The Subtle Knife

This is slash. If you are at all uncomfortable with the idea, go away NOW.

Chapter 7: Asperity

"What do you think you´re doing, Malfoy? You sick perve!" Harry was screaming at him. "I´m not stupid. You can´t think that I would fall for that."

Draco felt his cheeks burn like torches in the Great Hall at dinner. His eyes were stinging in the corners, his tongue was choking him and his mouth went dry. He was overwhelmingly embarrassed and hurt by Potter´s second rejection, over such a mutual and unplanned kiss. He didn´t know what to say, but despite that the words poured out effortlessly. "It will never happen again, you poof!" he seethed, eyes blazing hate and anger and pain like never before. Anger put his emotions in check. "Potter germs!" he spat onto one of the books.

Harry´s necklace for once did not match the dark pools of his eyes. While the pendant glowed a white-hot shade of green, his eyes were clouded by intense passion. "Don´t ever speak to me again, Malfoy," he hissed as Madam Pince walked over to silence them.

"Wouldn´t dream of it, arsehole," Draco retorted, his nose wrinkling up in disgust.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, if you cannot keep your petty arguments quiet, I advise that you both leave now." Madam Pince leered over the rim of her bottle-thick glasses, tapping spidery fingers on the table.

Potter stomped off for another time that week from Draco and promptly left the library. Draco, scowling and stung, viciously collected up the books he had been using, in addition to the book of Henry Meelayna that Potter had conveniently left behind. "He´s not getting that book back, ever," he mumbled to himself. He had to blink furiously to stop his eyes from pouring out of pain or pique. "Stupid bastard."

As nearly every other student above third year had gone to Hogsmeade that Saturday- to get a head start on holiday shopping, perhaps- Draco only came across a lone pair of second year girls as he stormed through the Slytherin common room. They scattered like pigeons when he flopped down on one of the leather settees by the fireplace. The fire was dead now, thanks to the inattention of the stupid bints. It felt cold, like his mood. Potter had...reacted...as though Draco didn´t, couldn´t have feelings for him. This made him even angrier that the Gryffindor could be so callous.

He needed an outlet for his fury- he was shaking with rage and he felt as though he was about to boil over at the situation that had gone so terribly wrong. Draco proceeded to beat the stuffing out of one of the nearest cushions. It felt good to pretend that it was Potter. Draco was able to show the cushion exactly how he felt- he wrung it like a neck.

"You stupid-" Punch. "-fuckwit." Kick. "You goddammed-" Tearing at the seam with his teeth (his fingernails were bitten). "-coward. I fucking-" Viciously ripping out the stuffing. "-hate your fucking-" Throwing shredded stuffing around the room. "-guts! I can´t believe that I fucking kissed you!" Grinding the mangled bits of the cushion into the cold flagstone floor with the toe of his shoe.

"Kissed who, Draco?" A sultry voice wafted in through the shifting stones in the wall and Blaise Zabini swiveled in the entrance.

Draco glared at her furiously. "Fuck. Off." he punctuated. "I don´t need to deal with you now."

Blaise shrugged indifferently. Her blood-red bottom lip pouted slightly. "I can only hope you´re not going on about Pansy."

Draco´s lip curled in disgust.

"I didn´t think so. Look, love, if you want to talk-"

"I thought you were in Hogsmeade, Blaise. What the fuck are you doing here?" he snarled. He wanted to be alone to stew in his own rejection.

"Watch your tongue, Malfoy," she spat back. "If I´d wanted to hear the word `fuck´ used that many times, I would hang around Ron Weasley when he talks about you."

Draco snorted. Stupid Weasel. Stupid Potter! "I don´t need that from you." He glared at her, some of his anger dissipating into the lagoons of her eyes. "What are you doing here, then?" he asked in an annoyed, less-angry voice, his emotion in stronger restraint.

Blaise managed to smile a little. "I have my reasons- but you don´t need to know exactly why." She bent down and picked up a scrap of batting, rubbing it between well-manicured crimson-tipped fingers. "Hate the cushions that much? Snape won´t appreciate having to get it replaced."

"Not as much as some people," Draco relented. He hadn´t thought about Snape not liking vandalism from even his own Slytherins. Not that it mattered- his father would pay for repairs if needed.

"Mmm...true." Blaise blinked her large, almond-shaped eyes. "I can think of two at least."

Draco sneered at her. "Who then?"

"Potter, for one...and this new person of yours."

