A Flawless Plan

IV. [The Meaning of Hate]

"You never speak about your parents," Potter started one night. There was an unasked question in his voice.

I guess the boy was somewhat obsessed with the topic, as he had never come to know his own parents. Of course, I didn't tell him that. I sat silent for several moments, thinking what was there to be said about Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

"My mother is very beautiful and my father is very ambitious." Yes, that covered it up pretty well!

"So you do have parents!" Potter exclaimed with an enthusiasm I couldn't really understand.

"Well, obviously, I didn't fall out of the skies!" I replied in what was meant to be a deadly sarcastic tone, but 'her' voice simply refused to sound like that, and managed instead only a slight note of amusement. "You know, it usually takes a man and woman doing, um, stuff, for a child to be born."

Potter sulked. "I don't need you to give me a lecture about sex, Mystery Girl!"

"You're the one acting surprised I had parents." I shrugged. "I thought you needed to be explained the process." And then my Inner Voice finally reacted, pointing out that I'd just teased Potter, of all the people. Which of course, I hadn't!!! It was part of 'her' role. It wasn't me.

"Well, I don't need lessons! And, anytime you want proof about that, I'm available!"

Look at that, Wonder Boy was growing a spine! Well, Potter, keep your hands to yourself for now!

"I think I prefer this relationship platonic, thank you very much," 'she' retorted. "For now." That was to keep him wondering.

Potter didn't seem in the least disturbed by 'her' words. The bastard was smirking like he knew something I didn't. It was both unsettling and captivating. I'd never seen the Potter, the epitome of nicety and perfection, acting like this. If that was all my doing, and not one minute I doubted it was, then I felt like I had to congratulate myself. The discussion wasn't over, however. Potter also had other things on his mind.

"If you have parents, then you must have a name!" he spoke triumphantly.

"I told you already, I don't."

"Okay, you don't have a first name, for a twisted reason I don't understand, but you must have a family name!"

Oh yes, Potter, that's easy, I'm a Malfoy.

"I do, but there's no way I'm letting you know it! If you want this... this thing we have to continue, then stop asking me these questions!"

"So you have a dark secret, Mystery Girl," Potter chuckled. It was all a joke to him. All for the worst, because my 'dark secret' was a hundred shades darker than he could possibly imagine, the idiot! How I hated him for the rest of the night!

~''~

"I've lost the Marauders' Map," Potter said one night instead of greeting, looking like a child deprived of his favourite toy. "I told you about it the first night we met, remember? That's when I lost it."

I didn't understand why he was telling about this now. Perhaps he didn't have anything better to talk about. Potter's never struck me as a brilliant conversationalist.

"I remember, yes," I answered, "the map that is supposed to show you the whereabouts of anyone inside the castle." Only if I'd known how to make it work! For, you can imagine, I had tried to use it, but all I managed had been getting insulted by the damn piece of scroll.

"It belonged to my father and his friends. I'm really stupid for loosing it like that!"

I didn't have any comment on that.

"I wonder who found it, that night..." he continued. "I dropped it right here in this classroom, when you... when we..."

I don't think I'd ever seen Potter's cheeks flushed with anything but anger before that night. But right then, if my eyes weren't playing tricks on me, he was doing precisely that and he wasn't angry. He was embarrassed. I found it oddly fascinating.

"When we kissed," I finished the sentence for him. And I knew it was then and there it was supposed to happen again. The relationship between Potter and 'her' had evolved to the point where kissing was almost self-understood. And it would give me even more power over him. Yes, 'she' had to kiss Potter again that night, but it wasn't to happen like the first time. This time, Potter would have to make the first move. Which he would, if he were at least half as brave as made out to be. Which he did.

I had to remain calm. Potter's lips were burning. I had to be in control, of myself and of him.

Potter's body was so close. But it was all part of the plan. I had to do it because it was part of the plan and I had to do it exqusitely. I wasn't kissing Potter. 'She' was kissing Potter. I wasn't allowed to feel.

I was cold.

Cold and detached.

