The Opposite of Love

Chapter 6- Pet Peeves

Draco Malfoy held no sympathy in his heart for Harry Potter. For all he cared, Potter could rot in the confines of his library; the house elves would clean it up. For the past couple of hours since he had unceremoniously stuffed Harry into the library, Draco had been pacing the confines of his bedroom, mulling over his situation. He refused to think about why he had even wanted to try and stop Potter from leaving. Each time his mind led him to the question, it just as quickly turned it away. Yet the harder he tried to forget about it, the more he remembered it. Draco had finally settled on the edge of his bed, allowing himself to think about why he wanted Harry to stay longer. He tried and tried to come up with an answer, and even looked at his reflection in a mirror, trying to see if there was any kind of an answer in his eyes. Before even a flicker of something could reach his eyes, all thoughts of the subject were dropped as Draco considered his hair. The piece Harry had dislodged earlier still hung, almost detached from the rest of his perfectly coiffed hair. Frowning deeply, Draco cursed Potter under his breath and attempted to gel it back in place. After many attempts to keep it in place, the lock of hair refused to fall in line with the rest. Draco cursed again, believing that Potter not only had cursed hair himself, but that his very touch caused other people's hair to be just as sloppy as his. Draco eventually gave up and washed his hair. After taking his shower, he walked back in front of the mirror and looked at himself without the gel and hair styling products. Wet locks of silvery blonde hair fell in front of his face, bothering him slightly with the newfound feeling. His face no longer seemed skinny and pointed, but gave the illusion of fullness. Draco almost smiled at the change in his appearance. This would prove to Potter that his hair looked good with or without styling products. His mind returned to Potter, and Draco decided that a check-up was in order.

After getting dressed and magically drying his hair, Draco walked robustly down the hallways and stairwells. Before he approached the door to the library, Draco stopped and listened for a sound. Not a single sigh or whisper issued from the room. Not even a squeak from his pet ferret. Frustrated by the peaceful silence around the library, Draco threw open the doors.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw and heard.

The room was filled with a strange musical beat, something that must have been Muggle music. Several items danced around him as he stood there. A chair and a lamp stand were doing a jerky tango with one another. Several books swarmed around him, swaying with the music and fluttering their pages around Draco's still figure. Sitting at one of the tables with his legs propped up was Harry, resting a book on his lap and looking as if he had expected Draco to walk in at that moment. The main problem, in Draco's opinion, was that Potter was not Potter at all. In fact, Draco barely recognized the person sitting in his library amidst all the ruckus. Harry was dressed in Muggle clothes, a green ribbed sweater and a nice-looking pair of jeans. There were no glasses perched on his nose, but it seemed as if Harry could see all and more. His hair was still disheveled, which was about the only thing apart from the lightening bolt scar that identified him as Harry Potter. Draco's mouth hung open, barely registering the scene before him. A globe doing a sort of cha-cha bumped into Draco, bringing him back to the present. Draco pulled out his wand, pointing it straight at Harry threateningly. Anger seized him, and as if he couldn't even scream out of anger, he whispered his outrage.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Then with a more powerful voice, he boomed, "How did you get your wand?" Harry simply smiled arrogantly, moving to stand now.

"I just found out something about myself that I never knew. Oh, remember that spell you cast on me the day I arrived?" Harry asked sweetly, lifting his hand right as he said it. Draco suddenly felt weightless and found himself remarkably floating in midair, suspended by magic. His anger dissipated as he floated, confusion replacing anger. Harry soon let him down, a look of superiority lightening his face. Before Draco could speak, Harry waved away all the spells in the room, further confounding Draco's mind.

"You can cast spells without your wand," Draco breathed, his eyes wide in shock. Harry suddenly felt uncomfortable, not used to dealing with a side of Draco other than his hateful side.

"Yeah, so. I bet lots of wizards can do it."

"Not even Dumbledore can cast spells like that without a wand. It's simply unheard of. You didn't even need to invoke the spells, all you had to do was wave your hand." Harry suddenly caught on, now understanding Malfoy's reasoning. Harry had only been a wizard for the past seven years, but Malfoy had grown up a wizard. He naturally knew more than he did about the magical world, and when he told Harry all of this, Harry knew it must be true. Draco stared at Harry, for the first time wondering how truly powerful Harry was. What exactly could Harry do, and what was going on inside that head? Suddenly an idea occurred to Draco, and a trip was needed.

