Predictably Malfoy

Predictably Malfoy

Draco Malfoy gaped. The look of sheer disbelief flashed across his face. His cheeks coloured from a light pink to a furious red. The bottom half of his mouth broke away from the rest of his head and looked dangerously close to falling off. If looks could incinerate, his eyes would have burnt a small hole in the book.

Malfoys do not ordinarily gawk, not even in private. It is expected of a Malfoy to behave with utmost decorum at all times, lest they are being watched. Malfoys are notoriously paranoid and proudly conscious of it. Years of inbreeding and incestuous dalliances have left behind an impeccable pedigree of psychological disorder. But the Malfoys maintain it's better to be safe than sorry, and alive to hex another day. No one is more aware of proper Malfoy behaviour than Draco. He had spent his short life observing every subclause of the Malfoy Code of Conduct and he was quite certain that article nine strictly forbade pouting. But in a moment of anger, Draco forgot his name and stuck out his bottom lip in a very non-Malfoy way.

Draco first came across the offending material when searching through his housemates' private possessions. Draco never stole out of greed as Malfoys were never short of galleons. The pleasure of the act lay in taunting his supposed friends, in stealing Goyle's Potions homework and watching Snape turn on him, in hiding Flint's Quidditch trousers and making the captain play in his underwear, in finding Zabini's minted edition of Play Wizard then blackmailing him for a year. Draco had been halfway through Crabbe's trunk when he saw a dusty tome poking out from under his bed. He reached for it tentatively, not believing Crabbe could actually read. The book was leather bound and in good condition. There was no title on the front cover as far as Draco could tell. He carried it over to his side of the room and opened it with interest.

The pages were stained with mildew and gave off a distinct odour that Draco could not identify. He flipped over the first few pages that were left blank and came across a contents list that made him raise an aristocratic eyebrow. The antiquated script revealed a list of every human, creature and ghost in the Wizarding world. There were house-elves and centaurs, dragons and giants. The list of wizards and witches followed and took up many pages. In a separate section, framed by an ornate border, was a list of Hogwart's occupants. Students were divided into houses and each person was allocated a portion of the book. Draco flipped to the section on Hogwarts eagerly, but found his enthusiasm deflate when he came across the name Harry Potter. There was a photo of Potter grinning awkwardly from the quidditch pitch. The wind had plastered his mop of unkempt hair back from his forehead, revealing that famous scar. A tiny glittering ball flew across the page and soon Potter was in close pursuit. Draco was forced to marvel at the Gryffindor's speed and agility as he tore across the page in a dizzying speed. Before Draco could react, Potter had caught the snitch. The Boy-Who-Lived looked elated as the crowd in the background went wild.

"Bloody show off", Draco grumbled.

He turned the page forcefully, only to find more tributes to saint Potter, page after page of Potter's deeds and misguided adventures. Draco fumed. He could feel the anger turn to envy as he looked for his name under Slytherin. If Potter had fifteen pages dedicated to him, Draco wanted more. After all, he was a Malfoy and much more interesting than scar head. He deserved the most attention. He was an insatiable megalomaniac and no one could outshine him.

There were five lines dedicated to Draco Malfoy:

"Draco Malfoy son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy was born in 1980. He attends Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and is in Slytherin House. Draco likes to spend his spare time taunting Harry Potter and his friends. He has pledged his allegiance to You-Know-Who several times when sniping at Harry and will most likely follow his father's footsteps. In total, Draco Malfoy is a boring and predictable character."

Draco could not disguise his disbelief. Horror, anger and disgust jostled for prime position on his face. His eyes scanned the page again and again. Surely there must be a mistake, he reasoned. Boring? Predictable? These words do not mix with the name Draco Malfoy. He is the dark prince of Slytherin with companion words like suave, sophisticated and sadistic. How can one with such magnetism be described as boring or predictable? How can he, a walking, breathing Adonis be treated with such disrespect? Everyone in Hogwarts wanted a piece of him and most were not shy about which bits they grabbed. Yet here he was playing second fiddle to Potter again. And worst of all, he had become the predictable Boy-Who's-Never-Good-Enough.

Draco could feel his tenuous grasp of control slip away. The fury in him chilled the room. In one swift move, Draco drew his wand and blasted the book to pieces.

>.<

Draco ran down the stairs two at a time, his feet pounding the marble tiles as he landed. The small group of students still awake had gathered in the common room. Zabini was trouncing Crabbe in wizard's chess. Goyle on their left was staring stupidly at his Transfiguration homework. The Slytherin girls were eating chocolate frogs and exchanging beauty tips, though Draco felt no amount make up would quell his urge to scream when he saw them. The Slytherins looked preoccupied and paid him no mind. Draco felt his temper swell and hammer to breakout. He did not like being ignored.

"ATTENTION!" he bellowed. His rude announcement had the desired effect. Goyle started, dropping his inkpot over his parchment. Millicent Bulstrode fell into her plate of treacles, sending bits of chocolate through the air. Pansy and Blaise Zabini turned to look at him with eyebrows raised in interest.

"Draco," Pansy cooed. "What's the matter?"

He glared at her pug-like face trying hard not to wince. The unadulterated disgust in his eyes forced her to look away. The other Slytherins followed her lead and cast their eyes to the ornate rug.

"Something has come to my attention," he hissed slowly, savouring the cruel tone of his voice. "Something of an unexpected nature."

Slowly he began to pace the floor throwing dangerous looks at anyone brave enough to meet his eyes. The Slytherins shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He always liked being in control.

"A most vicious rumour has been circulating and I want to know which of you started it," Draco drawled, the threatening edge still in his voice.

No one moved. No one prompted him to speak. They knew Draco liked to take his time with threats. He circled them like a vulture over a fresh carcass.

"One of you miserable cretins has being spreading filthy lies." He grinned maliciously and drew his wand "Malfoys don't take well to lies."

Draco was just about to point his wand around the room to emphasise the threat when Blaise gave a loud yawn to interrupt Draco's well-rehearsed act. "Had enough?" he asked brazenly.

Draco blinked. No one had ever spoken up to him before. No one. He blanched. "How dare you!" he hissed.

"As much as I'd like to sit hear and listen to you impersonate a basilisk," Blaise interjected rudely, "I really ought to head off to bed. So what's all this about?"

It took a lot to make Draco look shocked and Blaise had achieved something very few could hope for. His confidence faltered. He tried to clear his throat but felt his voice fade from embarrassment. Things weren't making any sense.

"Well...something--well it's this book," he croaked. Draco mentally kicked himself for being so inarticulate. Malfoys are never inarticulate, he reminded himself. "It said that I'm boring and predictable." He paused and waited for a reaction from his housemates. No one moved or blinked. Feeling terribly irked, Draco exploded, "WELL? Is it true?"

Blaise settled into the armchair with an indulgent look on his face. "That's a pretty stupid question Draco. You are a Malfoy aren't you?"

Draco couldn't see where this was going. "Yes, and your point Zabini?" he spat irritably.

"Well, Malfoys are known for certain things," Blaise said, leaning forward to tick the points off his fingers, "megalomania, arrogance, sadistic tendencies. The worst thing is that all you Malfoys behave the same way. And you, Draco Malfoy, are no exception." Blaise grinned, a glimmer of malice showing in the corner of his eye. "All in all, you're a pretty predictable wizard."

Draco's first instinct was to deny all that Blaise had said, but when he came to find an excuse no coherent thought would form in his mind. Yet he knew and believed it to be false somehow. Nothing about him is simple, he insisted, Draco Malfoy is and always will be a complex and deeply misunderstood character. He opened his mouth then shut it then opened it again.

"You!" He rounded on Pansy who was biting the head off a chocolate frog. "You know it's not true. Tell him Pansy, tell him he's wrong. You've always found me fascinating haven't you? Haven't you Pansy?"

Draco felt a distinct sense of regret having sounded so desperate. He was begging Pansy of all people to support him.

"Well no," she answered. Draco felt his chest constrict. "You're pretty easy to figure out. Most of the time you're narky, like your pants are on too tight. And when you're not moody you're usually brooding over something."

Draco forced the air out of his lungs. Somehow he had forgotten to breathe. "But, but--you don't know what I'm brooding about do you?"

He could feel the sound of desperation rise in his throat. Malfoys aren't allowed to be boring or predictable, he told himself, someone should have written it into the Malfoy Code of Conduct!

"You're obsessed with your hair," Pansy answered nonchalantly. "You're always looking at mirrors."

"You always talk about that boy with the scar, umm..." Goyle said uncertainly.

"Harry Potter," Blaise finished for him. "You haven't stopped brooding over him since you got to Hogwarts."

"There's your family fortune," Millicent grunted. "You never shut up about that, or stop complaining about everything and everyone because nothing's good enough for you."

"You're scared of your father," Crabbe added slowly. "You talk about him all the time."

"And you secretly think about the Dark Lord and what he'll do with you after we graduate. See, we know everything about you," Blaise finished.

The Slytherins looked at Draco expectantly. They were challenging him with their eyes, daring him to disagree. Draco felt the blood drain away from his face, making him light headed. He sunk into the nearest couch and felt the leather creak under his weight. Why were they saying these things? It was as if they could see through him, had stripped him bare and were analysing his insides. When had he become predictable? Draco Malfoy, dark prince of Slytherin, sex god of the dungeons, when had he become boring?

