The Opposite of Love

Chapter 9- Splinters and Showers

For the next month, Harry and Draco met at the quidditch field around noon each day. The weather had gradually warmed and the snow had finally melted in the beginning of March. During the course of this month, each of the boys had developed their own morning rituals. Both boys would awaken a couple of hours before they were scheduled to meet and then ate breakfast in their rooms. Draco would customarily eat oatmeal or mixed fruits and would then spend the two hours before practice meditating. He would sometimes do simple stretching exercises also, prepping his body for the task ahead. Harry would eat bacon, eggs, and toast while watching a soap opera that was growing into an unhealthy obsession for him. He had at least two other soap operas he watched before and after his main one, leaving him spending his entire morning in front of the television. A week before Harry's birthday party, Harry and Draco met out on the quidditch pitch at the same time as usual. Draco had arrived first, swaggering limberly to an elm tree that had become their unofficial meeting spot. Harry had arrived next, his face downcast. His favorite character in his soap opera had lost her baby in a fire.

"What the hell happened to you?" Draco asked. He walked a little towards Harry, examining his puffy eyes. Harry looked defensive.

"There's too much wind out here, it makes my eyes itchy," Harry said. The wind chose at that moment to send a relatively small breeze wafting through their hair. Draco raised a pale eyebrow in question. Harry scowled, moving to stand beside the tree.

"Your grand birthday party is still as scheduled," Draco mentioned conversationally, examining his fingernails.

"I remember. I wish Hermione and Ron could be there, though."

"Well, it's not like it's truly your birthday, that's not until the end of July."

Harry looked up at Draco in surprise. "How do you know when my birthday is?"

"You're Harry Potter, remember? There is actually a holiday in your name."

"Really? How come no one told me?" Harry asked, perturbed.

"I imagine everyone thought you knew."

"Well, I still don't want to spend my first birthday party without them..."

"You've never had a birthday party?" Draco asked, now surprised also.

"No, never." Draco suddenly felt something new and disturbing for the boy in front of him: Pity.

"How could you have gone nearly seven years at Hogwarts without having a birthday party?"

"I'm sure if it was in the middle of the school year, my friends would have thrown one, but I go back to the Dursleys for the summer and they barely feed me properly let alone give me any sort of reward for being born. Well, you wouldn't understand. You know what it's like to have a birthday party, being rich and all."

Draco snorted. "If you count having a ballroom full of adults and my name slapped on a cake a birthday party. I could never imagine my father organizing a game of 'Pin the Tail on A Troll'."

"Well, I guess that means we're in the same boat, doesn't it?" Harry asked, flicking a piece of loose bark from the tree trunk. Draco shifted his feet, leaning on his broom as if he could lean hard enough to elicit a thought. Harry picked at another piece of aging bark. Draco shifted his feet, looking towards the sky above.

"Anyways, we're not going to be able to practice much today. It's starting to get cloudy and I might melt in the rain," Draco said, a whine in his voice.

"More like repel the rain...OUCH!" Harry yelled suddenly, cradling one of his hands with the other hand. Draco moved forward then backward, unsure of how to approach a hurting Harry.

"What's the matter?" Draco asked, cursing his voice for sounding concerned.

"I've got a splinter," Harry whined, cradling his wounded finger. Draco scowled, moving to inspect the injury.

"You're a complete ponce. Sit down here," Draco said, waving his wand to conjure a set of chairs out of a couple of rocks. It was almost a complete transformation, save for the fact that the chairs were extremely uncomfortable and were still gray. Draco sat in one of the chairs, serenely putting on a pair of slim reading spectacles. Harry looked astonished.

"I didn't know you needed glasses."

Draco looked at him sourly. "First we bond over dead parents, then we bond over proper birthdays and now we're going to bond over blurry vision? I only need these to see very small things. Give me your hand," Draco ordered, holding out his palm demandingly. Harry clutched his injured hand tightly to himself. Draco sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you, much." Harry skeptically gave him his hand. Though several clouds were obscuring most of the sky, patches of sunlight fell across the grounds and Harry could see the outline of the garden framed by light in his line of vision. The grass swayed like ocean waves in the gathering wind. Shadows chased each other over the grounds, the shifting light calming Harry considerably. Harry looked at Draco's face as he concentrated on removing his splinter. The wind rifled through Draco's fine hair and the waning sunlight reflected off of his glasses. Harry flinched as he felt the tweezers brush over his skin, but it didn't hurt much. Draco's eyebrows were knitted together, all of his thoughts bent on removing the offending object from Harry's finger. The attention he was paying to Harry was new and not entirely unwelcome. Harry shivered once before guiltily derailing his current train of thought. Thinking of the beauty of nature and Draco Malfoy at the same time was not a brilliant idea in the least. With a final "Aha!" of victory, Draco gestured dramatically with his tweezers, the splinter proudly displayed before Harry.

"Now, did that hurt ickle Harry?" Draco cooed. He reached over and mock-seriously petted Harry's head as if he were a child that needed to be coddled. Before Harry could get uncomfortable (or rather, too comfortable) with the feeling of Draco's hand running through his hair, he twisted away and affected a believable pout.