New person? He wasn´t seeing anyone. Not anymore, anyway. Draco ran a hand absently through his hair, letting a strand or two fall over his face. "That´s none of your business."

Blaise smiled softly, red lips curling invitingly.

But not like Potter´s had...

Fuck!

"Another girl spurn your amorous advances?"

Draco wished he was a Gorgon; that his stare would turn Blaise into a stone statue and shut her up.

"Hit too close to home?" She ran her hand across Draco´s shoulder. He wasn´t sure whether she was trying to console him or put on her moves.

Like Potter had an hour previous...

Fuck him to Hell!

"Don´t worry. I won´t tell." Her laughed rang about the vaulted dungeon. "Anyone who can resist the charms of a Malfoy is either out of their mind or...in Gryffindor."

"Neither of which you are."

"I didn´t say you were charming, Draco." She looked at him seriously, her attractiveness betraying her cause. "Often, you´re the exact opposite- just a bratty little boy. Especially when you don´t get what you want."

Draco stared at her. Blaise had never said anything so bluntly to him before, and so frank about himself. He was a little offended by being called a bratty little boy; he narrowed his eyes.

Blaise sighed. "You might not speak to me ever again for saying that Draco, but I know you and I sincerely doubt you even tried to talk to this girl. You came on too fast and too strong. Talk to her. Then let things roll."

If only you knew, Blaise. I can´t exactly talk to Potter any time I feel like it.

At this point in his life, Draco was grateful for Blaise´s honest and candid opinion and for her friendship that went beyond Pansy´s randiness or Crabbe and Goyle´s goon-like bodyguard personas.

He just stood there as Blaise wandered off to her dorm, less vengeful than earlier, but just as hurt by Potter´s more recent and more personal rejection.

Blaise´s advice that he talk to her- he laughed inwardly at this. Potter was not a girl, and he was strangely glad for this. Not at the fact that Potter was a boy- he´d never really been attracted to boys before this- but at the fact that it was Harry Potter with whom he was smitten. The girl did have good advice, backed up by the fact that she had been with a lot of men (Draco hoped) and she did have a lot of experience. It was rumoured that even in second year she´d been using her feminine wiles to her own scholastic benefit.

However, there was the issue of exactly what he would say to Harry- if Draco did speak to him. Explain that he was sorry for that amazing kiss they´d shared? No, because first off, he wasn´t sorry for it and he wanted, this once, to be sincere. That left Draco with the uncomfortable and potentially awkward experience of explaining to Harry Potter that he, Draco Lucius Malfoy, sworn arch-rival (he had sworn an oath in second year over a copy of Hogwarts: A History with Crabbe and Goyle) to the person in question, was possibly attracted to him and that he possibly wanted to pursue a relationship with him. Then Draco could casually ask Harry if he would be, maybe, interested in grabbing a Butterbeer sometime in Hogsmeade together or play one-on-one Quidditch one afternoon.

Ugh!

Draco mentally cursed himself. If this `talk´ with Harry Potter went wrong in any way it would not only thoroughly embarrass himself but likely shame his father into disowning him and steer Draco away from any other relationships in his life after the trauma. This would render him either to a) take a vow of chastity or b) only involve himself in one-night stands. This also had the potential to scar him for the remainder of his existence and every other following one, even if he had bad karma and came back as a silverfish or something else unpleasant.

Draco deliberated long and agonizingly hard on this issue all evening. His earlier outburst had been seemingly tempered by the dark calm of the dungeons. He was only interrupted later by a house elf sent by Professor Snape. Snape must have heard about Draco´s being `under the weather´ from Crabbe or Blaise or someone like that, because the creature brought a steaming bowl of soup and warm bread.

Draco also had the urge to `borrow´ some of Potter´s marijuana. If it made his life a little easier, maybe it would make the dull ache Draco now had disappear.

He finally came to the conclusion, while nibbling on a corner of a piece of bread, to approach Harry after Potions on Wednesday (Monday was too soon- he needed to gather his strength). Draco could have decided to trip or beat up the other boy, but he didn´t think Harry would appreciate that at all. Especially if Draco wanted a chance with him. No, he could pull Potter, by the hem of his robes if needed, into an abandoned room in the dungeons- of which there were plenty- and plead his case. Ideally, Harry would still be angry, then be somewhat perplexed by Draco´s begging, but also be more than willing to forgive him. Harry was a Gryffindor and it was in his nature to be all noble and forgiving and such. If Potter could forgive the Weasel for being such an arsehole (in Draco´s opinion) about the Triwizard Tournament two years back, surely he could also find room in his heart to forgive Draco for being a prick.

