I Don't Know Why

I Don't Know Why

By Jetsam Porridge

Chapter one: Proving Yourself with Evil Plans

I don't know why I'm doing this. I think I'll put it down to temporary insanity and that insatiable desire all teenagers have to Prove Themselves. Gah.

It started late last night in the Gryffindor Seventh Year Boys Dormitory during a game of Truth or Dare. I hate Truth or Dare but seem as everyone else is playing, I join in the regular late night sessions of discussing how hot Parvati Patil looks in a miniskirt.

Of course, it was during one of these games that I, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, became Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Liked-Other-Boys.

Quite the scandal it was, too.

Actually, the whole thing was Seamus' fault. He decided that for Truth, it would be fun for us all to rate the other seventh years -boys and girls - on a scale of 1 to 10. Measuring looks. Go figure.

So we listed them and then rated each one. I couldn't say I was terribly enthusiastic about this but I didn't want to be the only one not to take part. So I did it anyway. In turn, Seamus, Ron, Dean and Neville read out their "ratings".

As they read, I began to get more and more nervous. Their ratings were far lower than mine - especially the boys'. By the time my turn came around, I was decidedly agitated.

They spent a while trying to convince me to read mine out until Ron stole my sheet of parchment and read them out for me.

The fact that my ratings for the boys averaged higher than the ones for the girls was completely unintentional. It's not my fault that most of the girls in our year aren't that spectacular looking.

My roommates took this completely the wrong way. Amid much laughter and jokes that got progressively more vulgar, I tried to explain it to them. Did they listen? Of course not. Instead, they took it as proof that I'm gay.

I'm not entirely sure what led them to this decision. Seamus told me that they'd had suspicions - after all, the fact that the Boy-Who-Lived, famous, youngest House Quidditch player in a century, arch-nemesis of the most evil creature in the world, is unable to manage a long-term relationship with girl, must mean he has homosexual tendencies.

Yeah. Right.

Shortly after they decided I was gay, I stupidly picked 'Dare.'

I swear Seamus is a Death Eater. There's no other explanation for his trying to kill me, except possibly that he's jealous of my good looks (which I rather doubt, since I don't have any).

Seamus Finnegan dared me to kiss Malfoy.

However, no dare is complete without the idiot who picked 'Dare' being completely, utterly and totally embarrassed. Seamus would not be satisfied with a peck on the cheek in an empty classroom. Oh, no, it had to be a full-on snog. And what better time to do it than breakfast?

As if Draco Malfoy, future Death Eater, resident egotistical prat and my longtime rival, would let me touch him at all, let alone kiss him! Not to mention that it would be no lighthearted kiss - and then add to that the fact that it would be in front of the whole Hogwarts population (except the two or three in the hospital wing), and you've got a recipe for Death By Malfoy. A Malfoy, as everyone knows, does not take well to being embarrassed.

That's how I came to be sitting at the breakfast table, too worked up to eat, with by palms sweating and my stomach in knots. For the thousandth time, I wish I didn't need to Prove Myself. Ron pokes me and wiggles his eyebrows. I think that means I'm supposed to do something now. So I stand up and begin walking over to the Slytherin table.

Damn my fucking pride to hell.

At while I'm at it, Seamus can go there too.

I walk over to where Malfoy sits, surrounded by his cronies, and stand behind his chair. My heart beats at a million miles a minute. When they notice me, they all stop talking and sneer at me instead. Malfoy turns around to face me.

"Potter-" he starts.

"M'sorry," I interrupt in a rush and step forward. I grab his face between my hands, lean down, and press my lips against his.

He goes very, very still for a long moment.

Then he stands up and shoves me away from him, a look of utter revulsion on his face. I fall to the floor, hard, and wince at the impact. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Get the fuck away from me Potter, you bastard."

I've never seen him so angry. I get up from the ground in a hurry and try not to run back to Gryffindor's table. I can feel my face burning. The rest of the Hall talks in whispers, apart from my so-called friends who are pissing themselves laughing. I sit down and my head drops to the table.

"I really, really hate you, Seamus," I say faintly.

Hermione pats my arm awkwardly. I know she'll have questions later.

I wish I were dead.

But of it's own accord, my head lifts from the table and my eyes find the Slytherin table. Mafloy's gray eyes shoot daggers at me from across the room and it sends shocks of emotion through me. I feel my face go red again and my eyes drop to the table.