"It hurt a little, but I'll forgive your thoughtless fumbling behavior."

"How gracious of you," Draco said, curtseying. Drops of rain began to fall on their heads.

"Let's go before you melt in the rain, sugar," Harry joked, standing up and walking toward the manor. Draco quizzically looked at Harry's retreating back, not responding as walked behind Harry.

***********

Thunder rumbled around him as Harry walked around the manor, exploring. He knew enough about Draco's mood swings to try and explore either Lucius or Narcissa's rooms, but felt confident that he could just about go anywhere without a fight ensuing. For the last two hours, Harry had learned more about the layout of Malfoy manor and had surprised himself several times with his own growing knowledge of the twists, turns, and dead ends that circumscribed mansion or the staircases, passages, and halls that opened it for investigation. The slight downpour that had drove them inside earlier that morning had turned into a tumultuous storm that had blackened the afternoon sky. Harry was on his way to the kitchen to request dinner when he caught sight of Draco through a door that stood ajar. The room was dimly lit and Draco appeared to be sitting on a window seat, looking toward the sky with his arms pulling his legs close to his chest. He looked small and fragile, like a lost child. Harry was both unnerved and entranced by the sight. Draco would probably hate it if he knew Harry had seen him like this. Just as Harry was about to keep moving, Draco lifted his head, clearly able to see Harry in the doorway. Instead of the hostility Harry had expected, Draco returned his gaze toward the raging storm outside, almost ignoring Harry completely.

"Well, just don't stand there and gawk all day," Draco said, a trace of amusement in his voice. Harry took this as an invitation to come in and stand a couple of feet away from Draco. A bolt of lightening lit up the sky and the two stared in mute awe at the spectacle. Draco broke the silence.

"This is my mother's room," he said softly, gesturing around him. Harry looked at the room more closely, noticing a vanity table with many perfumes and makeup containers. Draco followed his line of vision and gave him a rare smile that was devoid of malice or amusement.

"One day, when my father went on his usual Death Eater business, Mother asked what I wanted to do today. I told her that I wanted to look as pretty as she was. For a couple of hours, she put makeup on me and fitted me in dresses and hats and high heels. I looked bloody ridiculous. It was one of the best times my mother and I had together. But Father came home early and saw me in the getup. He briefly put the Crucitus curse on me, telling me that 'no son of his will be a bloody fairy'. I was eight and I didn't even know that being a fairy was necessarily a bad thing." Harry listened, wondering why Draco was telling him this. It didn't take Draco long to answer Harry's own question.

"I used to have a future planned for myself. I would leave Hogwarts and become an Auror. One day I promised myself that I would face my father and then me and my mother would be rid of him forever."

Harry's mouth was dry. "Has it changed?" Draco's mouth set in a bitter line. He stared straight forward, not daring to meet Harry's eyes.

"Yes. I have neither father to avenge nor a mother to make anything worthwhile. So now my future is up for grabs. Sort of depressing, having nothing left to really live for." Harry stood silent for a moment, wanting to say every thought that was on his mind yet knowing that he might as well not. He could tell Draco how, apart from killing Voldemort, his life was just as empty as Draco's. He wanted to ask Draco so many things; things that he could not name yet knew what they were at the same time. He had never felt like this with anyone, and he didn't think that he could.

"Well, you're marrying Misma, aren't you? That's some kind of future, isn't it?" Draco made a noncommittal noise and suddenly Harry was enraged by Draco's constant apathy everything. To life, to friendship, to Harry, to relationships...

"If you don't really care about Misma, then why are you marrying her? Like you said, your parents are gone, which means that you can marry whomever you want. You are your own master now."

"Well, it's not like I have hundreds of females lined up. To tell the truth, I don't particularly care who I marry. Besides, if I marry into the D'Lune family, Voldemort won't be able to touch me outside of my home. It's old magic. If two pure-bloods marry, then any home where they are residing in is protected by any charms or wards the husband or wife have in their family. Right now we're not just protected by being Unplottable. Any Malfoy is protected by ancient, old magic that wizards today have mostly forgotten. It was the reason my mother could never leave Lucius. They were bound together..." Draco sighed softly, resting his head against the cold window pane. "I can't be cooped up in this place forever."

"Well, what happens if I kill Voldemort? You know, there's a prophecy about him and me. Either I kill him or he kills me."

"Does it mention when?" Draco piped in, slightly amused. "I can just picture the two of you going at each other in wheelchairs a hundred years from now."

"No, I don't know when it will happen. It's kind of sad that my future is either be murdered or be a murderer."

"I think killing Voldemort would constitute charity, not murder."

"I suppose," Harry said, suddenly very anxious about leaving. "Well, I'd better see to dinner..." Harry turned to leave. Draco deftly caught the edge of Harry's shirt.

"Wait, Potter," Draco implored gently. Harry turned around, curiosity overcoming him. "Whatever does happen, I hope you win."