"What if, what if I did something completely unpredictable?" he asked.

"I can see why you would do that," Pansy said sweetly, the others nodded. "We completely understand and will support you all the way." She reached over to give his hand an affectionate pat.

"No you don't understand!" he shot back, pulling his hand free. "You can never understand me! Because I'm a wizard of mystery and you can never hope to appreciate my uniqueness."

"Of course Draco," Pansy said again in that condescending voice. She turned to Blaise. "I expected him to be upset."

Blaise nodded knowingly as if he was in on the world's biggest conspiracy. "It's natural to feel unhappy and even a little angry. The truth always hurts."

"Shut up!" he yelled. "Just shut up! I'm not angry. I'm not! Because I know you're all lying."

"Denial," Blaise sang. "It's only natural--"

"Stop staying it's natural! You don't understand. I'm not normal like you." He paused and reflected on his statement. It didn't come out the right way.

"Of course you'd say that," Pansy soothed. "We know what it's like for you."

Draco ground his teeth together. He didn't want to be understood or treated as if he had lost his mind. He wanted to be unique. Draco was about to go when something stopped him in mid step. There was something in Goyles reaction when he first came down the stairs that made him reconsider.

"But I surprised you," he whispered, trying to remember their reaction. "Yes. Of course!" His voice grew louder. "You all jumped when I came down the stairs and called you to attention. Goyle dropped his inkpot and Millicent fell into her treacles. I shocked you all! I'm not predictable!"

He folded his arms and grinned smugly. He had caught them and beaten them at their own little game. Next he would punish them, in ways more cruel and more Malfoy-esque than before. But his victory was short lived.

"I dropped my inkpot because an ant bit my thumb," Goyle mumbled. "See? It hurts." He held out his thumb for Draco to inspect. A small bump was forming in the pad of Goyle's finger.

"And I was flattening my cockroach treacles," Millicent join in. "If you mush them up, the cockroach cream blends into the chocolate." She placed one in the centre of her hand and smashed it with her hammer-like fist. The cockroach exploded, squelching as Millicent's hand came down. Draco tried not to gag.

"See, there's a perfect explanation to everything," Pansy said pleasantly.

The Slytherins turned to look at Draco expectantly, all dying to empathise with him. The thought made Draco nauseous. "Well fuck you all!" he screamed. "I'll prove you wrong, you just watch! I'm not predictable!"

With that, he stomped back up the stairs. The voices of his housemates trailed behind him.

"He's just angry and confused, it's completely understandable," Pansy said with a sigh.

"Yeah, saw that one coming," Blaise added.

Draco slammed the door so hard the room shook. He stalked to his end of the room and flopped onto his bed with an agonised groan. The anger in him refused to abate. He was clenching his wand so tightly that his knuckles turned white under the strain. With an uncharacteristic sigh, Draco rose to place his wand on the nightstand. He was about to quench the candle when he spotted his hand held mirror. Instinctively, he reached for it. His melancholy reflection greeted him.

"Hello Draco," the mirror said. The voice was quite low and seductive. But Draco was not in the mood tonight.

"Hi Jezebel," he said morosely.

"You are sad," Jezebel observed.

"Yes," he said bitterly. "This stupid book says I'm predictable and now everyone else is saying the same thing. Do you think I'm predictable?"

"Well," she replied slyly, not missing a beat, "it's half past ten."

"Yeah and?" Draco asked, feeling his temper fray once again.

"You always check your reflection before you go to bed, at exactly half past ten. You, my darling Draco, are predictable like that," she purred.

Catching Draco's bewildered reaction, the mirror burst into peals of laughter. Her piercing laugh reverberated around the room making the candles flicker. Draco slammed the mirror faced down, muffling the evil laughter. It took all his self-control not to smash it against the wall. The mirror was a family heirloom, passed down to him from his grandmother who had thrown herself off a cliff because of the evil spirit within. Grandma Malfoy had bequeathed the mirror to Draco in her will. Draco often considered the mirror as more of a curse than a gift. But then again, Malfoys had a funny way of showing affection.

Draco buried his face in his pillow and willed himself to sleep. But rest proved elusive. He found himself thinking over what Blaise had said: "...Malfoys are known for certain things..."

It was inconceivable that his only flaw was being a Malfoy. Malfoys are perfect, he reminded himself, and it is a privilege granted to no other. Yet somewhere along the way people started to view him differently. They started expecting him to behave a certain way, to say certain things. They could anticipate his thoughts and mood. The idea of being so predictable frightened him. What had happened to his reputation? Wasn't he always the sinister yet debonair wizard of mystery--king of the nether regions? Of Hogwarts, nether regions of Higwarts, Draco noted quickly before that train of thought took him somewhere weird and kinky.

Draco rolled onto his back. There was nothing for it. He had to renounce his rights as a Malfoy and begin life anew. He would prove to everyone there was much to him they didn't know. From tomorrow on, he would behave in the most unpredictable manner. He would be humble instead of arrogant he would kind instead of evil. He would be un-self-consumed, undemanding and unpredictable. But most important of all, he would be un-Malfoy.

>.<

"Two...Four...Eight...Sixteen...Thirty-two...Sixty-four...a hundred and twenty-eight," Draco muttered softly to himself. "Yeah that should be enough."

He turned to the bathroom mirror one last time to inspect his hair and robes. The reflection was that of an impeccably dressed blonde boy with a big bouquet of pink daisies in his arms. Draco had spent the night picking the right colour for his daisies. Then he remembered it was universally acknowledged that all girls loved pink. Draco, who had always struggled with Charms class, managed a washed out, faded red. Being naturally deceitful, Draco convinced himself that it wasn't that bad.

Draco pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket and scanned its contents quickly. Draco's Master Plan to being Unpredictable, it read.

Step 1. Act nice

Step 2. Share the love--to the girls anyway

Step 3. Say it with flowers

Draco was more than proud of his cunning plan. By the end of the day he would have everyone deeply confounded. Draco 'the nice' would shower the school with flowers. He would flatter the girls and pave their way with petals and compliments. He would be polite to the Hufflepuffs, wink at the Ravenclaws, banter with the Gryffindors. He would smile, really smile, at all the girls, even the ugly ones. He, Draco Malfoy would be chivalrous debonair suave. He would make the girls swoon, the boys gape and the teachers confused. But most important of all, he would be utterly unpredictable. What a laugh it'll be to see everyone shocked, he mused, that will teach them to insult Draco Malfoy.

He cleared his throat and smiled at his reflection. The feeling was so foreign the muscles in his cheeks ached. He pushed on with the fake smile plastered on his face.

"Hello there, how are you doing?" he asked his reflection. "The barrettes in your hair are most lovely."

There was a forced edge to his voice. Draco cleared his throat and tried again.

"How are you liking Herbology?" he asked with mock interest. "May I escort you down to Hagrid's hut?"

Draco found the niceties more bearable as he practiced. "Hi there Mud--I mean Hermione, would you like me to carry your books?" He tried a few more lines before heading out of the prefect's bathroom.

It was early morning. Most of the students were heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast. As the throng of people made their way slowly down the stairs, Draco moved stealthily into position. He positioned himself outside the Great Hall not far from the entrance, and waited.

It wasn't long before two girls from Hufflepuff came into view. Draco stepped forward. "Hi there lovely lasses," he said brightly, with a faux grin and two flowers in hand.

The Hufflepuffs stopped their conversation mid sentence and gaped. Any moment, Draco thought, at any moment they'll run away screaming. They studied him for a moment and considered his offer. Draco held onto his breath expectantly. Then to his utter dismay, they smiled back at him. He could feel the corners of his mouth fall. One of the girls reached forward and took the daisies from his outstretched hand.

"Thanks Draco!" they said in unison before skipping into the Hall.

Draco watched as they walked away, still deep in conversation. The sense of helplessness threatened to consume him.

"Breathe," he commanded, "just breathe. Hufflepuffs are deranged anyway."

Draco took a deep breath and prepared himself for the next group of students approaching the Great Hall. The looked like Ravenclaws from afar. Draco recognised Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw seeker and Harry Potter's fling in fifth year. He cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Hi Cho," he said smoothly.

Cho stopped in her tracks. "Hi," she replied.

"Isn't it a beautiful day? The sun's out, the birds are singing in the trees. It's all so lovely isn't it? I mean aren't you happy to be alive? I know I am I mean here we are in this enchanting castle and I'm standing before such a beautiful girl. It makes me so happy. Aren't you happy?" Draco closed his eyes, willing the verbal diarrhoea to stop. He could feel his face grow hot. It was like a bad dream he couldn't wake from. Still with his eyes closed, he held out a daisy. "Here have a flower."

To his surprise Cho plucked it from his hand. "Gee thanks Draco!" she said, flashing him a genuine smile. "Can my friends have one too?"

Draco blinked. "Err, sure why not." He handed out several more daisies.

"It's a nice colour," Cho said, before turning to leave with her friends in tow. "Keep up the good work."

Draco felt his mouth slide open like a draw. Keep up the good work? What the hell does that mean? He thought, not quite believe what he had heard. To his chagrin no one found his behaviour the least bit peculiar. It was as if Slytherins lived to make the world a better place and he, Draco Malfoy, was the chief advocate for all that's fluffy and nice. This wasn't a dream, he decided, it was a nightmare, a recurring one that got progressively worse.

"Um Draco, what are you doing?"

