I Don't Know Why

I Don't Know Why

Chapter 4 : A Touch of Madness

3:27am, the clock's glowing hands showed. My head dropped back to the pillow.

3:28am. 3:29am. 3:30am.

The sound of Crabbe's snores filtered through the curtains on my four-poster, occasionally punctuated with loud wheezes from Goyle's direction. Six years and I still hadn't adjusted to the noise. Despite going to bed before them, they somehow always manage to wake me up at the most ridiculous times during the night.

3:33am.

I grabbed a pillow and covered my head with it, hoping to block the noise out. My reward? A few seconds of silence while Crabbe rolled over, only to start snoring again. I threw the pillow back onto the bed next to me, then as an afterthought, picked it up again, yanked open the curtains and threw it at Crabbe's head.

3:34am and still the snoring and wheezing, now accompanied by Nott's sleep-talking.

"Not the hamsters," Nott murmured. "Please, not the hamsters. They're all small and fluffy, Daddy..."

I really didn't want to know what he was dreaming about.

3.35am. "Ugh, fluffy..."

I flopped onto my front.

3.36am. "Please, Daddy..."

Back onto my side.

3:36am. 3:37am. 3:38am. "I'll do anything, Daddy, just make the hamsters go away..."

With a frustrated grunt, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My head dropped into my hands.

I bet Potter's sleeping well, I thought angrily. Bet he's fast asleep, dreaming of candy and lollipops and saving the world for the six billionth time.

I stood up, the stone floors of the dungeon cold beneath my feet. Pulling my cloak on over my pyjamas, I left, slamming the door after me, knowing that only a large brick falling on their heads would wake my dorm mates at this time of night.

Actually, on second thoughts, it would probably take all of Hogwarts collapsing on their heads.

~*~

The tiles on the roof of Gryffindor tower are surprisingly warm at night. I'd noticed this the third time I'd climbed out here at some unearthly hour, unable to sleep. It must be at least the fifth night in a row I'd done this.

It doesn't help much but it's nice to sit out here and look at the stars.

For the six billionth time, my thoughts turn to Malfoy. He's gotten himself well and truly imbedded into my conscious and even my subconscious with his stupid staring tricks. I turn it over and over in my mind, looking at it from every angle, but there's never any resolution. I know he's just trying to annoy me. But something tells me there's more to it than that and my subconscious, at least, won't stop trying to figure out what that is.

As if my thoughts performed an accio charm on him, Malfoy's blonde head bobs out of the doorway into the courtyard below me. I sit up straighter and watch as he walks towards the opposite corridor, pausing just before going inside.

Suspicious behaviour. What's he doing up at this time of night? Why isn't he asleep? He should be asleep. He's never out this late. He's always goes back to his dorm before 9 o'clock, unless he has work due the next day, but even then he's gone by 11...

Malfoy's head, and the rest of his cloaked body, disappear around the corner and I'm left staring at the spot where he'd been.

The somewhat odd fact that I know what time he goes to bed never even occurs to me until much later.

~*~

The great hall buzzed with breakfast noises far too loud for my liking. Pansy's hand flutters delicately above my arm.

"What's wrong, Draco?" she simpered.

I was silent for a moment while my brain puzzled over the question.

"Coffee," I decided eventually. "I need coffee."

Leaning forward, I grabbed the pot and poured its entire contents into my mouth, gulping it down like it was some kind of liquid oxygen. I dropped it back onto the table and slumped down in my chair to wait for the caffeine to work its magic.

The sound of Blaise's quiet laughter floated into my sleep-deprived brain and I opened one eye, frowning quizzically at her. She pointed over to the Gryffindor table.

"Look," she said gleefully.

I opened the other eye and my gaze found Potter, slumped in his chair. Too tired to even remember The Plan, I watched curiously as Hermione pressed a steaming mug into his hands and held her hand to his forehead, the familiar worry lines creasing her forehead.

Playing mother again. Honestly.

Potter's eyes lifted slightly and met mine. I didn't move, just met him stare for stare. His mouth twisted in a scowl and his eyes dropped.

Devil Draco made a half-hearted attempt to cheer, and sunk back into abject, tired misery.

