A Flawless Plan

III. [Win Some, Loose Some]

When I woke up the next day, every aching bone of my body pleaded in favour of some more rest. Very convincingly. I managed to drag myself out of bed by sheer power of will.

On my way to breakfast, I ran into Pansy, who granted me a very Pansy sort of look - the kind of a look that could have induced me to believe I'd sprouted a Fluffy Pair of Bunny Ears over night, or something along those lines. Firstly, her mouth fell wide open and remained so just a second too long to not have been an act, then she covered it with both her hands, before dramatically dropping them again (mouth thanksfully closed this time), only to throw herself at me. I didn't take one single step back. And Gryffindors think they know anything about courage!

"Oh, Draco, you look sick, poor baby! Come, let me take you to the infirmary, Dray..." She was clinging to my arm.

I was not in the mood for Pansy. I think I told her to sod off or something of the kind. She didn't speak to me for a week, which was more than I could've expected or asked.

Potter turned out late for breakfast that morning. He looked like he had had very little sleep. There were black circles visible from behind his glasses and, call it a wild guess, he hadn't even bothered to comb his hair before leaving the dorms. He appeared very interested in people sitting at the other tables, and by 'people' I mean girls. Potter was looking for 'her'. If one could do such a thing as mentally rubbing his hands in a very malicious, fiendish-like manner, I was doing precisely that at the moment.

Goyle asked me why I suddenly looked so pleased. Damn, if Goyle, who wasn't exactly known for his abilities of perception, could tell I was pleased, I must have had a grin like a split watermelon all over my face! Which also explained why Potter, who, having run out of other options, was now checking the Slytherin table, gave me a strange look, like I was going crazy, stupid git! I told Goyle I'd just got a brilliant idea to make the Gryffindors' life miserable, and he was satisfied with my explanation. I had all the reasons to be satisfied as well. My plan was, so far, working better than expected (minus the unpleasantness of the trasformation itself, but that wasn't going to stop me). It was a flawless plan, after all. 'She' had made quite an impression on Potter. (He looked oh-so-devastated because he hadn't been able find 'her' at neither of the tables... Everybody, let's take out our tissues and wipe for broken-hearted Harry-sodding-Potter! Honestly.) Retrospectively, I believe it was the kiss that did it, but right then I preferred to block that particular thought.

Yes, I had all the reasons to be satisfied. Quite unexpectedly and disconcertingly, I realised that I wasn't. Although, undoubtedly, Potter had lost the first round without even knowing it, I felt none of the warm satisfaction of victory one is to expect in such moments. No, all I could think was that it had been only the beginning and I was tired, so tired already... It crossed my mind that I could probably blame this unexpected 'moodiness' on having been in 'her' acursed body for a whole hour last night. It was just a vile side-effect.

And it was only the beginning.

~''~

The day passed in a blur, like the many others that followed... but I anticipate. The day passed in a blur and, again, I found myself in the disused classroom that served as my place of transformation. I performed the same actions as the night before. The transformation was just as painful. It crossed my mind, while adjusting 'her' appearance, that me transforming into 'her' was more hurtful than 'her' transforming into me because I was unconsciousely fighting against it. I'd have to try loosening up next time. Really, really desire to be 'her'. Get in touch with my feminine self or something like that. Creepy to think about... Meanwhile, 'she' was back.

It didn't take as long as the previous night for me - 'her' to find Potter. Or, rather, for Potter to find 'her'. I went to the same place where we'd met before and, minutes later, he appeared, emerging from under his Cloak.

"I thought you were just an illusion!"

No 'hello', Potter? Hadn't your Muggle family taught you manners?

"The other night, I mean," he went on. "I thought I'd never see you again."

He was relieved to see 'her', then. Pathetic, really, what one kiss could do to the famous Harry Potter.

"Well, I guess being here now means I'm not. An illusion," 'she' answered. Not particularily bright, not particularily commital.

Potter didn't say anything, but he advanced towards 'her'. His eyes unsettled me. There was something inside them, a mixture of pain, hope and other things I couldn't quite point out, that I haven't seen in any other pair of eyes before. I found myself thinking it made them look beautiful, the way a deep, dark water is beautiful when you look into it and know that only a step separates you from drowning, slowly and painfully, into the overwhelming beauty of it.