Draco jumped in spite of himself. He scowled at the two witches in front of him. "What?" he barked.

Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood were looking up at him. They didn't seem perturbed by his sudden bad mood. Luna's oversized eyes bore into his head and made him distinctly uncomfortable.

"What are you doing?" Ginny asked again.

Draco could feel his temper snap at the sight of a Weasley. "Thinking of new ways to hex little red heads who can't mind their own business," he hissed menacingly, hoping to provoke a reaction. Being nice had obviously failed. Ginny didn't back down, or move, or even blink. Her lack of reaction added to Draco's annoyance.

"It looks like you're just standing here with a bunch of daisies," Luna said, stating the obvious.

"Well, isn't that the most prophetic thing anyone has every said!" Draco cried, spitting sarcasm with every syllable. "Move over Trelawney, there's a new crackpot in Hogwarts! Tell me oh all wise and seeing Loony Lovegood what do you see in my future? No don't be shy, don't be shy. Tell me I can handle it. Oh wait no, wait, wait, see if I can't guess." Draco closed his eyes and raised one hand to his temple dramatically. "Yes, I can see it, it's coming to me. It's all so clear. I will continue to stand here like an idiot conversing with a walking matchstick and her batty sidekick. But you already knew that didn't you? And that's because I'm so fucking predictable!"

Ginny gave him a neutral look before guiding Luna to the door. "Come on Luna, Draco's obviously upset," she said.

"Oh yes," Luna answered with a nod. "I can see that."

"Such an irate young man," Ginny said as if Draco couldn't hear.

"Indeed," Luna answered, looking unimpressed. "I'm not surprising, he is a Malfoy after all. My dad says they're all like that."

"Yeah, you can always count on Malfoy getting angry. He's predictable like that."

The two girls walked away arm in arm giggling at his expense. Draco felt his jaw slacken and fall. No body laughed at Draco Malfoy and got away with it, he thought furiously. Without his mind actually willing it, his feet moved to follow the girls. His eyes tracked them and Draco never felt his anger so focused in his life. In his trance like state, he failed to see the doors swing towards him at an astonishing speed. Before he could react, the solid panel collided with his face. The daisies flew out of his hand, shedding petals all over the staircase.

Draco fell to the floor unceremoniously in a black pool of robes. He couldn't remember how long he remained on the floor watching the ceiling spin. Students filed in and out of the Great Hall choosing a path around his body. Most did not bother to look down. Feeling the effects of a bruised body and an even more abused ego, he waited until all the students disappeared to class before hauling himself off to Potions.

>.<

Snape's dungeon was an undistinguished dark, dank hole that emitted an unearthly stench. Draco strolde into the classroom with a threatening scowl curled around his lips. No one questioned his mussed up hair or his dishevelled robes but all eyes turned to him instantly.

"You are late, Mr. Malfoy," came the familiar drawl of his Potions master, his voice as cold as the frosty December weather. Draco jumped but didn't turn around. Somehow Snape had concealed himself in the back of the classroom, effectively trapping Draco at the door.

For the most part Draco liked Snape for his shameless bias towards Slytherin. There was no one like Snape in Hogwarts. He was unforgivably rude to everyone and thoroughly enjoyed driving people insane, and Voldemort was no an exception. He was a master with words and a poet of insults. A chilling threat from Snape was like having a dagger dangling above your neck. The Potions professor loved to exhibit his sadistic skills over the students who, in Draco's view, always deserved to be tormented. Draco didn't know who, or what, screwed Snape over but he connected instantly with the greasy haired, hooked-nosed professor. Ordinarily, he would have apologised in a decidedly arrogant and unapologetic way and Snape would have excused him for being late, keeping Draco's pride and the Slytherin house points intact. But at that moment, Draco couldn't face his favourite teacher or be bothered to offer the olive branch. His head was throbbing painfully and the smell of bubbling cauldrons was making him nauseous.

"Oh go fuck yourself Snape," Draco muttered, still with his back turned to the Potions professor. He was about to go and sit at the back of the classroom when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"What was that Mr. Malfoy?" Snape hissed.

Draco could sense the Potions professor narrow his eyes. The dagger was about to drop.

"I said go fuck yourself," Draco repeated, louder this time, still with his back to Snape. He began to regret those words the moment they escaped his mouth. He had been inexcusably rude to a Death Eater who enjoyed torturing and killing anything that moved. He had somehow forgotten what Snape was capable of. Draco scrunched up his face and braced himself for a tumult of hexes. He could only wish for reversible curse that weren't too painful to endure.

"Mr. Malfoy, what are you doing?" Snape asked enunciating every syllable as if he was speaking to a very slow child. "Look at me when I am speaking to you."

The command terrified Draco and it took all his self-control not to run away screaming. Malfoys don't run, he reminded himself, they saunter. It said so in the Malfoy Code of Conduct, clause ten line four. So he mustered his courage to face Snape.

Draco spun around so fast his head began to hum. His vision blurred and for a second he imagined Snape looking concerned. The ridiculousness of the thought made Draco close his eyes and furrow his brow. He must be more concussed than he first thought. But when he opened his eyes, the look on Snape's face did not change. The greasy-haired, cold-hearted, angst-ridden Severus Snape actually looked concerned.

"Now. Malfoy...Draco," Snape said softly, his beady black eyes melting in affection, "what seems to be the matter? Is there something bothering you, something on your chest? Wouldn't it be much better if you just let it all out? Don't be scared, I've always found it soothing to talk about my problems."

When Draco failed to reply, the Potions professor ploughed on. "It's alright Draco. We aren't here to judge you. We are all part of this community and we are here to support each other." Snape reached forward and placed a gentle hand on Draco's shoulder. "Sometimes we all need somebody to lean on."

The look of sheer horror on Draco's face was so pronounced that Snape felt compelled to try again at 'being understanding'. "You know I understand how difficult it is to be a teenager. I was your age so I know exactly what you're going through. Sometimes we just need a nice cuddle and some reassurance." Snape opened his arms. "Come give me a hug Draco. It'll make you feel better."

Draco jumped back instinctively. Malfoys never touched one another, which Draco noted was another erratic subclause of the Code. Something was so terribly amiss. Snape was unreasonably nice to the point of affectionate, in public no less! Draco moved back slowly, fighting the urge to bolt out the door. He was beginning to wish he had been cursed instead.

"Wh-What the hell is wrong with you?" he stammered. "What's wrong with all of you?" He turned to look at the Slytherins. "Can't you see he's gone mad?"

His classmates were staring at him with neutral expressions. Pansy stifled a yawn and examined her mauve coloured nails nonchalantly. Goyle and Crabbe were too busy staring at the slug climbing up the lichen covered walls. Only Blaise bothered to reply.

"How predictably Malfoy to be afraid of showing emotions," Blaise said loudly to no one in particular. "They're all like that, affection scares them."

Snape dropped his arms. "You're right Zabini, Draco is not the affectionate type."

The feeling of horror and confusion gave way to the familiar feeling of anger. "Oh so what I'm type caste now?" Draco snapped. "Just because I don't want a hug doesn't make me predictable!"

"It's alright Draco," Snape said producing a sour grimace, pretending it was a smile. "I understand. Zabini was just trying to say that we understand what it's like for you. Being Draco Malfoy can't be easy."

"Oh shut up!" Draco said waspishly. "And you Zabini, if you say another word you'll be eating my fist got that?"

Blaise closed his mouth obediently and flashed him an indulgent grin. He looked positively smug, Draco noted with annoyance. Suddenly he felt like everyone was watching him. It was as if the whole world was in on some delicious scandal, only he was impervious to it. The thought drove him mad. He didn't like everyone laughing at him. And he most definitely didn't like being left in the centre of this great joke.

So Draco decided to put an end to it. He crossed the distance between him and Snape, his stride never faltering until he wrapped his arms around his Potions professor. Snape's body felt like an odd lump of marble, cold and uncomfortable. The sensation made Draco want to shed his skin. He never thought he would touch Snape let alone live to speak of it to anyone.

Draco pulled away as quickly as decorum would allow. He hazarded a look at the Potions professor and found the same unreadable grimace plastered on his face. "I thought you might have needed a cuddle," Snape said his voice dripping with kindness. "Can anyone tell me why Draco here gave in to me?"

Hermione Granger the residential Know-It-All shot up her hand. "Ah yes Miss Granger do enlighten us!" Snape said beaming at the girl.

"Well professor," Hermione began looking pleased, "Draco has had a very rough day so far and he obviously needs comforting. He has been feeling...a loss of self lately."

Draco glared at the girl sandwiched between saint Potter and weasel face, hoping to intimidate her. But Hermione tactfully refused to look his way. Instead her eyes were fixed on Snape who looked beside himself with happiness. Draco shook his head and crinkled his brow, something was definitely wrong when "Snape" and "happy" could be placed in the same sentence.

"Ah excellent Miss Granger. Once again you've come to the right conclusion. Excellent, excellent!" Snape said gleefully, clapping his hands together like a boy in a candy store. "Ten points to Gryffindor!"

The words didn't register in Draco's mind. He started pinching himself to test whether he was still in this perpetual hellhole of a nightmare. To his chagrin he was genuinely awake and his pinches were beginning to sting. Even more unbelievable was the lack of indignant snorts on the Slytherin side. None of them even look so much as surprised. They remained in their seats swapping notes and eating candy. Snape, who would have ordinarily spit the avada kedavra at such lack of disrespect looked mildly amused. He was humming a tune by the Weird Sisters and tapping his foot absently when Draco nerves finally snapped.