~*~

Two hours later, I was regretting drinking so much coffee. It felt like every nerve in my body was on fire. I had fidgeted all through charms, earning myself a reprimand from Professor Flick more than once, with thoughts flying around my head like bees on those funny Muggle pills that made everything really fast.

Not that I'd tried them.

With all that caffeine in my system, Transfiguration wasn't as fascinating as it usually was. I found myself itching to be outside, maybe playing Quidditch - against Potter, of course; no one made the game more thrilling. Watching his every move, flying so fast that I would always feel like I was about to fall off. He was so graceful on a broomstick; I'd never seen anyone fly like he did...

Stop.

With the thought of Potter, my mind naturally turned to The Plan. I'd been neglecting it that day. Initially, it had been because just about the only thought in my head was that I was tired, and then it had because I was too hyped up to think about anything for more than a second.

A glance at Potter revealed that he was watching me curiously.

My heart went into overdrive.

~*~

The sound of McGonagall's voice, lecturing us yet again on the dos and don'ts of animal transfiguration, barely even filters into my brain. Not enough caffeine. Not enough coffee at breakfast. I rest my head on one hand and glace over at Malfoy.

Just to make sure he's not watching.

Of course that's why I'm watching him. Why else would I?

For once, and I'm surprised to see it, he's not looking at me at all. He's not even looking in my direction. The movements of his hands draw my eyes and I notice he's fiddling with his quill, fingers moving fast and agitated. I frown slightly.

That's not like him. Malfoy never fidgets. He's always calm and collected; a Malfoy thing, Ron says sometimes. It's unsettling too, that he never seems to be affected by anything.

He shifts in his seat, dropping the quill onto the desk and pulling a small piece of parchment out of his pocket. He begins to fold it, over and over until it's too small to fold anymore, then unfolding it again. He makes shapes; a tiny paper crane, a miniature boat.

I smile slightly. I never would have picked Malfoy as one for origami.

After a while he throws that onto the desk too and looks around for something else to fiddle with. Soon the quill is back in his hands, one end tapping irregularly on the parchment in front of him.

Suddenly the drone of McGonagall's voice is gone and my eyes snap back to the front guiltily.

But it's Malfoy she's looking at, and it's Malfoy her stern warning is directed to.

"Mr Malfoy," she says. "If you don't mind."

Malfoy mumbles a distracted apology and the quill drops back onto the desk. I grin again. His weird behaviour was amusing, if nothing else, and a lot more interesting than McGonagall's lecture.

For a while he's still, lost in whatever thoughts are going through that twisted brain. He looks out the window, muscles suddenly tensing. He shifts, eyes flicking to me, and I try desperately to keep the grin from my face. His eyes narrow slightly and look away.

This time I can't keep the grin from my face. See how much you like getting watched, Malfoy.

I'm turning the tables.

~*~

When the bell rang, I was out of there as fast as I could, almost running to get as far away from Potter as I possibly could.

The bastard was using my own tricks against me.

Time to up the ante. I couldn't let Potter win. Time to implement stage two of the New and Revised Edition of The Plan.

Only problem was, I hadn't thought of it yet. Which seemed to be the weak point in most of my plans. The not having planned it part.

The door to the Slytherin dungeons was in front of me. I gave the password and went straight through to my room, flopping down on my bed.

Stage two. Stage Two.

Ideas flitted in and out of my head, but none of them were remotely close to what I wanted. Something devious and sneaky. Something to throw Potter off balance; put him back on the defensive.

The door opened and I rolled over to yell at whoever it was to go away.

"Shut up, Goyle!" Crabbe yelled. Goyle shook with laughter.

"Go on then, share the joke," I snapped.

"There's no joke!" Crabbe glared daggers at me.

I raised an eyebrow at Goyle, waiting impatiently until he calmed down enough to speak.

"Crabbe copped a feel of Pansy!"

And he collapsed into laughter again. I smirked.

"Now that's funny," I drawled.

Words failing him as usual, Crabbe glared at me and stormed from the room. Goyle, still laughing, followed him out. I smirked again, picturing the scene.

Copping a feel.

Touching.

Suddenly stage two was right in front of me. Because if watching unsettled Potter, touching him would be even more effective.

I couldn't let Potter beat me at this game.

That's what it had always been about, anyway.