It's at that point that revulsion takes over and my face twists with it. I'm never playing Truth or Dare again. Because I never want to touch him again. Dare or no dare, he's my enemy - my male enemy for that matter - and I hate him. Despise him.

Nothing will ever change that.

~*~

That morning was the worst morning of my life.

I don't know why Harry Potter felt he had to snog me, but his reasons were of little consequence to me right then. I was more concerned about the fact that my reputation would be in tatters by lunchtime and all of Hogwarts would believe that I am gay and probably shagging the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. And then there was the prospect of looking forward to my father's reaction when he received an owl from one of the Slytherins - who cares which one -concerning his precious heir's love life, which now seem to be focused on Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Molest-Other-Boys.

I was doomed.

There was always Plan B, which unfortunately, at that point, involved running away; creating a potion that would turn me into a fat brunette and living the rest of my life hiding in a quaint little Muggle village. No, thank you, I'd rather take death.

And while the Fates were busy dooming me, they decide to throw in an extra element of fun, otherwise known as Potions class first thing - with the Gryffindors.

Professor Snape must have felt a little sorry for me, because he kept taking points of Wonder Boy and his entourage for smiling and being happy. I can't imagine why they were in such good moods, but then again, I didn't particularly care either. I moved on to other things as we began to work in silence.

Inevitably, my thoughts turned to that unspeakable event that had happened at breakfast. The worst part, I decided, was the humiliation. And the questions from the other Slytherins - was what that about? Was I gay? Was I shagging Potter? Where and when did I meet him for our midnight trysts? And when did I decide to get out of the closet? These are the only things worth considering, I told myself. Forget about the rest. Do not think about the rest.

I would have to exact revenge on Potter, though. No-one, no-one embarrasses a Malfoy and gets away with it.

Especially Harry Potter.

I was startled out of my thoughts when I heard Professor Snape speak.

"Your ineptitude never ceases to amaze me, Potter," he said silkily. "Until this class. Detention, tonight, for your gratuitous mutilation of boomslang."

Potter obviously did not appreciate this, as his cheeks became so red one could probably fry an egg on them.

When the bell went, Professor Snape called me to stay.

"I have better things to do with my time than indulging in the discipline of celebrated Gryffindors," he said.

Suddenly I became aware of an odd feeling somewhere in the region of my stomach. I think it was nerves.

"You will oversee Potter's detention tonight, Draco." He smiled unpleasantly. "Think of it as a learning experience."

I glared furiously at my Head of House.

"Why?" I asked.

"You are Head Boy, Draco, and with this position comes responsibilities -"

"With all due respect, Professor, overseeing detentions are not part of those responsibilities-"

"I have a staff meeting tonight," he interrupted in a voice that's quietness made it all the more threatening. "I expect you to be capable of...Potter-sitting. If you have any complaints, I suggest you see the Headmaster. As far as I am concerned, the matter is closed. Go to class."

I glared at him again and stalked out of the classroom.

In retrospect, I think I admire him a lot less than I used to.

~*~

I tried praying to every single God I could think of for some way out of this detention, but obviously there is no God, because it's 7 o'clock and I'm outside the Potions classroom without any other options but to go in.

Seamus is going to pay. Big time.

I push open the door while my mind screams at me to run, run far, far away. Malfoy is sitting in Snape's chair, his feet on the desk and reading the latest edition of Quidditch Monthly. He turns the page lazily.

"Well, go on then," he drawls. "You know what to do, I'm sure."

Malfoy?

"Where's Professor Snape?" I blurt.

"Busy," he replies.

Oh. Busy. Right.

For a minute, I don't move. But Malfoy doesn't even look in my direction, so I sigh and begin scrubbing.

The minutes drag, and as each of them passes I find myself wishing more and more that a rather large weight would conveniently drop out of the sky and fall on Snape's head. Preferably followed by another one, just as large and heavy, that would fall on Malfoy's head. After a while I even find myself regretting how many times I scratched notes to Ron on the desk. I scrub at an "I hate P's". Then I move onto "SS is a git".

I think about scratching a rather rude message about Slytherins in general, then abandon the idea seem as I'd have to clean it off anyway.

~*~

After two hours, I decided that accepting the so-called honor of being Head Boy was quite possibly the biggest mistake I ever made. That time I let Mother dress me in pink came a very close second.