"THAT'S IT!" he bellowed. "You've all lost your minds! You're all mad. MAD you hear me? And you!" he pointed his wand at Snape. "You are a disgrace to the house of Slytherin. Wait until my father hears about this. You'll all be in for it."

With that, Draco stormed out of Snape's dungeon, his robes billowing angrily behind him. It took a lot of self-control for him not to throw a temper tantrum like he normally did when things didn't go his way.

"How typically Malfoy, to drop a threat then run for cover," Blaise said chuckling. He leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head.

"Yeah," Ron answered. "Run to daddy Draky."

The whole class burst into spontaneous laughter. "Alright, alright you lot back to work," Snape ordered half-heartedly with a smirk on his face.

The students settled down and returned to their cauldrons without complaint. Gryffindors paired with Slytherins and helped each other gather ingredients. They worked together, laughed together as if they had been friends for years, as if house rivalry didn't exist. Snape retained that bemused expression and returned to his desk. After some shuffling around, he produced a miniature gramophone. It started playing a love song by the Weird Sisters. The dungeon filled with music, chatter and the sound of bubbling cauldrons. Draco who was halfway up the stairs felt the ground beneath his feet dissolve. Just what the hell was going on in Hogwarts?

>.<

Draco shut himself in his room and started to pace, his mind working over the strange day thus far. Not only was he still considered 'predictable', everyone had become uncharacteristically nice to each other. It made Draco distinctly nauseous. Snape who was ordinarily angst personified had become more likeable than Flitwick. Seeing him give points to Gryffindor was like watching Lord Voldemort shake hands with a muggle. It was incomprehensible. After all, it was Snape who had written that extensive treatise on Gryffindors as carriers of incurable diseases. Such works were regularly circulated among dark wizards. How could Snape, a man so devoted to eradicating equality and fraternity give house points to Gryffindor? When did the emotionally tormented Severus Snape become a bucket of sunshine? More unbelievable was the Slytherin's lack of concern. What next, Draco thought gloomily, Slytherins and Gryffindors cheering each other on in quidditch? Sytherins and Gryffindors exchange Christmas gifts while singing carols around a bonfire? Slytherins and Gryffindors holding hands? The last thought made Draco shudder involuntarily. He brushed away a long strand of hair irritably. There were so many questions he had to answer and he was not about to find them by pacing in his dorm room. Having made up his mind, Draco headed for the door.

He wandered the halls a while not quite sure where to go. Classes were still on and no one was around. He headed for the Great Hall hoping to find something to eat but found the house elves otherwise engaged until lunch. His stomach protested loudly. Missing breakfast had been a bad idea, but then, upon closer consideration, getting out of bed at all had been a bad idea. He made his way to the library, cursing the world as he walked. He entertained the idea that Hogwarts was under some kind of spell and he had somehow escaped its effects. It was the sort of thing Dumbledore would do, Draco reasoned with a scowl--to smother the world with happiness. So much kindness and love would surely kill Voldemort. Potter put up a good fight but he had nothing over Dumbledore. If this spell went on unchecked the whole world would live fluffily ever after.

The idea was horrifying but the scenario was unlikely. For such a plan to work Dumbledore would have placed everyone under some kind of Imperius Curse and Draco knew what a stickler Dumbledore was when it came to "doing the right thing". The answer is still out there, he decided, and the library is a good place to start his investigation.

The library was a stuffy, airless hovel where decidedly boring people spent their spare time. They twitter like bats around dark corners, obsessing over fictitious characters from parallel worlds. Quite pathetic really, Draco thought. He walked passed the strict and fearsome Madame Pince who was a longstanding member of the Desperate and Dateless Society. Her only joy resided in reading racy and scandalous Latin poems disguised as Caring for your Wand manuals. Draco gave her a sneer and walked on.

He rounded a sharp corner and came into a small alcove usually reserved as the Silent Section. Several tables and chairs had been pulled together to form a long rectangle that ran from wall to wall. At one end of the table sat Hermione and Ron. They were hunched over a table covered with red and green glitter.

"No Ron, you're doing it wrong," Hermione said bossily. "That's meant to be a Y not an I."

"Right, right," Ron muttered squinting his eyes in concentration. Satisfied that Ron had made the necessary corrections, she returned to knitting a red, green, gold and silver scarf which Draco found a horrible clash of colours.

They continued to work for a while, completely oblivious to his presence. It wasn't until Hermione reached for more wool that she spotted him hiding in the corner. She looked at him for a moment as if considering his intention for being there. Draco sneered trying not to feel intimidated under her scrutiny. After all, he noted, Mudblood could hex very well.

But his fears were unfounded as Hermione gave him an unexpected grin. "Hi Draco!" she said brightly as if they had been on first name basis all their lives.

"Mudblood, Weasel," he said, scowling. "What are you doing out of class? Wait till McGonagall hears about this--"

"Oh Professor McGonagall gave us permission to be here," she said waving a note in the air. "It's for a special project Harry, Ron and I have been devising. We think it will really help spread the love around this place. We could all do with a bit of happiness don't you think?"

Before Draco could stop himself he had screamed, "I knew it!" He felt greatly embarrassed for showing such lack of control. Malfoys always stopped to think before speaking which was incidentally article forty-two of the Code. Hermione and Ron dropped what they were doing and stared at him. Draco found himself suddenly pleased for making such an unprovoked outburst. It had been totally unplanned and spontaneous, and through it, he had uncovered their vile secret. They couldn't have possible predicted his response.

"But of course you knew about it!" Hermione said matter-of-factly, rolling her eyes dramatically. "We've been promoting this society for weeks." She handed him a pamphlet. "We're urging more member to join. The Peers-and-Equals-Regardless-of-Voldemort's-Evil- Rotten-Threats-Society could do with your support."

The pamphlet was littered with pictures of Gryffindors fraternising with Slytherins. Draco recognised a couple of Slytherin third years with some Gryffindors in the Three Broomsticks. There was Theodore Nott helping Ginny Weasley with her homework, Ron and Blaise trading quidditch tips and Pansy Parkinson snogging Neville Longbottm somewhere in Astronomy Tower. The pamphlet had subheadings like so you decide you're not really evil and twelve steps to embracing you're inner Slytherin.

Draco looked up and met Hermione's twinkling brown eyes, not sure what to make of her. "PERVERTS? That's what you named your society? PERVERTS?"

"I told her it was a bad name but she insisted on being specific," Ron said with a frown. "Maybe you can talk some sense into her."

Draco dropped the pamphlet feeling disgusted. "This is a sick idea. Where do you get off being all righteous and noble and...and...friendly? Just so you know I'm in on your scheme," he said lowering his voice threateningly. "It won't work. You can't make the world a better place by spreading nasty curses like love and tolerance and peace." He spat the last word out like it was a bad taste in his mouth. "I'm going to alert every Wizarding authority of your illegal activities then I'm going straight to my father who will alert a certain individual who will put a stop to this once and for all!"

Hermione looked at Ron who was looking back at her with the same expression. "How predictably Malfoy to get his briefs in a twist," Ron said.

"Yes jumping to silly conclusions." Hermione shook her head. "Draco is well known for that."

"Stop it! Just stop it!" Draco bellowed, his pale cheeks inflamed with indignation. "I am not predictable." He sputtered madly then turned to Ron with a menacing scowl. "I'll bloody well prove it to you gits. Hand me one of your stupid buttons. No, not that one, that one, the one that says 'Slyther-indor'."

He snatched the button from Ron's hand and pinned it roughly to his robes. "And I'll wear one of your scarves," he said gruffly and proceeded to wrapped the multicoloured apparel around his neck, all the while muttering "fucking ugly" and "really is a fashion crime".

"It suits you," Hermione said approvingly. "The colours really bring out the grey in your eyes."

"Yeah, welcome to the good side mate," Ron said with a grin ordinarily reserved for his close friends.

Draco's ground his teeth together. "Aren't you the least bit surprised that I, Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, future Death Eater is wearing a PERVERTS' badge?"

Upon later considering, Draco realised he had said something very stupid. But he was feeling so livid at the time he no longer considered what came out of his mouth.

"Well of course we're not," Hermione said encouragingly. "It's difficult to embrace your inner Gryffindor but we know it's there. We believe in you Draco. There is hope for everyone."

"And if I were to become best friends with you, you would not question my motives?" he asked suspiciously.

"Of course not," Ron said. "I would be honoured to be your friend."

"What if I started dating your little sister?" Draco said with a nasty leer. "She's a sweet young piece isn't she?"

"Oh yes," Ron said agreeably. "She's a lovely girl. You two would get along so well together."

Draco emitted a sound somewhat reminiscent of a werewolf's howl. "Even Potter? Even if I became best friends with Harry Potter?" he cried desperately, grasping at anything that gave him some sense of familiarity.

Hermione cocked her head to one side as if considering the possibility. "Well I'm not so sure about that. Harry has been feeling rather down lately. He hasn't been the same since last summer. He went through a last year you know," she said secretively leaning in towards Draco. "He prefers to keep his distance but he really needs to talk out his problems. A cuddle now and then would not go amiss either. What Harry needs is an intimate friend he can confide in, someone to talk to and relate to." She paused dramatically. "A soulmate of sorts perhaps."

