A Flawless Plan

X. [Not Happy Ever After]

We sat in silence (which was only relative, due to the heavy panting of us both) for about five minutes.

"How did you get the Map back, Potter?" I wanted to know. Shagging makes some people hungry. Me - it makes me curious. "Broke into my room and ravished my things? I thought Gryffindors weren't into that sort of things..."

Potter chuckled.

"Now, don't underestimate my house, Malfoy! But the irony of it all... I didn't break into your room and ravished it, a Slytherin did all the dirty work."

"Who?" Oh, how I was going to rip the bastard's sneaky fingers one by one, slowly and very, very painfully!

"Are you gonna torture him for it, Malfoy? I don't care, actually. Little Thimothy Earl. Yeah, that was the name, I think. It's spelled T h i...so on so forth. The kid made quite a fuss about it."

"But who the hell..."

"...is Thimothy Earl? Trust you not to pay attention to first years. But he's a very resourceful first year, you see, and it appears you pissed him off somehow, so he wanted revenge."

Well, yes, tormenting first years is pretty much a Slytherin House-sport. Hell, if they can't take it, then being in Slytherin is too much for their little arses!

"Brown hair, brown eyes, resembles a scared rabbit..." Potter offered to refresh my memory.

Now I knew the little scum! I had vanished his robes once. An innocent, little prank. It turned out he didn't wear anything underneath. I mean, how was I supposed to know...? Okay, okay, I did know. Overheard a stupid discussion about a bet. Anyway, it seemed that young Earl didn't appreciate very much being so indecently exposed in front of the entire Slytherin house.

"I don't know what you did to that kid, Malfoy," Potter continued, "but he really hates you almost as much as I do, y'know."

"You are naked in my bed, Potter," I pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I didn't say we had a healthy relationship," he replied with a gloomy voice. "But do you wanna hear the rest of it or not?"

I nodded.

"The boy apparently overheard me when I told Ron and Hermione I was sure you had the Map, so he came to me and offered to get it back. I didn't trust the little snake, naturally, but he did show up with my Map, just when I'd given up all hopes of ever seeing it again. At the Infirmary, on my second night there. He told me he'd stayed here for holidays precisely to steal it and pay you back. That's it. Oh, and he wanted to make sure you knew it was him."

"Impressive," I spoke in a bored tone.

"Yeah, whatever." He yawned and started to cover himself with the blanket.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?"

"Going to sleep," he replied like it was something obvious.

"In my bed?"

Potter yawned again, loudly, before he answered. "Yeah."

"No, you're not. Go to your own room!"

"Malfoy." He turned to me, propping his elbows against my pillow. "I've just shagged you rotten and I'm tired. I can't move and I don't want to, so I'm staying here. It doesn't mean anything. There's nothing between us but physical attraction. We don't need to hug and cuddle like love doves. You stick to your side of bed and I to mine, and we can each pretend the other's not even here."

Potter's words infuriated me, because there was no 'my side' and 'his side'. The damn bed was entirely mine! I couldn't find my words. He was wearing a bemused expression on his face I couldn't quite read. It made me shudder. Potter was acting so... me. I kept staring at him, I don't know for how long. Eventually, he decided to turn his back on me and grab the entire pillow for himself.

"Good night," his uttered before dropping to sleep and his voice was low and sarcastic, "sweet prince."

I couldn't fall asleep as easily. For start, Potter had taken hold of the pillow and hugged it like there was some kind of long lost pal. And then, there was this little matter of us pretending the other was not even here. Well, I couldn't pretend that Potter was not in my bed! I have the habit of turning in my sleep, and I need my space. But, under present circumstances, moving meant the possibility of accidentally touching Potter, and touching Potter was not on my agenda right then.

So I kept lying flat on my back, without pillow and only half of blanket covering me - because Potter tugged the blanket in addition to stealing my only pillow - for I don't know how long, staring at the ceiling and growing more irritable with each second. At some point, Potter had rolled several inches and partially invaded 'my side', forcing me to retreat to the edge of the bed - my own bed - and, consequently, I had to let my right hand hang loosely over the side, not to mention that pretty soon my shoulder was stone-stiff.

No, things couldn't go on like that!

"Potter, you sodding idiot! Wake up!"

He mumbled something, face buried into my pillow. My pillow!