I managed to separate myself from my body's actions and shut the voice that was screaming inside my head to stop because it was all an incredible mistake. Because it wasn't. After all, it wasn't like I felt something, like I wanted it or enjoyed it. It was simply part of the plan.

It was strange to kiss with girl lips. Even stranger, to kiss Potter with girl lips. I hadn't had the time to properly register it the first time when it happened. 'Her' mouth was tinier and fit for submission rather than for domination. And between Potter and myself, everything had been and was a matter of domination. Yet, domination comes in many forms. One can subdue by pretending to be subdued.

While 'she' kissed him, I concentrated on the technique. There had been no random gesture in this kiss, no involuntary sound, gasp or moan from 'her' part, all had been calculated to give the full appearance of perfection. And as far as the technique was concerned, it had been a perfect kiss. First, only a slight touch, lips brushing, then slightly parting. Gasping, hesitating, trembling. Tasting, caressing, teasing. Inviting, seducing, promising more. And then slowly retreating, playfully, like separating was only a joke, because there was no way the two mouths didn't belong together.

"You have to breathe, Harry!"

Potter was definitely not an experienced kisser. His mouth opened for air the second 'her' lips left his.

"Wow!" He smiled. So 'she' smiled back. Sadly, Potter knew nothing other than loosing.

There was, however, something that bothered me and I couldn't put my finger on it. Then I remembered. Before kissing, Potter had involuntarily pointed out that I - 'she' was the main suspect in the map's disappearance. Lucky me that Potter was such a charming, unsuspecting fellow! All I had to do was to make sure he would remain this way as far as 'she' was concerned. The situation called for some distraction. And, no, not that kind of distraction!

"Harry, you know, about your map..." I started.

"What? You know anything?"

"Um," 'she' had to sound uncertain, "I remember you said that Malfoy was around and had an Invisibility Cloak. What if he took it?"

That was so priceless. I almost felt sorry that Potter couldn't see the irony of it!

"That bastard! I'm sure he did it now!"

"Why don't you try asking him to give it back?" 'she' suggested. Oh, I couldn't wait to see that!

"I don't think that even Malfoy is so stupid as to admit having my map if I- What's wrong? What did I say?"

Potter, of all the people, calling me, stupid? I wanted to punch his face right there on the spot. I believe my expression betrayed something of this imperious desire. However, I didn't punch Potter, but I managed to recompose myself.

"Nothing, you didn't say nothing. It's only that, I've realized it's time to go." Which was true.

So I said 'good night' and left.

~''~

I didn't expect Potter to actually ask me about the map. After a week or so passed without him making any attempt in that direction, I was getting pretty sure he never would. But, like always, the boy was full of surprises.

"Malfoy!"

I was on my way to Potions, therefore Crabbe and Goyle weren't accompanying me. I froze when I heard Potter calling my name. I know what you think, but it wasn't out of fear. Perhaps there had been a time I had feared Potter (there, I don't even care about my pride and I'm admitting it!) but that time was long gone. No, I froze because, for the first time after our last fight, Potter was actually speaking to me again, to the 'real' Draco Malfoy, I mean.

"Malfoy, stop!"

I stopped and watched him catching up. He looked so different in the daylight, his features twisted in displeasure, his eyes contemptuous and full of hate. Or maybe that was simply the effect I had on him. It almost hurt, for some reason. I chased that thought away.

"What do you want, Potter?"

"No clever remark, today, Malfoy? What happened to your pretence of being spiritual?"

"Clear the way, Potter," I replied on a dull tone. "Whatever you want, I don't have it!"

I didn't want him anyway near me. I was cursing myself for what 'she' had done that night, for convincing him I had the map. So I guess that's why I didn't realize what I'd said until it was too late. Potter was already eyeing me suspiciously.

"How do you know I want something from you? And how come you're so sure you don't have what I want?"

It was his last words that made me become irrational, a fact for which I hated myself and him passionately for the next several hours. I slammed my fist right into Potter's face, with a power I had no idea I possessed. Next thing I knew was that Potter was lying on the floor, bleeding. I wanted to check if he was all right, but he was faster and tripped me, making me fall next to him.