"Of course we're not expecting you to make the sacrifice Draco," Ron said seriously. "We know how much you loathe the guy and getting close to him must be torture, which is a shame really because you two might just get on really, really well."

"WHAT?" Draco exclaimed, feeling the scarf tighten around his windpipes.

"Oh of course the idea is utterly preposterous. You should feel rightly appalled," Hermione said nodding. "I mean as much as I love Harry he's not you're type. You can't possibly understand him or appreciate him. Harry is not expecting anything from you of course. He feels no one understands him properly which is why he's been moping about the place for the last few months. In fact, he's pacing Snape's dungeon right now as we speak. All alone." Hermione flashed him a grin that looked vaguely devious. "Now, you don't have to worry about Harry. If you would like to get to know us Gryffindors, we can always pair you up with someone at our meetings. Seamus, for example, has been dying to meet you. He says he really feels a connection between you two."

Draco took a step back as if Hermione had offered him the Cruciatus Curse. "Ah, no that's alright, maybe another day," he said quickly, an idea forming in his mind. He wet his lips. "Look I'm kind of busy so I'm going to just head off now." He moved to the door at a run.

"Of course," Ron called out behind him. "We completely understand."

Draco ignored him as he pelted down the corridor. Weasel face could say what he liked. He was on a mission to prove them all wrong. He was not predictable. He was a Malfoy and Malfoys must be capricious. He made a mental note to add such a clause to the Code, bringing a total of four hundred and eighty three clauses to the ancient document. He was getting closer to the dungeons. The halls were silent, as most of the students had disappeared to their next class. Fortunately for Draco, most Potions classes were taught after lunch.

He came to a stop outside the door, panting for breath. He was thankfully that the corridor was deserted. No one was there to give him strange looks as he pitched a series of pathetic pick up lines at the wall, none of which were any good. "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" seemed painful, "if I could rearrange the alphabet, I would but I and U together" seemed much too technical and "is that a ladder in your stocking or a stairway to heaven?" just didn't work on a boy. Finally Draco opted for his casual albeit arrogant demeanour. He straightened his robes and smoothed down his hair for the last time and reached for the door.

Freedom lay just beyond the doorway. The insults would come to an end, the snide remarks, the secret smiles would all disappear. He would be universally acknowledged and respected for doing the unexpected, the unthinkable. When he came out of the dungeons, everyone would find him a hero who had accomplished the impossible. Draco Malfoy, the self-proclaimed prince of Slytherin was about to seduce Harry Potter.

>.<

The dungeon door swung open with a disgruntled groan to reveal an even more disgruntled looking Harry Potter. Draco noted the careless way Harry had thrown on his creased and dirty robes. That famous mop of black hair looked even more mussed than usual. A pair of old and unfashionable glasses hung at an odd angle on the bridge of his nose making his whole face look lopsided. Harry was pale and thin to the point of scrawny. His figure hunched over an invisible weight making him look older and more careworn than his years.

Draco found his breath hitch when Potter raised his green eyes to meet his. The reality of what he was about to do hit suddenly and he was no longer sure of his position. Just what had possessed him to sought out Harry Potter of all people? Everything about Harry screamed misunderstood hero, from the scuff on his shoes to the scar on his forehead. Harry was everything he couldn't stand. The suppressed feeling of envy returned with greater urgency and Draco found himself hating Potter even more.

"Malfoy," Harry acknowledged slowly, his green eyes dancing with curiosity. "Can I help you?"

The glimmer of concern in Potter's voice made him even more loathsome. "No scar head, I've just come here to admire the grime on the walls," Draco snapped petulantly.

"So you came all the way down here to hurl abuses of me? Typical," Harry muttered bitterly. "Trust a Malfoy to kick you when you're down."

Draco inhaled sharply, trying hard not to tear Potter limb from limb for insulting the name of Malfoy. After all, he had come here to seduce Potter not kill him. Although, he mused, post-coital murder was common enough in the Wizarding world. He might even get away with it if he pleaded insanity in a moment of 'blind passion'. After all one would have to be blind to want Potter. He smirked and paused to enjoy the thought of Potter slowly choking to death.

"Stop smirking Malfoy," Harry said in a tired voice, "and kindly leave when you're done with the insults."

Draco stopped smirking and narrowed his eyes at the insolent boy who dared to interrupt his thoughts. "I was going to make this as painless as possible," he hissed as he withdrew his wand, all thoughts of seduction wiped from his mind. "But you've done nothing to deserve my sympathy." He pointed the wand at Harry's throat and barked, "Strip!"

For a moment Draco thought Harry would faint in horror. The already pale cheeks turned even whiter behind the glasses. Harry hesitated as if unsure of what to do. He was swaying on the spot shifting his weight from foot to foot. Draco thought he might run out screaming like a hunted banshee. The thought brought a smile to his face. Perhaps he didn't need to seduce Harry at all. The fact that he, Draco Malfoy, even suggested the idea was enough to make him unpredictable.

He had expected Harry to rave and rant and throw curses in his direction before running out of the dungeon crying like a scared little boy. But Harry didn't do any of those things. Instead he gave Draco a long and considering look, not moving from his stool.

"Not this again," he said finally with a tired sigh. "It's always the same implausible story." He turned to Draco giving him a long considering stare. "I haven't felt any urges for this sort of thing lately. Have you?"

Draco, who was at a loss for words, sputtered, "of course I have the urge to...to...to do this sort of thing. Now do as I say," he insisted, trying hard not to retch at the thought of Harry's skin. He sincerely hoped Harry would resist and keep his robes on.

"Well if you're sure," Harry said with a shrug and started to undo his tie.

Draco watched with a horrified expression on his face as Harry nimbly slipped off his tie and moved on to undo the buttons on his shirt. He never dreamt Harry would comply. He started to object when Harry stopped suddenly.

"You know this is moving very quickly. Usually we spar a little before this sort of activity takes place," Harry said matter-of-factly. When he noticed Draco's bewildered look, he elaborated. "You know, gaze at each other a lot over the pumpkin juice, meet up at night on secret rendezvous, exchange flirtatious messages fraught with sexual tension disguised as nasty insults, that sort of thing."

"What are you on about?" Draco croaked, feeling thankful that Harry had stopped undoing his buttons.

"I mean we usually court a bit before going at it like crazy," he said in bored voice. "You know how it goes. Draco goes away for summer, Draco finds himself confronting his future as a dark wizard, Draco becomes traumatised. Draco comes back to Hogwarts a changed person. Draco sees the irresistibly charming Harry Potter through new eyes and Draco starts questioning everything he's ever been taught in his life. Draco shares a few special moments with Harry Potter and finds himself deeply in love, though he denies it vehemently. Draco seduces Harry Potter, gets him in the sack--several times if possible--before redeeming himself by joining the good fight. Somewhere along the way evil, old Voldemort gets killed effectively freeing what's left of the Wizarding community. Then Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter live happily every after in a flat somewhere in muggle London possibly with a cat and two goldfish." Harry paused to give Draco an inquisitively look. "That's a common chain of development. But you're not doing very well in the seduction department at the moment and you've skipped a few too many bases for my liking."

"What the fuck are you on Potter?" Draco sputtered backing away as quickly as possible without tripping. "That doesn't sound like me!"

"But that's the idea," Harry said with a grin as he folded his arms. "So what's the scenario for your transformation this time? You know, what's prompted you to embrace the good side? Not that it's ever really plausible."

"I don't understand..." Draco trailed off feeling his head spin.

"How did you lose touch with your inner evil self?" Harry asked, gesturing at Draco's scarf and button. "Did the sight of Voldemort scare you out of wanting to be a Death Eater? Or perhaps Lucius disinherited you as the Malfoy heir? Did you kill someone and is now feeling remorse? Or have you been continuously mentally and sexually abused by both your father and Voldemort and are now rebelling against them?"

The thought made Draco sick. He felt his knees buckle and the strength drain from his body. He had never imagined Potter as such a twisted individual.

"Hmm that's not it is it?" Harry mused out loud, still grinning with his arms folded. "Maybe you're still a sadistic individual who likes to dominate and torture those you don't like." He shrugged and returned to unbuttoning his shirt. "I guess we'll know soon. So how do you want it?"

"Want what?" Draco asked nervously as an ominous shiver travelled down his spine.

"Honestly Malfoy," Harry said with an impatient sigh. "This was your idea. You are going to have to make the first move." He slipped off his shirt and started tugging at his belt. "Although, I must say the dungeon is the worst location for a secret rendezvous. Last time we did this I caught pneumonia and a particularly nasty rash of pussworts. I was confined to the infirmary for a whole month. Don't you remember?"

"Last time?" Draco asked weakly, feeling the urge to climb out of his sullied skin.

"Yes Malfoy," Harry said rolling his eyes as if talking to a very stupid child. "Last time--you and me in the dungeon together, naked, going at it like mad on Snape's table, against the wall. Me tied to a poll, you screaming obscenities. Don't you remember? I have the rope burns to prove it." Harry grinned deviously.

"No!" Draco moaned. "No, no, no." He backed away from Potter and tried hard not to look at the shirtless boy grinning back at him. It can't be true he reasoned desperately, Harry is just an extremely deranged individual. After all he had spent most of his life in a closet which suddenly explained a lot.