"I said WAKE UP, SCAR-HEAD!"

He finally half-opened his eyes and looked at me. "Wha's wrong, Mal-" yawn "-foy?"

"You. That's wrong. I can't sleep with you here. You took my pillow, and my blanket, and invaded my side, and I can't pretend you're not here, you stupid prick, and trust me, I am doing my best not to touch you, but I'm cold and stiff and sleepy and it's all your stupid fault!"

Potter mutter something that sounded like approval, and closed his eyes. I was ready to shout and wake him up again, but the words froze on my lips, because Potter had just dropped the pillow and extended his arms, drawing me to him.

"What are you doing, Potter?" I barely dared to whisper. He responded with another incoherent mumble.

"Mmm... shu'up Malfoy... we can share pillo'... blanket... more space like tha'... means nothin'... ju'sleep..." He drew me even closer and buried his face into my shoulder (like I was the bloody pillow!), and it might have been just an impression, but I thought I felt his lips planting a soft kiss there before he whispered again something that sounded like 'good night'. My heart, for a reason I couldn't understand, was thundering inside my chest, against Potter's chest, and my whole body was so tense against his that I was sure to get sore muscles in the morning.

" 'lax Malfoy... tis's nothing... sleep," Potter again whispered against my skin. " 's okay... you need to res'..."

I gave in and relaxed, because there was nothing better I could think of doing. Still half asleep, Potter drew the blanket over both of us with one hand, but he didn't let go of me, and it felt good now that I wasn't cold anymore, and my head rested alone on the pillow and Potter's head rested on my chest, and I could feel his even breath, and it was soothing, and thus I finally drifted to sleep.

~''~

I woke up with a start at about six o'clock in the morning. Potter was gone. But that was not the reason I couldn't fall asleep again. Sure, his body had been warm and nice, but the memory of it faded quickly, too quickly, chased away by the knowledge that I would meet Father in no more than four hours.

Since sleeping wasn't an option any more, I decided to take a very long shower instead. By seven, I was completely dressed, not a single bit less nervous about the meeting and, naturally, in no state for eating breakfast. Ten minutes of restless pacing up and down my room later, I had come to the conclusion that the hour was not at all inappropriate to pay my Head of House a visit. Though retrospectively, I don't think Snape felt the same when I knocked at his door, rather noisily and impatiently.

"Mr. Malfoy, what do you want?" He was probably too sleepy to manage more than a half-exasperated, half-threatening tone. I informed him politely that it was 'my Hogsmeade, you know, sir, visit day'.

"Come in, Draco. Since you've already interrupted my rest, we shall have tea together." It's generally unwise to refuse an invitation from Snape, so I stepped in.

He gestured me to sit at the small table in a corner of his room and poured tea for both of us, before joining. I looked at my cup reluctantly. Never trust a Potion Master with your tea, - I think Father said this, once - they have the nasty habit of 'improving' it. But then again, it wasn't like Snape would poison me. He might have tried if it had been Potter instead of me, but really... Potter, Snape and tea - I mean what would've been the chances?

"Mr. Malfoy! Are you still here? Do pay attention when I'm talking to you!"

"I am sorry, sir. What were you saying?"

"I was asking, Mr. Malfoy, if you have any idea why Lucius wants to see you today?"

It was none of his business, naturally! But I bet he was dying to know. Yet he couldn't have suspected, like I did, that the meeting had something to do with Potter, could he?

"No, sir."

He gave me a scrutinizing gaze, but didn't say anything more. Neither did I and we finished our tea in silence. As I left Snape's room, I began to feel more light-hearted. Perhaps there had been something in that tea, after all. I guess Father had been right, but then, he mostly is.

~''~

At ten o'clock sharp Father Apparated in front of Hog's Head. I had been there for a long half an hour, but pretended to have just arrived myself. I didn't want Father to suspect how much this meeting unsettled me.

Father looked just as calm and composed as always. I'd always admired that ability in him, but right then I would've been more comfortable if able to decipher his features and prepare myself for what would follow.

"Let's step inside, Draco."

The Hog's Head was empty - the hour was too early for its usual customers. Father walked to the bartender and spoke to him in a low voice, before throwing three sparkling Galleons on the counter. The bartender produced an instant, servile bow, and went to the door and shut it. We had the whole pub for ourselves.

