Understandable Insanity

Chapter IV

Draco eyed his wardrobe critically. This would be one of the most important fashion decisions of his life. He was no stranger to the necessity of the perfect outfit for any given event; a lifetime of parties, dinners, and blood-rituals hosted and attended by the wizarding world's elite had taught him well the statements clothes make. The world he grew up in was one devoted to appearance. Perfection is attainable, every fiber of one's being had to announce; I am the ideal. A misplaced cuff was disastrous, anything awry was weakness. So when other boys made derisive comments about how he had filled not only his, but also Crabbe and Goyle's allotted wardrobe space, with apparel of all styles, he just shot them a superior smirk. Draco would never starve for choice, so he would never be forced to be improperly dressed for any occasion that might come up unexpectedly.

The trouble was he couldn't decide what the proper attire was. He had no experience, and no etiquette dictates, for a secret meeting with one's archnemesis who one had recently been known to snog occasionally. If he could just discern what the idea he wanted project was, then at least he'd have a starting point. He had no clue. Should he be cool, aloof and hardened? Part of him said that was the way to go; show Potter that he had zero interest in him, that he would not be allowing Potter's rampaging hormones to bother him again. Or should he make himself as attractive as possible, to better highlight to Potter what he would not be having at any point in the near, or distant, future?

He pulled out a deep forest green robe, the color of the massive pine trees of the Forbidden Forest, and slipped it on. It had silver (of course) embroidery decorating the cuffs and silver clasps all up the front. It was one of his favorite robes and part of him said he shouldn't waste it on Potter. But another, nasty part of him imagined Potter dumbstruck at his beauty and felt warmed. Conflicted, he surveyed himself in the mirror. The darker color did lend a certain luminescence to his pale skin and hair. He practiced a few facial expressions he would probably need to use during the course of the meeting: bored, horrified, doing-my-best-not-to-make-a-nasty-comment-oh-no-there-I-go, tired-of-your-rambling, disgusted, dubious, incredulous (the difference is in the eyebrows).

He couldn't decide. He looked wonderful in this robe; he was sure of that. Not that he didn't look wonderful in absolutely everything, he thought, treating himself to a debonair grin. But was it right? For some reason, it was very important to him that everything go as he planned. After contemplating his reflection for a few minutes, he finally surrendered and walked over to the door. He pulled it open and stuck his head out, scanning the common room. He spotted Pansy lounging in one corner. She and some of her friends were playing Exploding Snap on an unidentifiable first-year's bare back.

"Pansy!" She looked up from her game and, when she saw who was calling, stepped

over the unfortunate young student. Her shoes clattered on the black stone and she stopped a few feet away from the entrance to the boy's dorm.

"What?" She peered at him, twisting up her nose into a very unattractive way. He bit his lip and took in a deep breath, then pulled the door back further, revealing his whole self. I can't believe I'm doing this. If my father ever heard...

"What do you think of my outfit?" She looked surprised for a few moments then ran her eyes over him, scrutinizing his every inch. She smiled in a very not reassuring way that spoke of tremendously nasty thoughts.

"I love it," she purred, then turned on her heel and clacked back to her friends. Draco let the door swing closed as he pulled the robe off as quickly as possible. That certainly would not do. He sighed, deflating, and slipped the robe back amongst the others. He flipped sullenly through them, feeling the variety of fabrics slide past his fingers.

This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. He had no reason to worry about this. This wasn't his mother, his father, his beloved (though complete barmy) Aunt Bella, or any of their high-evil-society friends. This was Harry Potter. Harry Potter who probably owned only two robes; last season's robes no less, both of which were doubtlessly battered. Potter who couldn't tell the difference between one of Madame Malkin's creations and an Alain Boublil original. Potter who wore muddy Quidditch boots at all hours of the day. Here Draco was, worried about his outfit for a meeting with a boy who wouldn't know fashion if it stole his glasses and wore them while singing a medley of Celestina Warbeck's greatest hits.

He was being foolish. He had established that. But his hands still insisted on stroking their way through his extensive wardrobe, searching tirelessly for the perfect match. Because even if Harry Potter would never realize the time and energy Draco spent on him, he still wanted to look nice for him. Now that was ridiculous. He had no reason to want to impress Potter. Well, a bit of him whispered, he is a good kisser.

"Ugh," Draco said aloud, glancing at his reflection. He looked pathetic. Scrawny and insignificant and pale, more ghost than boy. He wished he was taller. He straightened, puffing his chest out. It didn't help. He just looked like a slip of a boy trying to make himself more impressive and failing miserably, which, in all fairness, he was. He thought, with a jealous scowl, of Potter. Potter with his broad shoulders and big hands, and Quidditch-muscled form, and stupid messy hair that fell just slightly into his eyes in that smoky, alluring way. His stomach twitched, a tiny tinge of warmth, and he quickly banished the image from his mind.

He was not going to dress up. He was not going to worry about this anymore. He was going to go and meet Potter and be done with it. Potter was not going to force him into driving himself to insanity. That was final.

Two hours later, Draco made his way out of the dorm and hurried across the common room, trying to avoid any interaction with his housemates. Unfortunately, just as he reached the wall that led back to the dungeon corridor, it slid open. Millicent Bulstrode hulked in the opening. There was no way Draco would be able to squeeze past her. He waited for her to lumber past, but she didn't move. She stood transfixed, peering at him. Her mouth worked.

"Malfoy," she said slowly, looking very much like a troll who has been surprised and whose slow troll brain is trying to work out what exactly is going on, "are you

wearing a black velvet robe with thigh-high dragon skin boots and nothing underneath?"

Draco fled back into the dormitory.

Author's Note: Very brief chapter, I know. Sort of a little vignette that deals with, but isn't necessarily a part of, the larger tale. And...not as well edited as I'd hoped ^^;; However, I wanted to post something/anything to let everyone know: This story will not be updated for at least a month. I am participating in NaNoWriMo this year, so I won't have any time for fanfic. So, thank you for your patience...the boylove will recommence in December! (If you happen to be interested, I'm considering posting segments of the novel in my LJ (linked on my profile page).)