"I thought you wanted me Draco," Harry said husky, walking towards him in a sensual manner.

"You thought wrong!" Draco screamed, half-walking, half-running to the door. "I don't want you. You're mad! You're all mad! This whole fucking school is under a curse except no body can see it. What's wrong with all of you?" Draco ran to the door. Harry was still looking back at him through smouldering green eyes.

"I know it's hard for you Draco, but I can help you understand," Harry said with outstretched hands.

"No! You stay back!" Draco commanded before slamming the door shut and locking it with Harry still inside.

He fell to the floor gasping for air. A cold breeze bathed his flushed face and calmed his nerves. Nothing made sense anymore, Draco thought morosely, and he had no one to turn to. Hogwarts was definitely under Dumbledore's spell which made escape impossible. Hogwarts was not called the impenetrable fortress for nothing. He couldn't turn to anyone for advice. His father was in Azkaban, the one man he trusted in Hogwarts had gone round the bend like everyone else. He had to wait until summer to escape. But Draco knew his sanity would not survive intact for that long. The fate of a lifetime in Saint Mungo's was looming ever closer. For the first time in his life, Draco experienced the bitter taste of defeat.

Which meant only one thing for a Malfoy to do, he thought sadly as he picked himself up off the floor. When a Malfoy faces untimely defeat, he or she must make a grand exist from such a fate as befitting a Malfoy--translation for the not so bright Malfoy: Suicide. Clause two hundred and thirteen, he noted.

>.<

Draco didn't want to die. He enjoyed being alive far too much. There was so much he wanted to do with his life but would never have the chance to. He had always wanted to burn down a part of Hogwarts, get the Giant Squid drunk on butterbeer, hang Argus Filch by his thumbs from the dungeon ceiling, make McGonagall tap dance in a tutu in the Great Hall. So many dreams unrealised, he thought with a sigh. Then there were the things he would miss--blackmailing his housemates for chocolate frogs, turning first years upside down to empty their pockets, torturing house elves, robbing the blind, stealing from babies, kicking invalids. But that would all come to an end. The world would be short one Malfoy and it would become a better place for it.

Draco walked up the stairs of the dungeon feeling weary and deflated. Planning a dramatic exit from life was proving hard work. He had been wracking his brain for a painless way out, but with little success. Unbeknownst to most, Draco was quite squeamish when it came to blood and hopelessly afraid of high places. He was far too fond of air to have it taken away from him and didn't like the thought of his skin blemished in any way. Malfoys are not cut out for dying, he noted sourly as he shuffled down the corridor. If only he could be immortalised painlessly, make death an eternal slumber...

Draco continued to muse when the noise of the Great Hall filled his ears. It was lunchtime and his stomach reminded him once again that he had skipped breakfast and morning tea. He listened to his stomach this time, now growling like a discontent yeti. The cacophony of voices made Draco's dizzy and disorientated. He stumbled unceremoniously to the Slytherin table and found his housemates in a bizarrely chirpy mood.

"I must say Potions is a most invigorating subject," Blaise Zabini said in a loud and pretentious voice to Daphne Greengrass on his right. "I never knew asphodel with an infusion of wormwood could be so lethal."

A lovesick Daphne Greengrass nodded in agreement, not really understand what Blaise was talking about.

Draco, who had collapsed onto the Slytherin table in an uncharacteristic sprawl, snorted derisively. "My how fascinating Zabini. It never ceases to amaze me what comes out of that mouth of yours, especially when it's so similar to what comes out of your ar--"

"Draco!" Pansy interjected tactfully from across the table. She shot a look at Blaise to quell a confrontation. "You must be starved. Do eat something before Transfiguration."

Draco grimaced at the sight of Pansy and felt his appetite disappear. The clamour of dishes was making his head throb painfully in syncopation. He licked his dry lips and groaned inwardly for some toxic liquor. Anything to blank out this miserable day, he thought glumly.

"What I need is to get drunk," he grumbled, burying his face in his folded arms.

A loud pop followed signalling the arrival of a house elf to take his order personally. Draco had his way with house elves, mainly because they were terribly afraid of him. One house elf with third degree burns could pass as an accident but half of them checking into the infirmary with the same injury was another story. Draco leered at the happy memory.

"Master Malfoy, Dobby is here sir. Dobby will fetch whatever Master Malfoy pleases."

Draco didn't look up from his arms. "It is Dobby, Master Malfoy," the house elf tried again. "Dobby will bring whatever Master Malfoy desires. Why doesn't Master Malfoy look up at Dobby? Doesn't Master Malfoy know Dobby is here?"

Draco made a swipe at the hapless house elf and caught his bony elbow. "Of course I know it's you," he hissed. "Who else would talk in convoluted circles without actually saying anything of importance?"

"Then what does Master Malfoy request from Dobby?" he asked in a small voice, not wanting to provoke the ill-tempered boy.

"I want nettle wine, two glasses and a bottle of Concentrated Ogden's Old Firewhisky," he commanded. Then added as an after thought, "and a bowl of cherries."

"But Master Malfoy is not allowed drinks in the castle. Headmaster forbids it," Dobby sputtered, squirming to escape Draco's steel grasp.

Draco tightened his grip making Dobby yelp in pain. "Dobby will see what he can do sir!" the little house elf cried before scrambling away from the Slytherin table.

"I do hope you will drink responsibly Draco," Pansy said with a frown. "Ogden's Firewhisky is lethal! You don't want to end up in a coma darling."

"Wouldn't be so bad," Draco muttered under his breath, just out of earshot. The thought of drinking himself into a permanent stupor was the best scenario he could come up with so far. He wouldn't be dead per se, just...asleep. The school would make a fuss and his stunning aristocratic face, with all its graceful lines and fine features, would grace the front page of the Daily Prophet. How tragic that a wizard so young and so talent should fall prey to the evil temptations of alcohol. Dumbledore might even face an inquiry. Draco grinned at the thought. His body would be moved to Saint Mungo's of course, where his parents would employ any means necessary to bring him back to life. They could afford to keep him there forever is necessary--Malfoys had private healthcare after all.

A loud pop interrupted Draco's thoughts and for once he was not so annoyed by it. He raised his head out of his arms to see two wine glasses, a large brown bottle and a bowl of dark red cherries served on a silver platter. Draco mustered a tired grin as he reached for the wine. He downed the two glasses swiftly and savoured the feeling of drowsiness wash over him. He felt light headed, carefree, relieved that death wasn't going to be so bad after all.

"I'm going to die, whoopee!" he sang softly before bursting into a fit of giggles.

"That's nice Malfoy," Blaise said absently before turning back to his sycophantic crowd of pre-pubescent girls.

Draco made a rude gesture at Blaise's back before reaching for the bottle of whisky. He drank from the bottle without pause, the acrid liquid burning his throat. From the corner of his eye, he could see Pansy mouthing her complaint. He gave her a salute with his finger and kept drinking. Blood rushed through his veins, to his head, tinging his pale cheeks a light pink colour. The sensation was so blissful.

He set the bottle down long enough to pluck a cherry from the bowl. His grey eyes twinkled at Pansy's look of thinly veiled desire mixed in with a dash of anger. He winked at her seductively as he popped the cherry into his mouth. From across the table, he could see Pansy's breath shorten, her chest heaving rhythmically to her heartbeat. He continued to taunt her, his eyes not leaving hers as he circled the cherry with his tongue, sucking it between his lips. He laughed at the girl for thinking she had a chance with him. He wouldn't touch her if she were the last girl in the world with a bottle of whisky sandwiched between her legs. And he was just about to tell her so when the cherry lodged in his windpipe.

Draco blanched, his eyes wide with fear as his lungs pounded for air. He sputtered, trying to cough the offending material out, but to no avail. He signalled for help as he fell to the floor, writhing in agony.

"You're turning awfully red Draco darling," Pansy purred, looking down at him from the table. "Do stop this silly act at once."

"What do you expect he's a Malfoy, they're born exhibitionists. Don't concern yourself Pansy," Blaise said loudly.

Draco threw his fist at Blaise threateningly as his throat constricted painfully. He hadn't anticipated dying like this, on the floor with a group of curious onlookers commenting on the peculiar shade of his skin. Why didn't they do something to save him?

"Aggressive isn't he?" Seamus chortled.

"What do you expect he's a Malfoy isn't he?" Dean asked.

"Touche," Ernie Macmillan joined in with a grin.

"Oh honesty Draco, do tell us what's wrong," Hermione said with a roll of her eye, "or stop this nonsense at once."

"Yeah," Ron agreed inarticulately with the know-it-all who didn't know what the hell was going on.

Colin Creevy crept up to take a photo as Snape pushed through the crowd. "Nasty colour," he muttered when he looked down at Draco. "Sure sign of malady."

Understatement of the century, Draco thought as his eyes dimmed. "Oh yes, a blue hue surrounds him Severus. My third eye sees death and suffering!" Trelawney said in a dramatic voice, once again predicting the obvious.

"Well you can hardly expect anything else," McGonagall said matter-of-factly. "Who wouldn't want to take out this little git?"

"Um, professors, I think he's dead," Harry said giving Draco's hand a nudge with his foot.

"Yeah well I saw that one coming," Madame Pomfrey said, returning to the staff table. "Probably chocked to death."

"Shame, it was entirely preventable," Dumbledore mused as he popped a lemon drop into his mouth. "But predictably no body wanted to save him."