That was when my Inner Voice of Wisdom should have kicked in and supply some sort of wise advice. Maybe something along the lines of 'You, Draco Malfoy, are in fucking deep shit! Get your sorry arse out of here before you sink in even deeper!' Well, it didn't. I like to think it didn't only because my Inner Voice of Wisdom would never say something as vulgar as that.

I didn't realize, until I felt the cold wall touching my back, that I'd been retreating while Potter advanced in my direction. I couldn't take my eyes from his. Maybe I wanted to drown. I didn't know and I hated not knowing. All I knew was that suddenly Potter's hand was touching 'her' face and it was like burning without a fire. I gasped and he retreated his hand quickly, like snake-bitten.

"I'm sorry. I... I needed to know you're real."

"I could still be a dream." I was choosing 'her' words very carefully. "A dream of yours. When you dream, your senses can be easily fooled. Maybe I feel real, but I'm not."

"So are you? Real?"

"I don't know," I responded, and I wasn't lying. "I guess it's up to you."

"Then I say you're real." He smiled, in a way I haven't seen anyone smiling before. Perhaps it had something to do with growing in a family of Death Eaters, but Potter's smile was the first childish smile I'd seen on other than a child's face. So trusting. So sincere. So stupid. I couldn't decide whether to like it or not. He was trusting 'her' with his heart too easily, without taking any precautions. It meant another round I had won, in the game Potter had no idea he was playing.

"And I think you should drop this funeral face," he continued in a sickening cheerful tone. "I don't think it really suits you. You should, y'know, laugh every now and then!"

Oh, that was so hilarious I could barely restrain myself to snort in his face! Harry Potter, the Boy Who'd Been Lately Doing Nothing But Sulking, of all the people, giving advice on laughing! Gryffindors and their sodding positivity.

"I don't laugh," I said instead.

"Oh, come on! I'm sure there's something that can cheer you up!"

"I didn't say I didn't have a sense of humour," I snapped without realizing. "Though it might be too subtle for simple minds. I simply don't laugh!"

Potter's cheerfulness faded. I liked him better that way.

"Maybe we should be friends then. My other friends say I don't laugh either, not the way we used to laugh in the past... They just don't understand what it's like."

I let myself slip on the floor, back still propped against the wall.

"So tell me what it's like, then," I asked him, having no idea what we were talking about. "Maybe I'll understand."

Potter silently sat onto the floor, near me. He didn't say anything for a while.

"Do you have a name, anyway?" he finally broke the silence.

I expected questions of this kind, of course, but the time he chose to put this one took me by surprise. I had previously decided to give him a fake name, if asked. But right then, my lips acted on their own damn account. Or maybe I should call it a lucky moment of inspiration?

"I don't."

"You're playing games again!" His voice sounded slightly accusing.

I shook my head.

"It's true. This girl standing here doesn't have a name. One day you'll understand." Though it'll be the worst day of your life when you do, Potter...

"All right." He didn't sound very convinced, but appeared to give up. "I have to call you some way, though. Let's see... Alice, Ana, Beatrice, Berta, Cristine, Daisy, Darla - "

"Stop it." I was horrified. "I don't like any of those names. They're so... common!"

"Oh, someone's a snob!" Potter chuckled. "Fine, you'll always be 'Mystery Girl' for me, then! Deal?" He extended his hand to me.

"Whatever." If that prevented him from asking more questions... I shrugged and took Potter's hand. It was too late to retreat when I finally realized what I was doing. Potter was touching me - 'her' for the second time that night. But I didn't felt as disgusted as I'd expected. Perhaps it was a good sign. I was learning to control myself. Because for the success of my mission, I'd eventually have to do more than merely touch Potter.

"Friends then, girl without a name?"

'Her' hand was still placed inside his. The events were unfolding in the right direction.

"So, what was that 'queen of the twenty-fifth hour' thing you mentioned last night?"