I turned the pages of Quidditch Monthly at the appropriate times. Of course, I wasn't really reading it. Instead, I was racking my brain for something scathing to say to Potter - unsuccessfully. Why does my eloquence always desert me when I need it most?

Every few minutes, Potter would look up and open his mouth to say something, then think better of it and go back to scrubbing. It was beginning to get on my nerves.

The seventeenth time he did it, I'd had enough.

"POTTER!" I yelled.

He jumped, startled.

"What?"

"Do you have something to say or not?" I continued in a slightly calmer tone.

He blushed slightly.

"It's nothing."

I raised my eyebrow and sneered at him. I stole that expression from Professor Snape, but I've found that it looks even better on me. Potter proved me right when he sighed and spoke.

"It's just...I thought you'd say something about this morning, that's all."

The cloth twisted between his fingers as he fidgeted. He was nervous. I smiled maliciously, another expression I stole from Snape. That man certainly has his uses.

"Why?" I asked, pretending confusion.

"I don't know!" His eyes flashed dangerously and his voice dripped with sarcasm. "Because what happened this morning is so normal."

I inspected my fingernails and tried to come up with a suitable comeback.

"Well, I know I'm irresistible," I said matter-of-factly.

Close enough.

"Actually, Malfoy, it was a dare," Potter said, rolling his eyes.

I snorted. He went back to scrubbing the desks, leaving me time to realize the implications of that statement.

So, Wonder Boy and his little friends thought it was funny to embarrass a Malfoy? Give them a week, and they'd be sorry they were ever born.

I had an Evil Plan.

~*~

Over the last seven years, I had noticed that Professor Binns had one of two effects on people - he either put them to sleep, or put them in the mood to become homicidal maniacs. I fell into the second category, ergo History of Magic was the perfect time to come up with Evil Plans.

When I said I already had an Evil Plan, I might have spoken a little too soon.

I sneaked a glance at Potter and almost laughed out loud. His hand supported his head as he tried desperately to stay awake. It made his face screw up.

Obviously he fell into the first category.

To my annoyance, it was very hard to come up with an Evil Plan to get revenge on him. I considered carrying on from that morning's scene at breakfast (shuddering in embarrassment at the memory) by pretending that Potter and I were having a secret, passionate affair.

On second thoughts, maybe not, I decided.

In my quest for the perfect Evil Plan, I was discovering that it was not as easy as I had thought. I was filled with new admiration for the likes of Voldemort. They must spend a very long time plotting.

On the other hand, it sort of explained why Dark Lords always get beaten. Assuming, of course, that it takes longer to come up with an Evil Plan than a plan to thwart Evil. No wonder Voldemort had to dedicate all his time to being Evil, while Dumbledore still managed to run a school as well as thwarting Voldemort's his Evil Plans and protecting Potter.

The bell rung and I had not yet come up with an Evil Plan. Oh well. I could always fall back on the tried-and-true Kidnap-Victim-And-Use-A-Polyjuice-Potion-To-Find-Out-His-Dirty-Secrets.

Muahaha, I thought to myself. Today, Potter, tomorrow, the world! Or, more accurately, Friday, Potter, next week, the world!

~*~

It seemed the Fates hadn't given up on my doom yet, but it was only Monday.

Hagrid, whom I am positive has been made my teacher as part of a plot to kill my poor innocent self, had decided that it was time for us to study Gobblers. Gobblers are aptly named creatures about the size of one's fist that spend their entire short lives gobbling on whatever poor witch or wizard who got near them.

Of course, being Hagrid, Hagrid thinks they're adorable. Never mind if they spent the entire lesson gobbling me.

According to Blaise, I spent half an hour running around in circles, squealing and trying to pull gobblers off my behind. According to Pansy, the Dream Team found this utterly hilarious.

I didn't waste time explaining to them that I was merely following Hagrid's advice - claiming the most effective way of getting Gobblers to abandon their relentless pursuit of gobbling was by making lots of noise.

They wouldn't have believed me anyway.

~*~

The rest of my week progressed amongst a horrible run of bad luck.

Damn Murphy. Damn him to an eternity burning in Hell. O'Toole can go with him too. Optimist, indeed. I prefer to believe that things can't possibly get any worse.

Ironically, Murphy's 10^th Law disagrees, but I damned him to Hell, so that's irrelevant.

After the episode with the Gobblers on Monday, I seemed to experience something horrible every day. On Tuesday evening in Astronomy Class I somehow managed to catapult myself out of the highest window of the Astronomy tower.