"It was Malfoy after all," Ron said with a grimace.

"Sad," muttered Ginny.

"But to be expected," said Cho.

"How utterly predictable," mused Luna.

>.<

Draco opened his eyes tentatively fearful of what he might see if he opened them too quickly. Death was unfamiliar territory to Draco and he didn't want to rush into anything that was likely to be eternal. Although, he mused glumly, the Malfoy legacy would have secured him a nice spot somewhere between purgatory and perdition. After all, Malfoys were good at negotiating with the devil. God on the other hand, was a much harder customer. And even if God admitted a Malfoy to heaven, they would outstay their welcome quicker than Lucifer. Draco frowned, an eternity of brimstone and hellfire among the damned was much more befitting for a Malfoy.

But the room in which Draco had been placed didn't look like the devil's playground. It was a large and plain space bathed in an ethereal white glow. Draco found the place too bright to be uncomfortable. He took a small step forward and found his corporeal form very much as he remembered it to be. He would have thought himself alive but for the memory of dying. The sensation of asphyxiating to death was still at the forefront of his mind. He was unlikely to forget the feeling any time soon.

He walked around the room, looking for a way out when a figure suddenly materialised in front of him. Draco jumped in spite of himself.

"Right, dead are you?" the stranger asked curtly. "I'm Charon at your service. Now where might I sort you?"

"Sort me?" Draco asked uncertainly.

"Where did they send you?" Charon asked.

"They didn't send me anywhere," Draco replied, feeling puzzled.

"Honestly boy what are you playing at?" Charon said irritably, his sharp blue eyes scrutinising Draco. "You are from the Potterverse aren't you?"

"The Potter-what?" Draco asked. "I know of a Potter, Harry Potter."

"Right then," Charon said pulling out a clipboard from thin air. "It's my first day and I'm not familiar with you lot. Right now, where did they send you?"

"They didn't send me anywhere," Draco repeated.

The grey haired, irate old man called Charon narrowed his eyes and rounded on Draco who instinctively drew back. "Don't waste my time boy," he hissed. "This fellow called Quirrell's already tried that one."

"Quirrell?" Draco asked incredulously. "Professor Quirrell? You've seen him?"

"Seen him?" Charon laughed. "He lives behind that door. Always trying to escape. Styx has her hands full dealing with him. "

He gestured to a door made of iron that had suddenly materialised behind Draco. It looked impenetrable and airless. A heavy padlock reminiscent to those found in Azkaban prison kept the door locked at all times.

"Why does he live there?" Draco asked, horrified that he might end up like Quirrell.

"Quirrell was a nasty character," Charon said with a leer. "He's been sent to the Perdition Room. From the day he was brought here Quirrell has been nothing but trouble. Always fancied himself as being 'still alive'. But he doesn't understand, once you're a deleted character, you never leave this place. Now, what did you say your name was boy?"

Draco gulped. "Erm," he managed as he wracked his brain for a name less despicable than his own. Being a Malfoy, that wasn't too hard. "Justin Finch Fletchley," he blurted out

"No he's not," a woman's voice piped up suddenly. Draco looked up to see a brown haired, green-eyed lady staring down at him. Like Charon, she came from nowhere. "This is Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy eh?" Charon grunted, consulting his clipboard like a mediwitch in Saint Mungo's.

"Look I'm not meant to be here," Draco said desperately before Charon could uncover all his evil deeds.

"That's what they all say isn't it Styx?" Charon said to the woman. "Oh I can't be dead, I'm too valuable to the plot how could she have killed me? Save it sunny boy, we've heard it all before."

"Look Draco," Styx said softly, "we've been through this before and you are no stranger to these parts. So why are you pretending you don't know what's going on?"

"What?" Draco sputtered incredulously. "You mean I've died before?" He looked at Styx then at Charon. "No, that's not possible. I would have remembered."

Styx shrugged. "Well, it's pretty routine. I send you through that door over there and after twenty-four hours you go back to being a living, breathing Draco Malfoy."

Draco turned around to see another magic door. On it hung a placard that read Regurgitated Character. He winced at the impropriate choice of words. Who would want to be regurgitated back to life?

"Look I don't know what's going on," he said. "I tried to kill myself--"

"WHAT?" Charon exploded, his blue eyes ablaze with fury. "What do you mean tried to kill yourself? Why in the devil's name would you do that? As if we didn't have enough to do processing all you deceased characters."

"But I didn't kill myself, not intentionally anyway," Draco went on impatiently. "I was trying to kill myself when I choked on a cherry. Next thing I knew I ended up here."

Styx and Charon stared at him with mouths agape. Then suddenly, the two of them burst into uncontrollable laughter. Styx was hanging on to Charon as he clutched his knee. They laughed so hard tears rolled down their eyes.

"What's going on here?" came a strong male voice that sounded vaguely familiar. "Draco?"

Draco looked up and found himself staring at his rogue uncle. "Sirius?" he asked, not quite believing his eye. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Me? I fell through the veil," he said pleasantly. "So you're here again eh?"

"What? I've never been here!" Draco insisted feeling horribly frustrated that everyone seemed to think dying was a regular occurrence.

"Oh lad, you've memory charmed yourself again haven't you?" Sirius said with a shake of his head. "There's a lot they'll need to explain to you."

"What?" Draco asked. "What do they need to explain to me? And who are they?"

Sirius gave him a sympathetic smile and turned to Charon and Styx who were still coughing from the laughing fit. "You'd best send him back," he said, ignoring Draco for the moment. "This one's not due to be deleted for some time yet."

"Alright cherry boy," Charon said with a smirk. "We're sending you back but remember to chew properly next time."

Charon gave a wave of his hand in Draco's direction. The invisible force that propelled him sent him reeling backwards. He could feel himself fall from a tremendous height like the edge of a sharp precipes. He screamed as he gathered momentum, the white room shrinking away as he fell.

"Right, I'm going to find James," Sirius said from a distance, his voice very small. "He still owes me two galleons for losing in wizard's chess."

Then the voices and the room disappeared sending Draco into darkness. He hurtled through a blanket of clouds then a spectacular field of blue. It felt as if he had fallen through eternity when he hit the cold hard floor of the Great Hall.

He rolled to his side and coughed violently, gasping as the air rushed into burning lungs. The cherry that had caused him so much distress tumbled out of his mouth and fell to the floor. Draco groaned as he heaved himself upright. The room was still spinning when he struggled to his feet. He propped himself against a table using it as a crutch for his weak body. He waited for the feeling of nausea to subside not daring to move. He was grateful that the Great Hall was now abandoned and that no one was there to witness his graceless rebirth.

When his legs regained some semblance of strength, he ventured a few steps forward. He was stumbling uncertainly towards the door when a hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder. The shock made Draco's knees buckle. He would have fallen if they hadn't caught him in time. He turned gingerly to face the people who had stayed to witness impersonation of a baby giraffe walking for the first time.

It took a while for Draco's eyes to focus on the golden trio that he had come to know so well and loath so much. They were look at him with amused expressions and knowing eyes.

"Oh bugger off," he mumbled, hoping to deter Potter's good intentions with rudeness. But of course, it didn't work. Potter was persistent when it came to helping the wrong sort. Draco often suspected him of harbouring masochistic tendencies disguised as "saintly concern".

"Welcome back," said Harry.

"Speak for yourself," said Ron.

"We need to talk," said Hermione.

>.<

Draco took a sip from his mug of hot chocolate. His movements were ginger as he did not entirely trust his surroundings. He blew into the mug to cool the liquid and watched the marshmallows melt away. Harry, Hermione and Ron were watching him anxiously against a maroon and gold backdrop that Draco found oddly disconcerting. The fact that he was sitting in the Gryffindor common room didn't bother him so much. It was more the thought of being studied by a group of do-good crusaders that unsettled him.

"Right, enough with the staring," he snapped finally. "Why did you bring me here?"

"We just wanted to make sure you're okay," Hermione said as she conjured a couple of fluffy cushions behind his back. "Coming back must have been so hard on you."

"Should have thought of that before you let me choke to death," Draco muttered darkly as he settled into the cushions which he found surprisingly comfortable.

"We didn't know you were going to die," Ron said with a smirk. "Besides, we didn't think there was a need to save you."

"No need?" Draco sputtered. "What do you mean no need? You're Gryffindors for Merlin's sake. You live to do stupid things, like saving people."

"Well," Ron said hesitantly. "Being a Gryffindor is only a part-time job."

"WHAT?" Draco exclaimed, not sure he had heard Weasel correctly. No one was more loyal than Ron Weasley to his house. To hear him speak of Gryffindor that way was like telling Lucius that Voldemort was just a passing craze.

"Perhaps we should start at the beginning," Hermione whispered, placing a hand on Ron's arm and shooting Harry a meaningful look. The matchstick nodded in agreement as Harry cleared his throat.

"I'm sure you've found things a little strange around here," Harry began.

"No shit really?" Draco interrupted caustically. "I hadn't noticed anything."

"Please Draco, we're trying to explain," Harry said calmly, only to receive a contemptuous look from Draco. "Well anyway, things have always been a little bit hectic both in and out of Hogwarts. There are forces in play that we cannot control."

