of raven hair. Sense once again claimed Draco's mind, allowing him to articulate his anger. As he spoke, he stepped closer and closer to Potter, intimidating him by his stature.

"Fine. I'll use small, simple words to get my point across: I thought you were stupid and I was wrong; you are a complete retard. I think you look like a lot like your rat when you are wet. But most importantly, what you call a chest is merely a stomach with hardly a trace of nipples. I suggest you start eating a bit more, you look like a starved child. Easy enough for wittle Potter to understand?"

"Malfoy, if you don't get the hell out of this room..."

"Touchy, are we Potter? Didn't feel quite so mad about me in here until I rained on your parade, eh Potter? I'll just have you know that if that rat smells like my shampoo ever again, I'll use his blood to make my next bottle of shampoo."

"You bloody bastard!" Harry, powered by an unspeakable rage, bowled Draco over, fists and legs flying out to kick any part of Draco that they could touch. Draco was stunned at first, taking a few hits from Harry's lashing limbs, but then gathered his wits and pulled his wand out of his pocket. He had a difficult time getting it in the air, since Harry had taken to biting Draco's arm in the wholly indecent wrestling match. Draco soon had his wand over his shoulder, the only thought on his mind was controlling Harry somehow.

"Expelliarmus!" Draco said before he realized that Harry was unarmed. A thin necklace Harry had around his neck broke and flew toward Draco. The necklace wrapped itself around Draco's wand. Draco cursed at the useless effect while shaking his wand, trying to figure out a new hex as Harry began punching him in the stomach.

"Bindus!" Ropes lashed out toward Harry and a few managed to clasp around Harry's legs. One arm remained free, however, and Harry was not about to stop using it. Eventually Harry untangled himself from the ropes and started to hit Draco in the face. With blinding anger, Draco used the last curse he could think of.

"IMPERIO!" Draco's voice filled Harry's mind, coaxing him to stop hitting. Harry was led to stop hitting, but remained firm in his anger not to be swayed. The voice was demanding, however, and Harry found himself wanting to drift away for a while, just to free himself of the anger he was experiencing. Everything seemed happy for a few seconds just before Harry snapped back into reality. With a shouted 'NO!' the spell was broken and a burst of multi-colored sparks shot throughout the bathroom, scaring Harry's pet ferret Draco into hiding behind the sink.

When the sparks cleared, Harry and Draco were sitting with their legs sprawled in front of them, staring at each other. Draco with confusion on how Harry had escaped the temptation of the spell, and Harry with confusion on why a firework display had occurred when he broke the spell. Neither boy said a word to the other, both unable to fathom what had just occurred. The silence was broken when a large Tawny owl flew in through a window and dropped a letter onto Draco's head. The letter bounced into his lap, golden writing written regally across the front. Draco peered down at the letter, sighing deeply as if admitting defeat and opened the letter. As Draco's eyes scanned the letter, Harry found his discarded shirt next to him and casually slipped it on, shocked to find himself trembling. He had never blocked an imperious curse like that and was shocked beyond words that, even someone as horrible as Draco, would try to administer a Forbidden curse. Draco suddenly leaped into the air, exited the bathroom, and began pacing the small room. Harry simply watched him for awhile, hoping that someone had told him he was going to die in the next few days. Few hours. Few minutes... Harry's inquisitive mind couldn't stand the secrecy for long.

"What is that?" Draco stopped his pacing, shooting an eyeful of daggers at Harry's sitting form. He scowled deeply, appearing to ask himself 'why me?'

"This letter is from Misma D'Lune."

"So? Who is that, someone from the Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked hopefully.

"No, of course not. The D'Lune family agreed years ago, when I was born, that I was to wed their daughter when I reached the age of 18. I almost forgot that our year of courting is to start soon."

"How soon?"

"Tonight, it appears."

"Tonight? You mean someone is going to be here at the castle besides you?" Harry asked loudly, standing to his feet, his eyes wide and staring unblinkingly.

"Yes, apparently." Draco answered, arching an eyebrow in Harry's general direction. Draco wondered why Harry was so upset that their solitude would be interrupted, and something built up in Draco's chest, something that was difficult to ignore yet felt as if it needed to be quenched immediately. Harry appeared frantic, darting his eyes between Draco and the letter in a strange display of emotion. But then he smiled and put his hands gently on his hips.

"Yes! Finally, someone to talk to other than you." Immediately the feeling consumed itself and hatred spread throughout Draco's body.

"I wouldn't be too happy just yet, Potter. I'll have you know that the D'Lunes are very anti-Muggle and have more pureblood pride than a dozen Malfoy's combined." Harry's heart immediately fell; another Malfoy in the house, perhaps ten times as worse.

"Just make sure to stay out of the way while I make preparations, and try to pretend that you don't exist." Harry was strongly reminded of the time the Dursley's had a dinner party and Harry was to pretend that he wasn't there. It was coincidentally the first time he met Dobby, a former Malfoy house elf that he had freed from the brutality of the Malfoy's. Harry plopped down on his bed, finding his Quidditch Through the Ages book Ron had sent him and began to read it for the hundredth time.