"Potter, I want you to come to the attic. I have something I need to show you." And with that Draco turned on his heel and left, leaving a confused Harry behind. He quickly caught up to Malfoy, noticing for the first time his change of hairstyle.

"Nice hair, Malfoy."

"Glad you noticed. Next time I'll give it a good curl, what do you think?"

"Do you have to do everything I do? I get a new look, you need new hair. I become a seeker, you have to be one. I get a new broomstick, you need a new broomstick. It's like keeping up with the Potters or something."

"Trust me, everything you have I can easily acquire and more."

"At least I didn't have to use money to get where I got."

"Perhaps Voldemort would leave you alone if you paid him off. Save me a lot of trouble keeping you here."

Harry scowled in recollection. "Damn bludgers. If it wasn't for them bloody things, I'd be at Hogwarts right now playing wizard chess or at the library. At least the Hogwarts library would not reek of hair ointment."

"Very funny. Watch your head." Draco ducked right before he said that, letting Harry hit his head on a low hanging beam. Harry cursed Draco soundly. "Oh, what crude language. We're here," Draco stated hastily, opening a wooden door. Harry rubbed the bump on his head, staring at the attic before him. It was unlike most attics; not a speck of dust could be seen. Harry guessed that a Malfoy house elf's duty did not end with the main castle. Inside the spotless attack were things he would never have expected to be at Malfoy manor- Muggle items.

"Where did you get all of this stuff?" Harry asked, scanning the entire room in awe.

"My mother had an affinity for muggle artifacts," Draco explained quickly, walking forward in search of something. Harry walked over to a box, threw the lid open and looked inside.

"I'd hardly call a television an artifact."

"I've read about televisions. I've never watched one, of course."

"You've never watched a telly?"

"My father said it was evil and bad for you."

"But I suppose being a Death Eater and supporting Voldemort is just perfectly honorable."

"Sarcasm, I love it. Besides, you don't happen to see an electrical outlet sticking out of the wall, now do you?" Harry shrugged, moving on to another box. This one was filled with magazines. Most of them were National Geographic magazines. Harry waved one in the air, a silent question.

"My mother would show those to me and tell me about all the wonderful places in this world. She'd make up stories about each one, and we'd have our own little adventure with them." Harry didn't say anything to what Malfoy was saying, but he found it awfully strange that Malfoy was being pleasant to him. Yet Harry quickly found that Draco was only pleasant when he talked; any other time it was just like normal. Harry dug past the National Geographic magazines and found a magazine with the title 'Wishful Witch' and opened it. His eyes enlarged significantly as he discovered that it was a dirty magazine. Harry had heard of these, but had never actually seen one before. Lost in his own world, Harry turned it sideways in wonder.

"Is it possible to get in that position?" Harry asked himself, not expecting an answer to his rhetorical question.

"Of course it is, Potter." Draco spat, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to understand.

"How do you know?" Harry asked, lowering the magazine. Draco raised an eyebrow, an answer already formed in his brain and the internal struggle of saying it or not saying it battled within his mind. The answer won.

"What, want to try it out if you don't believe me?"

"No thank you, Malfoy. In fact, please step back a few steps. After that appalling comment, you're not allowed to talk or look in my direction again."

"I did NOT mean it like that!" Draco sputtered, turning a slight shade of pink. Harry smirked, putting the magazine away.

"Anyways, we're not here to goggle at dirty magazines. We're here for a purpose." Draco continued, hiding his burning face behind a box. Harry halfway listened as he moved to another box. After looking into several boring boxes, Harry found a boxful of toys. A few balls were in there, just about the size of tennis balls but with bright, cheery colors. Harry smiled, picking three of them up. He started juggling them with ease, but stopped swiftly when he realized what he was doing. Draco, however, had seen him juggle and was filled with curiosity.

"Where did you learn to do that? Do they teach that in hero training?" Harry gave him an unpleasant look, shaking his head as if to rid him of memories. "I'm asking you, Potter. Where did you learn how to do that?" Harry was barely listening, and began to juggle four balls. Draco watched for a little while, deciding on being patient for once. Finally, Harry let the balls drop and began to tell a story.