"That's just fantastic, you're speaking in circles like Dumbledore. Skip the patronising crap and just get to the 'you-are-going-to-die-a-painful-death-and-I-ain't-doing-a-thing-to-stop-it-even-though-I-can-because-I'm-a-narky-old-bastard-with-a-broomstick-stuck-up-my-arse.'"

"DRACO!" Hermione reprimanded sharply.

"Alright, alright, I'm listening," Draco sulked. "Even though it's true."

"Now where was I? Oh right, yes, forces," Harry continued, leaning in towards Draco. "The force is invisible to us but we know it's there. It works in mysterious ways and it controls us. There's no escaping it."

Draco snorted. "Oh right, the force. Of course, I've heard of it."

"You have?" Harry asked unable to hide the tone of surprise in his voice.

"Of course, it's all around us, in the air we breathe, in the food we eat," he lowered his voice dramatically, "and when we least suspect it, the force strikes, creeping up our nostrils and infesting our brains. Before you know it, we become a race of super-zombies bent to destroy the world."

"Oh Draco do shut up!" Hermione snapped irritably. "What Harry is trying to say, very unsuccessfully, is that we are part of a complex narrative. We were created to tell a story. The world we inhabit is fictitious and the plot is still unfolding."

Draco gaped at her not quite sure what to make of her. Perhaps mudblood had finally cracked under the pressure of having too large a brain. "Okay, I liked my zombie theory more," he said.

"No, listen to her because she's telling the truth," Ron joined in. He pulled out an old leather bound book from his satchel. "This is a complete summary of our world and the characters we're set to play. We were created to think and act by these descriptions. Dumbledore catalogued every person, creature and denizen in the Wizarding world so that we are constantly reminded of who we're born to play."

Draco found himself staring at the very book that had first described him as boring and predictable. He ran a hand across the leather bound cover. It was just like the one he had found under Crabbes bed, down to the picture of Harry Potter and the short description of himself.

"But it's not possible," he whispered.

"Oh but it is," Hermione replied. "I know it's hard to accept. You believe your life is your own, but it isn't. It never has been. Haven't you ever wondered why your memory of your past is so sketchy?"

"I remember stuff!" Draco declared.

"But not before you were eleven. In fact, you have no memory of your past before meeting Harry at Madame Malkin's Robes," she said.

Draco felt his heart stop. He scoured his mind for a memory before that day in Diagon Alley but couldn't conjure a single image of his life prior to it.

"The story is centred around Harry," Hermione said softly. "It's about him growing up, his rites of passage, his adventures. Everything is told through his eyes. That's why there's so little about you in this book. He first saw you in Diagon Alley and he disliked you at first glance. You've remained an outsider to Harry ever since and you haven't changed in his eyes."

"Then why am I even here? Why are you even talking to me? You are supposed to hate me!" Draco insisted stubbornly. He was trying to hold on to the only reality he had ever known. He would not give it up without a fight.

"Well, you see that's a little complicated," Hermione said. "We, as characters, exist both on the page and in the imagination. The wise Creator, who gave us life, shared her imagination with the world. We live on in the minds of others long after the ink has dried. They then continue the story in which ever way they choose. In some of them we are friends, in others we are enemies."

"So you're saying someone's dictating what I say and think?" Draco asked, feeling his head spin again. He had never felt so out of control.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "Almost every second of every minute of every hour of every day. We go on living, breathing, existing. We experience a range of feelings like pain and pleasure, fear and happiness, hate and love. We are placed in all sorts of situations both realistic and implausible. The possibilities are endless and the outcomes as varied as the people who write about us."

"What happens to us when we fall into their hands?" Draco asked, horrified for the first time that he might have done things slightly untrue to his character.

"It all depends on who's weaving," Harry said with a grin. "We can stay in character or fall out of it. Sometimes, we feel the urge to do things that our Creator would not have approved of."

The word struck Draco faster than a flying snitch. His thoughts turned back to Potter in the dungeon with his shirt on the floor. ...It's always the same implausible story...I haven't felt any urges for this sort of thing lately. Have you? ...Usually we spar a little before this sort of activity takes place...

"We've...?" Draco said looking at Harry's impassive face with a newfound sense of horror. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Don't look so horrified," Harry said casually. "You've slept with half of the Wizarding world by now. I'm probably part of the better half of the bunch."

"Even...?" he whispered, looking at Hermione, who had the good grace to blush.

"And Ron," she said quickly, shifting the attention to her hapless friend.

"Don't forget half of Slytherin," Ron added hastily.

"Including Snape," Harry pointed out knowingly.

"Dean, Seamus, Neville, Ginny," Hermione checked off her fingers. "The Patil sisters, a motley of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws."

"Most of Slytherin. Goes without saying," Harry stated.

"Remus Lupin, Sirius Black--when he was still with us," Ron said sadly.

"Stop it!" Draco said softly, his voice shaking.

"That's the good end of the spectrum!" Hermione said with a twinkle of mischief in her brown eyes.

"Good end?" Draco asked in spite of himself.

"Well I would consider shagging one of us infinitely better than shagging your old man," Ron said crassly.

"Or Voldemort."

"Or Dumbledore, as much as we like the man."

"Or the Giant Squid."

"Alright!" Draco screamed. "I get the gist. Why the hell am I the sexually deprave one? I haven't even kissed a girl. Not that I can remember. Hey wait a minute." He narrowed his eyes as the thought just dawned in his rather concussed and traumatised mind. "How come I can't remember any of this? Why should I believe you lot?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "First of all, you are not sexually deprave, we've all been there and been with everyone and everything imaginable," she said matter-of-factly. "And secondly, you don't remember because you memory charmed yourself after a rather explicit night with Harry."

"It's true," Harry said nodding. "You see, once the story ends we lose our urges and we go back to being our original characters. We get swept up temporarily in the mood of the story and it can be both traumatising and exhilarating. But the story has to end somewhere and often, when it's all over, you feel like you've just woken from a very bad dream."

"And you want to crawl out of your skin," Draco whispered.

"Oh yes, definitely," Hermione said nodding. "But we're made of stronger stuff than you apparently. We don't go around memory charming ourself to escape."

"Why wouldn't you?" Draco said sulkily. "It seems like an awfully good way to avoid self-mutilation."

"That maybe, but it would be just as horrible to relive the same day over and over again," she said. "This way, we continue to live. And besides, nothing is final. Only our Creator has the power to complete the narrative."

"So you've known all of this, all along?" Draco said slowly. "And you didn't think to tell me earlier?"

Harry, Hermione and Ron exchanged looks of amusement and did not look particularly sorry for what they had done. "You always memory charm yourself after an unpleasant episode and frankly we just got sick of telling you what's going on," Hermione said nonchalantly. "So we just left you to figure out what was going on, and naturally your meticulous mind reached the wrong conclusion."

"And it was pretty funny watching you struggle with it all," Ron said with a mischievous smile. "The prank was bloody brilliant. Being 'predictable' really got to you didn't it?"

"Yes!" Draco said with a scowl. "You knew it would."

"Ah, but Draco, we are all unique in our own way," Harry said sagely.

"Especially after we've undergone some manipulation," Ron joined in. "Authors can transform us into completely new characters. Ordinary Harry here becomes the misunderstood, angst-ridden hero at the flick of a quill. Hermione the nerdy, control freak, can lead a double life as a Slytherin slut and I more often than not play the confounded Gryffindor who hankers after his best friend."

"It doesn't matter how they write us, so long as you remember one fundamental principle," Hermione said, placing a hand on Draco's. "At the end of the day, everything is the way it should be. After all, Seamus is Seamus."

"And you are yourself," Ron finished with a smirk.

Seamus Finnigan who had been eavesdropping on their conversation from the window closed his book with a loud snap. Draco watched as a red faced Seamus stormed out of the room with an angry scowl, all the while muttering something about being "totally misunderstood".

"What's Finnigan's problem?" he asked as the door to the Gryffindor slammed shut.

"Oh don't mind Seamus," Hermione said with an indulgent grin. "Some of us are not so good at handling out of character representations. Anyway, it's getting late. You had best head to bed. Sleep will do you a lot of good. You have been through a lot today."

They all stood up to see Draco to his dungeon and said their goodbyes outside the Slytherin common room.

"Hey, do you think I could win the next quidditch match?" Draco asked just as he was about to step through the portrait hole. "Or beat Hermione in Transfiguration? Or single-handedly kill the Dark Lord and take over the Wizarding world?"

"Only if it's written," Hermione said with a grin as she rounded the corner after Harry and Ron. "See you tomorrow!"

>.<

Draco Malfoy made a grand entrance into the Great Hall. His immaculate robes billowed about him making his already aristocratic features appear even more dignified. He walked gracefully to the Slytherin table where his housemates hastily made room for him. No one dared to leave Draco Malfoy standing. They watched him fearfully as he sat in the centre of his sycophantic group of friends, ready to carry out his every wish.

Draco was reaching for the jug of pumpkin juice when a lock of black hair caught his eyes. It belonged to a pair of green eyes that Draco suddenly found extremely appealing. He stared, the jug of pumpkin juice still poised in midair. The sensation that washed over him was indescribable. All he wanted to do was stare. And to his delight, Harry Potter returned his look of admiration. Draco felt his breath hitch as their eyes locked. He found himself suddenly unable to look away. Every little commonplace gesture Harry made became magnified and Draco found himself floating away to a far away place.

Then it hit him, like a bucket of ice down the back of his robes.

And so it has begun, he thought. Again.