Oh. He wasn't supposed to remember that. I'd just got carried away a bit the other night, that was all.

"Just a silly bed time story."

"What does it say?"

That was annoying. Potter was annoying.

"Haven't gotten your share of bed time stories when little, Harry?"

"Actually." There was a slight pause. "No."

"Oh." It was my turn to pause. "I guess I'll tell it to you then. But it's kinda boring. If you fall asleep, I swear I'll never see you again."

It was fun, threating Potter like this. He simply nodded.

"So..." I started, no very enthusiastically, "there was this young king that lived in a beautiful castle et caetera et caetera, and he had everything he could possibly want... wealth, fame, power, good looks, nice clothes, nice jewlery, nice women... er, you get the point, don't you?... and he thought he was happy- Look, it's really boring, are you sure you want to hear it?"

Potter nodded. I sighed.

"Then one night the king suddenly can't fall asleep. He tosses and turns in his bed until morning comes, but sleep refuses to come. He gets up... duties can't be neglected (don't ask me why he couldn't give them a kick, all-powerful as he was), and so on and so forth... Then he finally goes to sleep again. Big surprise, he can't fall asleep this time either. It goes on and on just the same for several nights, and he tries every potion and every spell, but nothing seems to work. So he starts walking through the castle at night... and here follow some completely meaningless details about his wanderings... In a nutshell it goes like this...

"One night, he runs straight into a very beautiful and strange woman, whom he hasn't seen before (which should make him wonder about it, if you ask me, but he doesn't), and they start talking, and she makes time pass unnoticed, and the king finds himself enthralled...

Potter listened, rather enthralled himself.

"Anyway, you get the picture... Then, out of the sudden, she walks away and vanishes. Just like that. The king finds, to his amazement, that he is so sleepy he can barely stand on his feet. He falls asleep right there on the corridor, where the house-elves find him in the morning, causing, naturally, a big fuss about it, but he doesn't care.

"Needless to say, the following night, he seeks the mysterious woman again. Again, time flows by, king's mesmerised, woman disappears. But this time the king notices something before falling asleep. The clock hanging on one of the walls has stopped at the exact time when he met her. He makes a mental note to have the device fixed first thing in the morning. The house-elves find him again sleeping on the floor, they fuss, he probably curses them, annoyed, then he remebers about the clock. The elves assure him the clock workes just fine and he sees for himself that they're right. So he decides he must have dreamed.

"Anyway, history repeats the following night, and the next, so he comes to the mind-blowing conclusion that time somehow stops when the mysterious woman is around, like there's a twenty-fifth hour passing only for the two of them, while the rest of the world awaits frozen. Which is stupid, really, because there could have been a lot of other explanations, including the wicked house-elves palying tricks on him, and then, how does he know that the time spent with the woman measures up to exactly one hour... Er, that's not part of the story actually. Well, that's it."

"I liked it."

"I find it rather boring," I pointed out, again.

"Are you sure there isn't more to it?" Did I mention that Potter was really, really annoying?

"I don't remember anything else." Just bloody give it up! I remember screaming in my head. It was just a stupid story!

"Maybe you were always falling asleep before the end."

"That's because it's boring!" I almost lost my temper on him.

"Maybe it wouldn't be if you knew the end?"

I sighed in exasperation. What was this thing Potter had for knowing the end? Time for a strategy change.

"So, how do you think it ends, Harry?"

"Er... they lived happily ever after?"

Which proves exactly what every Slytherin knows and no one else believes, namely, that Gryffindors possess no imagination at all. I snorted, just to show Potter my exact opinon on his guess.

"Well, do you have a better option?"

"How about, she's the malevolent ghost of a maid once deceived by one of the king's ancestors, now seeking vengeance, and one night she dumps him and the king goes mad and dies a miserable death alone?"

"Isn't that a bit over-dramatic?"

"Oh, whatever. Anyway I have to go now." I wondered if Potter saw the irony.

"Why?" There it was, the lost expression again. How could Potter be so stupid, I asked myself.

"Because, Harry, time doesn't stay still for us."

I told you, I have a penchant for Dramatic Exits.