"When I was little, I didn't have any friends at all. My cousin Dudley made sure of that. Even if they had wanted to be my friend, they couldn't out of fear of the great lump. Upon entering the fourth grade, there was a girl in my class named Emma. She was new to the school and didn't know Dudley or his gang. On the first day of school, Dudley had stolen my lunch. Emma split hers with me. I was very shy back then, and I was afraid that if I became friends with her, Dudley would ruin it. Anyway, time went on and I began liking this girl a lot. Every Friday we'd have show and tell. All the class would have something neat and I always had nothing to show. One day I watched a television show with a clown on it. The clown did this really good juggling act. After seeing how everyone had enjoyed it, I wanted to learn.

"When I want to learn something, I learn it. No one taught me how to juggle; I taught myself. I'd spend hours in that cramped cupboard, juggling not balls, but items that were in there. I was soon ready to demonstrate my abilities. That Friday I proudly made my way to the front of the class. I didn't bring anything with me. I asked for someone to give me three items, any three items. I began juggling. I never stopped. I began to juggle five things at once, the class was on the edge of their seats. Emma's eyes shined with enjoyment, and I knew I was impressing her. Then it happened. A boy in my class handed me the class pet, a hamster named George. Everything was going fine, George was a little shaken up but was holding on and the class was cheering my name. I felt like I was on top of the world." Harry paused for a second.

"Then what?" Draco asked.

"I dropped George."

"Oh my, bet that gained you some fans."

"The poor thing died on impact. I was sent home and locked in the cupboard for weeks with less meals."

"Shame, really."

"Yeah." Harry looked up, staring at Draco. "I think that's why I love playing quidditch so much. No one had to tell me how to fly." Draco stared at Harry, an unspoken feeling of companionship forming between them. Draco briefly wondered if Harry had ever told Granger or Weasley this before he returned to the task at hand.

"Well, while you were talking about your charming past, I found what we are here for in the first place." Draco led Harry to a corner of the attic, pulling a sheet off of a large object. A mirror was under it, a large mirror with something in Latin inscribed at the top.

"Is this the Mirror of Erised?" Harry asked immediately, his voice in wonderment.

"No. This is its brother, the Mirror of Raef." Harry turned toward Draco, cocking his head slightly.

"What does it show?"

"Well, you know the Mirror of Erised shows your deepest desire, right?" Harry nodded in agreement. "Well, this mirror shows your deepest fear. Have a look." Draco stepped out of the way, leaving the mirror open to Harry. Harry breathed heavily, extremely curious about what he would find in its depths. According to Professor Lupin and his take on boggarts, Harry's greatest fear was fear. But that was such an overall view of things and it had been nearly four years since then.

"Come on, I'm not going to stand here forever." Draco said impatiently, tapping his foot on the ground. Harry swallowed his inhibitions, walked straight up to the mirror and peered inside.

Images passed swiftly, moving too fast for Harry to concentrate on. There were people crowded around a place, all screaming obscenities at Harry. Then he saw himself bound with cords around his hands and legs, rendering him still. Voldemort was there, as well as Ron and Hermione who were yelling at a crowd of angry people. Blood spilled onto his bound hands. Faces flashed before him; his parents, Dumbledore, Cedric, his friends, almost everyone in his life, their faces engraved into Harry's mind. The sky darkened and then it rained. No one was there anymore, just him and the blood that never would wash away.

Harry tore himself from the mirror, toppling back from the sheer intensity of what he had seen. Draco moved beside him, making sure he didn't go into any sort of panic attack. Harry's face dribbled with sweat and he kept mumbling something about blood, so much blood. Then he fell limply to the ground in a dead faint. Draco knelt down next to Harry, checking his pulse and breathing a sigh of relief when he found that he had only fainted. He then cast a spell to send Harry into his bedroom. After Harry was gone, Draco stood up and gazed at the mirror, wondering what his own fear was. He had never dared look into the mirror; his mother told him never to go near it until he was old enough. He certainly felt old enough, and he figured that his greatest fear couldn't possibly be as bad as Potter's. Harry had seen Voldemort kill, after all, and had also seen so many terrible things. It was no wonder he reacted the way he did. Draco calmly stepped up to the mirror, gazing into its depths.

Surprisingly, the image shown was something Draco had never expected. It was so simple, yet so complex. It showed Draco in an empty void, a look in his eyes that haunted even himself. When the image didn't change, Draco stepped away from the mirror and sat down for a while, thinking about what the image could mean. Writing it off as either lack of fear (which he doubted in the far reaches of his mind, where his actions never reached) or the fear of death itself, Draco walked briskly from the oppressing attic.