Neither of us had the power to stand up. I rolled over Potter and grabbed the neck of his robes. It was in my intention to crush his head on the floor, but suddenly I became aware of how close we were and how familiar it felt. My anger resurfaced with renewed strength, yet all I could do was grip his robes even tighter, my hands and whole body shaking. Potter's face had gone all white, but I don't think he was afraid of me and what I might have done to him. Coming to know him like I did after all those night encounters, I'd say he never thought me, Draco Malfoy, capable of such reactions before, and was appalled by the mere realization of the fact. I didn't care what he thought. I wanted to be left alone.

"Just. Go. Back. To. Ignoring. Me. Potter!" I spoke very slowly, not releasing the grip a single bit. My hands refused to let hold of him or stop shaking.

I don't know what might have happened if things had continued this way. Maybe we'd have killed each other. Maybe it would have been better if we had. But right then, Granger appeared.

"Oh my God, Harry! Malfoy, you scumbag, let go of him!"

Her shrill voice awoke me to reality. This was school. Anytime, a teacher could have appeared and given us detention for fighting in the corridors. Well, at least, we hadn't used magic, had we?

I stood up, trying to clear the dust and blood of my robes with a quick charm, but I was in no state to performe charms. Before Granger arrived to help Potter stand up, I was already entering the Potions classroom, just in time to avoid being late.

~''~

That night, Potter looked really bad. How come the idiot didn't go to Pomfrey to fix him?

For the sake of appearances, 'she' had to inquire about what had happened to him.

"I had a fight with Malfoy. I guess I deserved it! He tried to warn me to stay out of the way," he explained, in a gloomy voice.

I couldn't say anything. Instead, I touched his face where the impact with my fist earlier had placed an ugly contusion.

"Does it hurt?"

Shit, why did I care?

"Not if it's you who touches it."

I had a mad urge to laugh until I couldn't breathe, to laugh without feeling happy, without feeling amused, to laugh because it was the only thing I could do to drive away the confusion in my head and the weight upon my chest. But I couldn't laugh and my world was spinning. Potter's voice reached me and it sounded like it came from miles away.

"Are you all right?" He was actually worried.

I didn't answer. I looked at the boy in front of me and felt the unstoppable need to kiss him. My heart contracted violently, so violently that it almost left me unable to breathe. I had this stupid idea that, once our lips would touch, the world would stop spinning and everything would fall back into place again.

I was so wrong. My lips were once again over his and their familiar warmth made me dizzy. And this time I was drowning, not in his beautiful, darkened eyes, but in the taste of his mouth, in the boiling blood I could feel rushing under his skin, in every breath of his that was perfectly synchronized with mine.

'She' had kissed Potter on quite enough occasions before. It was, as I said, part of the plan. But this time something was different. And completely wrong. I suppose it took me so long to realize because my mind refused to register it. This time, it was not 'her' kissing Potter. This time, it was me, still in 'her' body, but nonetheless me.

I became horrified as realization hit me. Stop, I needed to stop. And think. Stop and think. It wasn't too late if I could stop right then. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't break the kiss. My mind was rebelling against my body every time Potter's mouth over and inside mine sent shivers through my skin. It was a battle lost from the start.

Out of the sudden, Potter pulled away. "Oh, God! What have I done? I didn't mean it, please, stop, please!"

Only then I realized I was shaking and had tears in my eyes, damn the girl and her body, and damn the way it made me so weak and pathetic! Potter was standing inches away from me, pale and wearing a panicked expression on his face, not daring to touch me again.

"I'm sorry, please, please don't do that! I won't kiss you if you don't want me too!"

But that was precisely it. I wanted him to. The shaking intensified. He took a step back.

"Don't," I managed to utter. "Stay with me."

He looked at me with disbelief, but closed the space between us again. Hesitantly, he put his arms around me and I buried my head into his shoulder because it felt like the right thing to do, although it was definitely wrong. I lost track of time.