~''~

Dear son,

I am writing to enquire about the 'extracurricular assignment' you have taken. Your mother and I are very proud of the work you are doing. We were hoping to receive more news from you since you've undertaken this particular task. We are truly disappointed that you didn't write to us sooner. I hope you will let us know how things are going at school. A letter a month should do very fine. Mother sends you kisses.

Your father,

Lucius.

Father can be very amusing without trying and, despite of what he likes to believe, about as subtle as a de-rooted Mandrake. But then, who needs subtlety when one can perform five different varieties of the Bone Breaking Spell?

Dear Father,

I am sorry I haven't written to you and Mother sooner. I've got completely absorbed in my 'assignment'. You know how hard I work to keep you satisfied. You'll be then very satisfied to find that I am making progress. I am confident that I will achieve my goal by the end of the year, as you expect me to. You'll receive a letter informing you on the matter every month starting form now. Tell Mother I kiss her back.

Your son,

Draco.

~''~

And thus the night encounters continued. We never bothered to set an hour, as it had been somehow implied that we would meet the same time as the night before. Potter became a living model of punctuality, I have to give him credit for that. I suppose it's written black on white (golden on red, or whatever), somewhere inside 'How To Be The Perfect Gryffindor - An Extended Guide': A true Gryffindor never keeps a lady waiting. That is, if such a thing exists. We, Slytherins, actually have a rule of that kind. A true Slytherin never keeps a lady waiting. It also says, unless it serves him better otherwise. But I'm digressing... To resume, never again did 'she' have to wait for Potter to appear. He was always there, in the empty Transfiguration classroom, sometimes covered in his Cloak and revealing himself only after being certain it was 'her'.

One night, it happened that I was terribly late, maybe more than an hour. I didn't actually expect to find Potter waiting, but he was there, with the same confused and pained expression on his face that he had worn on our second encounter.

"You're really late. Really, really late," he spoke, not actually accusing with his voice, but with his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said, and, to my surprise, I didn't have to pretend in order to sound apologetic. "You didn't have to wait for me. I wasn't expecting to find you here, as a matter of fact."

"I'll always wait for you." He wasn't looking at me anymore, but became very interested in the floor. "I think you've turned into my addiction," he smiled a miserable smile. "If you swear that you'll always come, I'll wait for you no matter what!"

So pathetic, yet... He uttered the last sentence almost with anger and his eyes were so green and full of tears, that I couldn't do what I should've done, which was play with his emotions and torment him a bit before agreeing for the sake of appearences.

"I swear," I whispered so faintly that I didn't think he'd hear. But he did.

"Thank you."

I don't remember how it happened so quickly. The next moment, Potter was hugging 'her' so tightly that I could barely breath. There hadn't been any more words uttered that night. Just a long, painful hour to count Potter's heartbeats next to mine.

And my Supposedly Wise Inner Voice was still playing dead.

~''~

The familiarity between Potter and 'her' steadily grew with every new encounter. Which was a good thing for my mission, because Potter was sharing more and more of himself and the bonds between him and 'her' were becoming more and more powerful. And when the time would come for those bonds to be severed, it would be the end for Harry Potter, mighty hero of the wizarding world. But on those nights, that time appeared so far and away.

We'd come to talk about everything and nothing. Potter used to tell me about how his days went, about classes, about his friends. Sometimes he talked about his childhood, nothing to envy there. Not that I'd ever had this kind of feelings myself. Malfoys don't envy. But it was disturbing, really, to find out I knew in fact so little about Potter.

I was quite shocked, one night, when Potter insisted that Sirius Black had been innocent. Father never bothered to tell me about it. I had known, though, that Black had been Potter's godfather. Now I could also see the empty place his death had left inside his godson's soul.

I talked as well. Not about things that would've betrayed me, certainly, but about things I hadn't talked about to anyone before, which were, precisely for that reason, the only things I could freely speak about without the risk of somehow blowing my cover. At first, it was the only way to keep Potter talking, so that's why I did it. He was opening his heart and mind in front of 'her' and 'she' had to appear to be doing the same. I don't remember when chatting with Potter ceased to be a calculated act and became a necessity. Suddenly, I couldn't have shaken it even if I would've wanted to. I was also becoming 'addicted', as Potter had put it. And still, there was no sound of alarm ringing in my head. None of my plans had worked better, after all.