"Don't order anything, Draco," Father said, sitting at the table. "This place is filthy, but it's the safest in the area. We won't be staying long, though. I don't have much time."

He looked at me, piercingly, like he was expecting to find something changed about my face since he hadn't seen me.

"You did a good job. With Potter, I mean. I shouldn't have underestimated you before. You are my son and a Malfoy. The Dark Lord is very pleased."

"I am glad to hear that," I replied as expected. He nodded, satisfied.

"As you should be, son, as you should be. Very soon everything will be over. We won't have to - " he pronounced the words with contempt, " - hide anymore. A bit delayed for my taste, but the Dark Lord prefers to do one thing at a time. First Potter, then the Ministry, then the Muggles, Muggle-lovers and Mudbloods. I dare say," and at this point, his voice reassumed its usual arrogance, "it will be extremely entertaining to enlighten Fudge about his own stupidity, after all the dinner parties where I had to stand his useless chatter..."

Father always tended to drift away when it came to Fudge. He enjoyed to brag about how he played the puppet-Minister on his little finger, every time Mother or I were around to listen, and I suspect that his 'friends' weren't spared of it, either. Father, truth be told, enacted the Respectable Pillar Of Wizarding Society quite impressively, entirely for the Ministry's sake - it wasn't difficult when one had his money, connections and lack of scruples. Not to mention, an uncanny foresight when it came to guarding his own skin.

"But one must never hesitate to manipulate the weak, Draco, remember this," he went on. "I'd be in prison if Fudge hadn't been such a weak fool, and what glory is in that, I ask?..."

At the end of my fifth year, Father managed to come out absolutely unscathed from a trial where a dozen of eye-witnesses, Potter on top of the list, accused him of breaking into the Ministry of Magic right by Voldemort's side. Father unperturbedly claimed he was innocent - having dinner at the house of a respectable official figure during the lapse of time he'd 'supposedly' been devastating the Ministry, and accusing an elusive 'family enemy' of having someone else Polyjuiced into himself and breaking into the Ministry with the Death Eaters, only to 'discredit his image'. Of course, the said official figure confirmed his testimony, under Veritaserum, because Father refused to take Veritaserum himself, invoking a rare illness, about which another respectable St. Mungo official figure testified.

The case was once and for all closed two weeks later, with the finding of a dead body that had shown unmistakable signs of Polyjuice when analysed by experts and, moreover, carried a bottle that still held enough Polyjuice to transform any test subject into Lucius Malfoy. Of course, what the Ministry didn't suspect, or couldn't have proved, had they suspected, was that everything had happened precisely the other way around - Father had taken part in the attack, while the unlucky dead fellow had been playing Lucius Malfoy at the house of the respectable official figure. Anyway, as long as Fudge had bought it...

Finally, Father ceased his tirade about Fudge, Family Honour and His Personal Merits In Maintaining It (which I'd pretended to listen to with filial respect, exquisitely performed after years and years of practice) and took out a piece of parchment from his pocket. It was blank. I looked at him questioningly.

"This, son, is a very special portkey. Make sure Potter finds it. It activates at midnight," Father enlightened me.

I gazed at the parchment, turning it around curiously. It was too easy, not to mention...

"But portkeys don't work on Hogwarts grounds." Any first-year knew that.

Father laughed. "That's why this one is so special, son. Anyway, it's not to you to worry about this! Just make sure Potter holds it at midnight. The Dark Lord doesn't appreciate being left waiting."

I fought back a shiver.

"Where will it take him?" I inquired.

"The Forbidden Forest. Quite appropriate, don't you think? Anyway, I don't have time to stay and chat." He rose from his sit. "And Draco, don't fail. You're my only son."

This time, I really shivered, but Father had already turned, without any other word of good bye, and was pointing his wand to the bartender. When we left, the man didn't have the faintest idea we'd been there.

~''~

Meeting Father proved to be everything I feared. It forced me to make a choice that had been looming in the back of my mind ever since Potter kissed me for the first time. To betray Father, thus betraying He-Who-Didn't-Appreciate-Being-Betrayed, thus betraying my best interests. Or to betray Potter.

It should have been easy.

Yet I'd been dreading the moment of this choice. However, as Father had been speaking, I realised my decision was already taken. Strange, come to think about it. All this time I had fussed about a decision that had been taken long before that day, without my conscious realisation. Which didn't make it any easier.