~*~

Professor Snape was quite possibly the easiest person to manipulate I'd ever come across. Potions class, I'd decided, was the perfect place to begin stage two. All I would have to do was coerce Snape into pairing Potter and I together.

So at the start of the lesson, I asked if we could pick partners. It was easy to decipher the reprimand behind Snape's cool gaze on me. You should know better, the black eyes said.

But my face was perfectly innocent, and he scowled.

"No, Mr. Malfoy," he snapped. "I will be assigning you your partners."

He paused sinuously and I tensed slightly.

"You may work with Mr. Potter."

Relief flooded through me, and I remember to grimace just in time. I glowered up at Snape; you're so unfair. Devil Draco commended my acting skills while Angel Draco simply rolled his eyes.

Potter let out an angry sigh, stormed over and dumped his things on the desk next to me.

"Good one," he hissed furiously as Snape paired up the rest of the class. "Real smart, Malfoy."

"Not my fault," I whispered nonchalantly. He directed a blistering glare at me and I smirked back at him. I reached out and touched his hand.

"But I'm ever so sorry-"

"Fuck off," he replied, cutting off my sarcastic jibe and snatching his hand away.

We started preparing the potion, the angry trembling of Potter's hands making him careless. Each time he made a mistake, I would chide him, sarcastically sweet and touching him lightly every chance I got. And each time he got more and more angry, telling me to fuck off and do things that I wasn't sure were actually physically possible with animals that I wasn't sure existed.

In what seemed like no time (although I was quite sure it had been an eternity for Wonder Boy), our potion was finished, being poured into a flask and handed to Snape. It wasn't too bad, considering Potter's total lack of talent regarding the art of potion-making.

And his anger; the anger that I found so amusing.

The bell rang and Crabbe and Goyle fell into step behind me as we filed out into the corridor. The Golden Boy and his sidekicks muttered between themselves, shooting furtive glances at me. I grinned and sauntered over to them.

"Well done, Potter!" I said, patting him on the back. "An excellent job. Absolutely spiffing." I waited for the insult I knew was going to follow, entirely sure that he would throw in a glare for good measure.

So I was completely shocked to find myself pinned to the wall by his hand on my throat.

"What the fuck?" I spat angrily.

"Don't fucking touch me, Malfoy," he hissed. "Don't patronize me, don't talk to me, don't look at me and don't fucking touch me."

The famous green eyes blazed almost black with anger and I swallowed.

The Mudblood grabbed his hand and tried to pull it away.

"Don't, Harry," she said darkly. "He's not worth it."

He hesitated a second, then his hand dropped and mine flew to my throat, knowing that there would be bruises in the morning. Stupid Potter.

"Good thing you've got the Mudblood, Potter," I snarled. "Might get into all kinds of sticky situations without her."

It was the Weasel who lunged forward this time, and Potter grabbed his arm, holding him back.

"My knight in shining armour," I sneered, directing my Nasty Grin at him. He gave me a withering look.

"Even killing is too good for you, Malfoy," he shot back.

Returning the withering look, I pushed past him and stalked away.

~*~

I pace around the common room, feeling Ron and Hermione's eyes follow my every step. I know they want me to calm down and talk to them. I can almost hear Hermione's brain whirring and trying to find the right words.

"Harry..." she starts.

I stop and smash my fist into a vase on one of the tables. Broken china scatters on the floor. I lift my hand and see there's blood on the knuckles.

Hermione gasps and rushes over, grasping at my hand. I snatch it away, retreating to the other side of the room. Ron is frozen in his seat.

"Harry?" she asks, timidly taking a step towards me.

Blood drips onto the carpet. I stare at it.

"Harry, your hand..." Hermione says, desperation tingeing her voice.

My eyes slowly lift and meet hers.

After a moment, she takes a few more steps towards me, reaching for my hand again.

"Don't touch me," I hear myself snarl and she steps back, stunned. My eyes widen and I reach for her, the apology already forming in my mind.

Then as I see her eyes fill with tears, the world explodes and I run from the room.

~*~

Half an hour later, my body is numb from not moving. I've been sitting on the stairs to the dorm, too ashamed to go inside, too scared of running into Malfoy to leave. Hermione's stopped crying, and I can no longer hear Ron's attempts to soothe her.

I bite my lip; wondering if now would be a good time to go back in.