Harry smiled. "Because you'd rather be stuck with the lesser of two evils?" Draco opened his mouth as if he were about to say something irrevocable. He seemed to recapture himself before he did.

"Exactly."

*********

A couple of hours after dinner, Draco had just finished reading the Daily Prophet when he decided that he wanted to talk to Harry. Draco was never particularly interested in psychological analysis, but judging from his abrupt change in attitude towards his houseguest, Draco needed some deep testing performed. It was not necessarily insane for him to talk to Potter when they happened to meet up and a subject was breached. Actually wanting to speak with Potter was another matter entirely. Nevertheless, he found himself searching the manor for Harry. He could have picked up his orb and found Potter that way, but the thought was a vague one and Draco decided that the thrill of the chase was more intriguing at the moment. After a long search, Draco could not find Harry at all. Giving up in resignation, he decided to get a snack before heading off to bed, not wanting to waste his entire night in complete frustration. As he went into the kitchens, however, he was distracted from his snack by a bizarre spectacle.

Lined up in two rows along a counter were all of the house elves he owned. Each one was magically knitting pieces of cloth that were indistinguishable to Draco at the moment. Harry was in the middle of them, gesturing animatedly with his knitting needles and checking a random house elf's work. Draco cleared his throat loudly, wanting to get Harry's attention. Pandemonium ensued. All of the busy house elves immediately abandoned their work hastily, needles flying dangerously in the air. Several of the faster ones launched themselves at Draco's feet, begging him for mercy. Harry was in the midst of all this, trying to stop needles from piercing any elf. The ruckus finally died down and Draco looked down to see the entire group of elves at his feet. He arched an eyebrow at Harry in question. Harry blushed deeply.

"I was letting the house elves make their own clothes. I told them that you would let them." Draco looked at the house elves, amused by their behavior.

"I did not let them make their own clothes," Draco said sternly. The house elves trembled nervously and Harry looked like he spoiling for a fight. "I ordered them to make their own clothes. Get back to work and don't make them look shabby." The elves sprang back up to the counter, the knitting needles back in their hands and working furiously. Harry smiled happily in relief.

"You know how to knit?" Draco asked curiously. Harry blushed.

"Hermione taught me how to make clothes," he answered sheepishly. Draco speculatively eyed a small hat on the counter.

"Nice work. Maybe you can teach me sometime."

Harry smiled slyly. "On one condition."

"That I liberate the house elves and then erect a life-size Jell-O monument of your greatness and then prostrate myself before it in worship?" Harry burst out laughing and Draco laughed with him.

"No! I just want my wand back," Harry said. Draco pretended to think for a moment. He then motioned for Harry to follow him to his bedroom. They went up a flight of stairs and ended up in Draco's bedroom a couple of minutes later. Draco went over to a box on his dresser, opened it, and produced Harry's wand. He tossed it to Harry, who had plopped himself unceremoniously on the bed.

"Making yourself comfortable?" Draco asked, looking at Harry in bemusement.

"Your bed is soft and jiggly. Is this a waterbed?" Harry asked, bucking his hips backwards and forwards to feel the bed move under him. Draco was momentarily distracted by Harry's hips before he replied.

"It has a charm that allows it to act like that. Now, can you leave my room so I can get some sleep?"

"What exactly are you doing tomorrow that requires you to be in bed at this exact moment?" Harry asked, laying back on the bed and propping his head up on the pillows.

"I have quidditch practice in the morning with a colleague," Draco answered lightly, gracefully sprawling himself on the opposite side of the bed.

"Well, I think he'll understand if you're late," Harry replied airily, folding his arms behind his head.

"Yes, he probably will," Draco said. The two sat in companionable silence, both wondering as to how they both had end up lying in bed together.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," Harry reminded.

"Oh yes, you want to talk to your little friends. It is at times like that when I would kill for that thing Muggles use to communicate."

"What thing?" Harry asked. He smiled mischievously, knowing that Draco would not remember the name properly.

"The, you know, the talking thing. The tellytone! Yes, that's it," Draco declared, pleased with himself. Harry giggled and Draco's pride deflated.

"It's called a telephone," Harry corrected, still sniggering in mirth.

"Well, whatever it is, I would love to have one. At least I don't have to imagine their faces..." Harry, without any thought or deliberation, placed his hand on top of Draco's.

"Hey, don't say anything about them," Harry said firmly. When he realized that he was almost holding Draco's hand, he pulled quickly away. Both of them were distinctly uncomfortable with the other. Harry sat up, mumbling, "It's late...Need to get some sleep," before striding quickly from the room. Draco lay back on the pillows, his breathing labored. In a daze, he lifted the hand that Harry had touched up to his face, staring at it as if he had never had anything attached to his wrist before. A moment later he realized what he was doing and thrust the hand to his side, attempting to ignore the tingling sensation the touch had left.

Will Draco marry Misma in the end?

Where has Draco the ferret gone?

Will those two boys ever understand that Draco+Harry+bed=hotsweatymonkeylove?