On my way back to school, mine and Potter's last days together kept running in front of my eyes. I must've looked really weird to the people I passed by on the streets.

One evening, outside the Great Hall, before dinner...

"What are you afraid of, the most, Malfoy?"

"If I tell you, are you gonna be as sincere?"

"It's fair enough, I suppose."

"I mostly fear, and please don't snort at that, Potter, I mostly fear pain."

"I'm afraid of dying alone..."

One afternoon, on a deserted corridor, after kissing...

"My turn to ask questions, Malfoy. Why did you play the game?"

I looked at him questioningly and he sighed.

"I'm not stupid, Malfoy. You know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about 'her'. It was a game. It's still a game, just a different one, where we shag instead of fighting or messing with each other's mind. But I've come to realise that you don't play games for the sake of it, not without gaining something out the game. So what was the real purpose?"

"What if I'd say I wanted you all along?"

Potter snorted.

"What if I'd say I don't believe a single word? But you can keep your little secret. Hope you achieved what you wanted. No wait, actually I don't give a shit about it."

"Language, Potter. Anyway, I did achieve what I intended." I stressed the verb, hoping he would take the hint. "Sadly," I whispered, sure he couldn't hear me.

"I don't understand you, Malfoy. Sometimes I think I do, but you always prove me wrong."

"Let's just say I live for that, then. To prove you wrong."

Another evening, after shouting angry words at each other, then kissing...

"Tell me something else, then, Malfoy."

"Well...?"

"All the times she was being nice and seemed sincere... It had been just a mask, right?"

"Why would you care?"

"Just tell me you were pretending, Malfoy!"

"I'll tell you, if you tell me why it's so important."

"I need to hate you, that's why," he said, in the bitter voice which had become so familiar to me lately. I need to know I wasn't wrong in hating you, hurting you and using you was what his eyes pleaded, though, so I couldn't refuse that silent plea. I could refuse nothing to Potter. When had the hell frozen over, I wondered.

"I was pretending all along, Potter. Your Gryffindor naïveté was so... charming," my voice drawled sarcastically. With Potter, it was so easy to play the villain. "After a while it became rather boring. But I used to laugh for hours after 'she' came back from meeting you. So at least you contributed to my good spirits."

His face contorted with anger. I'd been expecting it, naturally...

~''~

The strange thing is, despite wanting to protect Potter from himself, I'd never ceased to hate him. I hated him now without determination, without passion, with all the repressed desperation which had been building inside me during the last days. I couldn't forgive him for shattering all my defences and then shattering the old Draco Malfoy to pieces. And not even being aware of what he'd done.

My mind was made and it frightened me. It meant the end for us, if there had ever been an 'us'. But there was no other way out of it for both myself and Potter.

If I didn't give him the portkey, I was as good as dead and they would find another way to get to him sooner or later. And the idiot really had a death wish! If only he would stand up and fight! But no, he preferred to sink in self-pity and wait for the end!

So be it then! I had made my own decision, as well. It had been a simple matter of analysing options. Considering, weighting, accepting, resigning. I hated Potter for my decision.

I wrote my letter of good bye on the portkey-parchment. It seemed appropriate. My owl was intelligent enough to deliver it exactly at midnight if instructed to do so.

There were a number of things I could've put into that letter, but I finally settled for short and dark. I figured it would be more impressive that way.

There's no happy ending for us, Potter. I'll see you in Hell, if there is one.

D.M.

I've never liked happy endings anyway. They depress me greatly. You know, They-Lived-Happily-Ever-After kind of stuff. And then what? Died of boredom?

~''~

Looking back to what I've written, I realise it doesn't make much sense. Probably because Potter and I didn't make much sense, but then, it couldn't have been any other way. We were only seventeen and confused. And I also blame the hormones - for how stupid I'd acted during those last days, that is. I don't know who or what was that Potter blamed. I suppose it was mostly me.

Anyway, I'd like to say this is the story as it really happened. Makes a nice ending line. There's only this minor detail - it isn't. This is the story as I remembered it. At places, maybe, as I wished it to have been. The story of my last year at Hogwarts. (The first half of it, all right.) And I'm not turning sentimental, I'm just tired.

Anyway, if you really need to know, Potter and I didn't live happily ever after.

~The End of Draco's Story~