When I became aware of myself again, I realized it was late, very late. Potter had fallen asleep and I was still clinging to him, both of us having slid onto to floor. This was madness! I would transform back any moment! I had to go!

Disentangling myself from Potter, I went to the door and opened it. He woke up and gave me a lost look.

"It's not your fault!" I whispered to him, instead of 'good night', not knowing what else to say.

"Wait," he called for me, but I didn't stop. I began running down the corridor and turned right, to the place where I had hidden my Invisibility Cloak. I had been doing this as a measure of precaution ever since the second encounter with Potter, but he hadn't been trying to follow me until then. Hearing his steps coming my way, I threw the Cloak over myself. Potter almost touched me in his rush, and then I saw him disappearing around another corner.

I had been lucky to get out of that classroom in time. Barely had Potter disappeared from sight that I felt I was beginning to transform back. I re-became Draco Malfoy, right there on the cold and dirty floor of the corridor.

~''~

Before the dreadful night when I kissed Potter, I had always believed I knew the meaning of hate. It turned out that I didn't.

When I woke up the following day, my entire body was aching and I had a foul taste in my mouth. I stood up, feeling weak and nauseated, and something, like a wave of coldness, brushed through my skin. Hate. I needed to hate, something, someone, everything.

Splendid weather outside. My mind registered it almost automatically. And hated it just the same. I glanced around my room like I was there for the very first time in my miserable life. How come I'd never realized how much I hated this shity, crammed, damp shack they called a Prefect's dormitory? I headed to the bathroom, thinking that a shower would make me feel better. It didn't. I simply hated the noise of the water falling over my head and down to my body. Come to think about it, I hated my body as well. My body that had betrayed me so idiotically last night. I returned to my room and grabbed a clean pair of robes. It usually took me some time to dress, as I was not indifferent to my external appearance. That day, however, it was much easier, because I discovered I didn't care which set of robes I would be wearing. I hated each and every one of them with equal intensity and without discrimination.

It was Saturday (and I hated it, of course), so not many people had woken up that early. It had been a good thing for them, because they consequently avoided a chance encounter with me, Draco Malfoy, who was currently hating everybody. I sat down at the Slytherin table as far as I could from the other few people that were sharing it. I hated the table, the Hall, the dratted ceiling, the walls, the windows, I hated the plate in front of me, the glass full of pumpkin juice- why did it always have to be pumpkin juice, how I hated it and it made me sick! I hated the fork in my hand and the knife beside my plate, and I hated the food, and I couldn't touch a single piece of my breakfast, though my stomach was aching with hunger, but I hated it so much that I found an odd satisfaction in starving myself. My hand clutched more tightly the fork and I scratched the surface of the table, hating, even as I did so, the tormented sound of ripped wood.

I suddenly felt claustrophobic. The Great Hall wasn't 'great' enough for how much I hated. My head felt like exploding. Breathe. I needed to breathe. I added a new item on the rather extensive Things I Hated List: people who bloody stared. I stood up and I think I recall cursing them in a very foul manner before storming out of the Great Hall.

I hated Life, it was that plain and simple. Because she really was a bitch. Have you ever wondered if Life is really the nasty, revengeful entity she is made out to be? Because the answer is definitely yes. My punishment for calling her a bitch was so prompt that, under normal circumstances, I would have been impressed. That was, if I hadn't been too busy hating everything and everyone.

Exiting the Great Hall, I ran - because Life was a bitch and she hated me in return - into Potter, from all the people. I hated Potter. No, wait, I don't think I've enforced that enough. I HATED Potter. I hated his ugly pair of glasses, his stupid, messy, impossible black hair, his much too overrated scar and, above all, I hated how the bastard kissed 'her' and made me loose my minds.

It was then when I realized that, most of all, I truly hated myself with passion.

~''~

Dear Father,

I hope you and mother are well. My 'assignment' is going as planned. I've decided to stay here, at Hogwarts, for the winter holidays, and dedicate every spare moment to it. With so much extra effort I'm putting into it, I expect you, Father, to be very pleased of

Your son,

Draco.

~''~''~