"Is that the only book you ever read?" Malfoy asked, glancing at the cover.

"How do you know what I read?" Harry asked defensively, lowering the book to glare at Malfoy.

"You brought it to class lord knows how many times."

"Why were you looking at me that much?"

"Know your friends Potter; know your enemies better."

"Another Malfoy code of valor?"

"No, just simple common sense. Which you seem to lack. I am weary of conversing with you, even though I seem to win all these arguments. . . ."

"You win more quidditch matches than you do arguments, Malfoy."

"If it weren't for your fame, Potter..."

"Fame didn't beat you, Malfoy; it was natural skill. Something money can never buy."

"Money can buy many things, an idea your friend Ron isn't very familiar with."

"There's more to friends than money."

"That's right...They must have a lot of money."

"Just because you have money doesn't mean you're a good person."

"So very true, and yet not so true." Draco stared disgustedly at the floor as Draco, Harry's ferret, slunk from the bathroom and crawled onto Harry's bed. Draco then looked up from his watch, challenging Harry with his next words.

"What about brains?" he began, picking up Harry's amulet he had gotten from Hermion, tossing it playfully up and down in his palm. "I believe a person should be smart and have a good sense of the world around him. Ron is a bull-headed boy in poverty. Not friend material."

"If being bull-headed is not friendship material then neither would pride, which you certainly don't lack," Harry stated as he rushed over to Draco and with a seeker's speed caught the amulet mid-toss. Draco frowned for a split second before regaining himself and smiling jovially.

"Ah, touché! See, I guess I was wrong after all. If even you can be even half-way clever, then brains aren't everything. So I guess it all just comes down to how much money you have."

"So you're saying that we're on the same level?"

"I have much more money than you, Potter!" Draco spat, appalled at the idea of being anywhere near the same level as Harry.

"Maybe so, but I still have most of the money my parents left me as well as the winnings I received playing quidditch...Oh no! I was going to try out for the England quidditch team this next year! How am I going to try out stuck in this bloody castle?!"

"Luck?" Draco asked, shrugging his shoulders. Harry scowled sinking onto his bed. He rested his head in his hands. It was then that Harry realized that he didn't know how long he was going to be stuck in Malfoy's house. The idea of spending another day in the dismal castle was enough to send him stark raving mad, let alone weeks and months. The same idea seemed to cross Draco's mind, and one of the nastiest looks he had ever received was silently shot at Harry. Draco couldn't believe that he would be in the exclusive presence of Harry or an extended period of time. Countless times had he thought about sending Harry back to Hogwarts, but not even Dumbledore knew the true severity of the situation with Voldemort. No one but he saw the things Death Eaters did to their victims, and if Voldemort was to capture Harry, he would suffer a fate ten times worse than any normal victim. No matter how much he hated Harry, Draco did not want Harry to die in such a way. No one but Voldemort deserved that sort of death; not even his father. Especially not his mother....Draco's eyes welled up from the single thought, and without a rhyme or reason left the tower in a frenzy. Harry didn't mind the departure, but instead was grateful that he was alone. Draco the Ferret slinked out from underneath a feather pillow and nuzzled itself in Harry's lap. Harry smiled sweetly upon his new pet, scratching behind one of his ears. After Draco slipped off to sleep, Harry wandered over to the tiny window, starring out across the night sky. The sky swooped impressively as far as the eye could see and further. Thousands of stars burned a farther distance than Harry could ever hope to imagine, yet a little closer to home was a problem that was more difficult to fathom than the stars overhead. That problem was the issue of Draco Malfoy, and why he always had to be completely uncivil to Harry. Before the thought even crossed his mind twice, however, Harry quickly diverted his thoughts. Trying to find an answer for Malfoy's behavior was like asking the devil for an ice cube; it was just not done. Harry sighed and went to sleep without a thought crossing his mind again.

*****

Across the castle things were not so calm and serene. Draco had reached the confines of his bedroom and had started throwing various objects around, trying to quail his anger to no avail. He was angry at Potter, that he knew for sure. Yet secretly Draco was angry with himself for growing so emotional in front of Potter. Feeling his anger subsiding into silent rage, Draco positioned himself on his bed, staring out of the window where the ever present stars glowed thoughtfully in the great beyond. Draco soon lost interest, however, and cast the small feeling he had felt inside aside. He laid down in bed, not bothering to change into night clothes and hastily cleared his mind of all thoughts of his arch nemesis. He tossed and turned for a few minutes, finding his mind greedily clinging to superfluous thoughts and feelings that he would rather not deal with. Finally sleep overtook him and led him into another day.

Will Misma be a bad person?

Why can't Draco stop thinking of Harry?

Will McGonagall do a jig in another of my kinky bathroom scenes?