~''~

One night, we'd come to talk about feelings and which one was the most powerful of them all. Well, what can I say, it had been a rather uneventful day and we were running out of conversation topics... Anyway, Potter, as the typical Gryffindor he was, insisted it was love. I sighed, somewhat exasperated, and proceeded to explain why, more precisely, love was only an illusion designed for fools.

"You see, Harry, they say true love is impossible to define, because you have to feel it yourself and then the feeling is too exquisite, too perfect et caetera et caetera, to describe it in words. I say that is only a very convenient excuse to avoid describing something that doesn't actually exist. People are so keen to fall in love that they often mistake other feelings for it, and thus this - this myth that love exists, goes on." It was that plain and simple. I was disappointed that Potter didn't seem to grasp it.

"I can't believe you actually believe that! Of course love exists!" he jumped to defend his silly idea.

"How can you tell for sure, then? Have you felt it?"

Potter looked a bit unnerved. "Well," he appeared to be considering, "I love my parents -"

"They're dead." I had to be cruel to prove my point. Potter's eyes were dangerousely close to tears, but I kept talking. "What you say it's love for your parents, is only need for something you've never had. A family. The need to feel protected, safe," I shrugged. "Which only proves that love's an illusion. You've created a perfect image of them in your mind and now you're feeding this need you have for them on it."

"I loved Sirius, too," he whispered. "He wasn't an illusion."

"No, but an extention to an illusion. He was a substitute for you parents. Your only real link to them."

"That's not true! He was my friend, too!" he protested, then continued. "I love my friends. Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, Remus. And then... er... I had this thing for Cho two years ago..."

Oh, how could I have forgotten about that? Potter and Chang's so-called love story had been the laughing stock of the Slytherin common room for a good many month after if ended. (There had also been lot debating on whether you could end something that hadn't even begun properly.)

"Really, Harry, even you know it was just a crush. As for you friends... I suppose that's true, in a way. You have feelings for them, but why call that love? Loyalty would be more appropriate. Trust. Similar views. The way you've come to know each other. That's what bonds you to them. Love's so ellusive that you can mistake it for many things. Friendship is one of them." I vaguely remember questoning myself at that point whether hate was another.

"You don't believe in love, but you believe in friendship, then?" He sounded surprised.

"I believe that certain people have affinities for each other and a bond can be formed between them based on that. Call it friendship if you must give it a name! But I don't trust it. Any bond can be broken." And you should remember that, Potter!

"So what are we, then, Mystey Girl, if you don't trust friendship?"

"I don't think there's a name for what we are. You've said it yourself a while ago. You've grown addicted to me. We're two people with an addiction." And as much as I hated it, it was true.

~''~

However, our discussions didn't get that philosophical all the time. Mostly, it was meaningless chat, and I liked it better that way.

"So do you have a favourite colour, Mystery Girl?" Potter asked, for lack of a better question, at one point during another of our nightly conversations.

Officially, any true Slytherin's favourite colours were green and silver. But, being 'her', I could tell the truth.

"Actually, I don't." As Potter didn't seem very convinced, I felt I needed to explain myself. "Well, you see, when it comes to clothing, I look good in black, silver and blue. However, outside clothing, I don't like these colours. I like crimson, but I look absolutely horrendous in it. So it can't be my favourite colour, either."

He started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" I was offended.

"You. I've never realised you're so -" He was experiencing another fit of laughter, "- vane."

Said Harry Potter, the Boy Who Looked Like a Complete Mess. And he had the nerve to call someone who actually had the decency to care about looks, 'vane'! I couldn't help bursting into laughter.

Potter suddenly stopped and looked at me slightly surprised. And strangely pleased.

"What?" I asked.

"I thought you didn't laugh." He grinned at 'her'.

Damn, he was right, I didn't laugh on impulse! I didn't loose control! Except, I had just done precisely that.

"It was an accident," I replied dryly.

~''~''~