"What's wrong with him, Ron?" Hermione's hesitant question drifts towards me and my muscles tense suddenly.

Ron takes a deep breath - so deep that I can here it from my spot on the stairs. "I don't know. Malfoy's been pissing him off more than normal lately, but that can't be enough to make him act like this."

He must be really worried, one part of my mind says. Not even a 'stupid git' for Malfoy.

"What else could it be, then?"

Silence, then Ron's explosive sigh. "No idea."

"Can't you ask him? Try and get him to talk about it?"

"Maybe," Ron says doubtfully. Panic creeps into his voice. "What if Voldemort's possessing him again?"

I've heard enough.

I run up the rest of the stairs, not caring how much noise I make, and clamber out onto the roof.

"What if Voldemort's possessing him again?" Ron's voice floats into my mind.

What if he was?

I knew I hadn't been exactly sunshine and daises recently, but possession? That was serious stuff.

I looked out over the courtyard, watching the people down there. Here, a group of first year Gryffindors play Exploding Snap. There, seventh year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws seem to be arguing over something. Over there, Dean and Seamus weave through the people, no doubt on their way to the Quidditch pitch.

When the blonde head first ducks out in the late Autumn sunshine, my gaze automatically snaps to it and my hands ball into fists. Malfoy, the bastard. Out here just to taunt me with his stupid blonde hair and his stupid cronies.

Bet it's his fault, I think furiously. Bet he's put a spell on me and it's letting Voldemort possess me. Bet it's him making me go crazy, not letting me sleep because I can't stop thinking...

I stop abruptly.

Possession.

Not Voldemort. Not the Dark Lord. But something just as evil, and my stomach contracts, my heartbeat accelerating.

Even as the name forms in my mind, I shy away from it. I won't believe it.

~*~

I scowled. The scarf was absolutely necessary to cover up the marks of Potter's hand on my throat. But sitting in front of a fire, even in the dungeons, wearing a scarf was total madness. I was boiling.

Standing up, I made my way across to the door. Crabbe and Goyle automatically stood to follow and I bit off the insulting rejection of their company that sprang to my tongue. I'd find some first years to terrorise. That would make me feel better.

Stupid Potter, I thought as I made my way through the halls. My neck fucking hurts.

The fates must have put him on this earth to piss me off. There was no way in hell he'd do it so well otherwise. Walking round the school, being the upstanding, moral, perfect student. Stopping a fight there, saving a damsel in distress there, signing some giggling first year's schoolbag and breaking just about every damn rule in the school on the side without getting caught. Oh, yes. The Boy Who Lived To Make Me Want To Kill Myself's life was so difficult.

Everywhere I went; he was there, being perfect. And when he wasn't there, he ran around in little perfect circles in my head, driving me more and more insane every day.

I stepped out into the courtyard and was immediately accosted by Blaise, demanding to know where I'd been.

"Fucking Potter," I snapped.

She was silent for a second, and then laughed. "Good one, Draco," she said light-heartedly. "Almost had me fooled for a second."

I realised what I'd said then and groaned.

"I didn't mean that," I began, cursing myself for blushing.

"Sure," she said, raising her eyebrows ever so slightly. I glared at her.

"You know better than that, Blaise. I fucking hate fucking Harry Potter."

She gave me an odd look, head titling to one side.

"I don't doubt that," she said after a second, taking my arm and starting to walk back towards the dungeons. "But lately I think you're starting to get a bit obsessed with him."

"Obsessed?" I spluttered. "Obsessed?"

She didn't reply and kept walking, humming a little tune.

I clenched my teeth in anger. Obsessed my arse, I thought heatedly. It's all part of The Plan.

~*~

It's not true. Not possible.

My brain repeats it over and over again, like saying it will make the rest go away.

It's not my fault! I silently scream. He's the one who's been watching me. He's put some stupid spell on me, trying to make me weak so that Voldemort can get to me...

Stop.

It's not true. I'm just freaking out.

That's all. Freaking out. I'm practically being stalked; I'm reacting perfectly normally.

The next thoughts come quickly, angrily.

I'll kill him. He's doing something to me. It has to be a spell. Some weird spell that makes me think about him all the time, dream about him...

Possession.

Not by Voldemort. For Voldemort.

By Malfoy.

~*~