I blamed Crabbe and Goyle and thanked the Gods for Professor Sinistra and her ability to cast satisfactory levitating spells.

On Wednesday in Ancient Runes, I spilt my new black ink all over my favourite robe.

I blamed Crabbe and Goyle and thanked the Gods for cleaning spells.

On Thursday they didn't have coffee at breakfast, which I believe was a major contributing factor to my inability to turn a toad into a toadstool in Transfiguration.

I blamed the house elves and almost thanked the Gods for textbooks, then wondered what on earth I was thinking and blamed Granger for praising textbooks too loudly and spending all her time in the library.

But finally it was Friday, Potions class, and time to set in motion my Evil Plan. Professor Snape announced that we were making concentration potions and to encourage interaction between houses we would each be placed with a partner from the other house. He put Weasley with Millicent Bulstrode, who waved merrily - albeit a little maliciously, turning Weasley's face into an astonishing shade of puce. Granger got put with Goyle. She huffed.

Thankfully, the Fates (a.k.a. Professor Snape) had decided to allow me a little luck. Potter was placed with me. Muttering under his breath, he moved his things to the empty desk beside me. I gave him my most charming smile and he glared at me.

Right. Devil Draco and Angel Draco rubbed their hands in anticipation. Evil Plan, step one.

We silently began to prepare. Not the comfortable kind of silence or even awkward silence. No, this was the kind of silence that says "If you say a word I will pound you into the ground."

Ach. Bad mental image.

Potter started to add ingredients to the cauldron and it turned a violent shade of pink. I backed away from it. Pink would clash horribly with my green Slytherin shirt.

I sat down in my chair and put my feet up on the desk.

"Malfoy," he said through gritted teeth. "Help. Now."

"What?" I replied. "Can't you do it? Is there an emergency? Should we panic? Is there trouble at the mill? Is the old abandoned barnyard on fire? What?"

"Quit - quoting - crappy - Muggle - movies - and - do - something - before - I - throw - this - knife - at - your - head," he replied as if speaking to a small child, enunciating every syllable clearly. I marveled at his amazing ability to speak through a jaw clenched so tightly it was about to shatter.

"Oh!" I said, enjoying every minute of it.

His left eye began to twitch.

I stood and began stirring the potion (which, thankfully, had turned clear by then). Then, very deliberately, I tipped the cauldron and our potion (oh horror of horrors) spilt all over the floor.

"Oops!" I said with exaggerated cheerfulness.

Potter barely restrained himself from throttling me. Professor Snape gave us both a detention after class to clean up the mess.

Devil Draco and Angel Draco did a victory dance.

In my mind I got out my Evil Plan Checklist. Get detention again? Check.

~*~

I. Hate. Draco. Malfoy.

Of course, I already knew that, but I think I've reached a new level of hatred. I'm sure he has ulterior motives for deliberately tipping over the cauldron and getting us detention, but I'm not sure I want to know what they are.

Somehow, I ended up being the only one cleaning. Malfoy insisted that he couldn't clean because his pants would get dirty.

I tell myself I'm only letting him get away with it so I can get out of here.

So I am on my hands and knees cleaning up the mess that Malfoy made for some reason I don't really want to know.

After an hour, I'm finally finished and I turn around to leave.

Out of everything that could have happened, I did not expect to see Malfoy barge at me, yelling a war cry, and attack me with a chair.

"OW!" I yell, ducking and dodging.

Then I fall over in a tumble of arms and chair legs, and hit my head on the stone. The world goes black.

~*~

I was rather pleased with myself.

After I knocked Wonder Boy out with the chair, I dragged him to the Potions storeroom; shoving him in there and whispering a locking charm. I checked the clock.

58 minutes and 14 seconds left.

Oh bugger, I thought then.

I had forgotten the Polyjuice potion.

Quickly, I unlocked the door, stole a jar of Polyjuice from Snape, yanked some hairs from Potter's head and dropped them into the jar. It turned an odd brownish colour. Ew. I skulled it anyway.

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, OW, OW, OW!

It had better be worth it, I thought.

Thankfully Potter and I were about the same size, so there was no need to steal his clothes, although I did have to swap my Slytherin shirt for his Gryffindor one. I left the storeroom for the second time and locked the door.

I got out the Evil Plan Checklist again. Steal identity of the enemy? Check.