Even though Harry should have been at equal fault for their kiss...

Draco was careful to avoiding any other Gryffindor; they seemed to all glare at him in the hallways. Harry and company made themselves scarce after spending Potions and Care of Magical Freaks together. By Tuesday evening Draco had a whole speech prepared: "Potter, I need to talk to you..."

In the anticipation that all would go well, more or less, Draco wrote his father a brief letter expressing his intentions to remain at Hogwarts for Christmas under the pretense that he wanted to "...keep an eye on things...". He didn´t add that he never gave the dagger to Harry or that Harry was the real reason he wanted to stay.

Wednesday. The morning dragged on painfully slowly with Draco watching his watch the whole of Charms, willing it to speed up so that he could win over Harry´s affections sooner and be able to kiss him again. Although, the growing pit in his stomach wanted the clock to slow down too.

At lunch Draco couldn´t eat. He pushed his food around his plate in circles with his fork and stared blankly towards the direction of the Gryffindor table. Harry sat so that his back faced Draco- likely on purpose, he surmised.

Stupid prat- no, wait, look at me!

But Harry didn´t and Draco had to hope for the best to come to fruition out of their talk later.

Potions came...finally, after an eternity it seemed and Snape set them to work on their Purity serums; Purity serums were mostly used by aging, antediluvian wizarding parents on their children before their wedding nights- a very archaic and seldom-used practice now. Draco was slightly worried that Snape would test them out. The victim in question turned out to be a deeper shade of indigo the more `dirtied´ they were, but the sort of purity it was used to determined varied so greatly from virginity to vegetarianism that only thirteen year old girls were the only ones who used them anymore (at sleepovers, no less) so they were pointless to try out.

Even Snape wasn´t that crackbrained, though the Gryffindors might argue otherwise.

Draco, however, was so nervous about his upcoming `chat´ with Potter that he nearly ruined his potion and seemed as hopeless as Longbottom. His hands shook as he poured the Poison Dart Frog extract (for colour) into his cauldron instead of adding it by the drop. He cut his Orris root at a diagonal when it should have been across the vertical grain in the up-down motion Snape had demonstrated back in his first year. Snape had, of course, gone over the cutting technique twice every year for Longbottom´s benefit (not that he profited). Draco was so lost with internally going over his rehearsed speech that he forgot to stir the serum widdershins-

"Pfssss..."

His wooden spoon that he had been stirring the serum with melted to the side of the cauldron.

But Draco was oblivious to it all, focused solely on the talk. Potter, I need- would like- to talk to you...

Until Snape got over to his cauldron which, in being in the front row of the class, was one of the last to be inspected.

It had begun to give off horrible sulfuric fumes that coiled in the air around him. At this point, Draco realised that, firstly, there was something wrong with his serum (his spoon wouldn't stir) and, secondly, that his serum was ruined. He frantically ripped his spoon off the edge it had melted to (which caused the spoon to split lengthwise) and began to stir his potion quickly clockwise (the wrong direction) as Snape walked by in an effort to change the orange pudding-like substance into something a little clearer and waterier.

Snape´s eyes narrowed as he peered down his hooked nose at Draco´s mess, prodding the remainder of the spoon (which was floating aimlessly in the cauldron at the point) with his wand. "Mr. Malfoy," he said with a sneer, though not as coldly as he had at Weasley´s own mud-coloured slime, "what is this?"

Draco sighed and looked down at the floor. "I don´t know, Sir," he drawled and tried to pass it off as if his serum were passable.

"Well, do you know what happened to cause this...abomination?" Snape tried again, impatiently.

Draco felt his insides wither. Snape had never told him one of his potions was that horrible before. "No, Sir..." He needed something, someone to blame it on- a scapegoat of sorts.

Then an idea hit him!

"I think perhaps someone tried to sabotage my serum."

Snape raised an eyebrow in disbelief. He frowned and Draco worried that Snape would yell at him for lying, too. "Can you think of anyone who would want to do that?" he asked after a moment.

Draco, whose mind was still elsewhere, blurted out the first person that came to mind.

"Harry Potter"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stupid. Stupid! Stupid!

You can be such an idiot sometimes! he told himself over and over. You had to blame Potter for your mistake- he´ll hate you even more now!

At least Potions was the last class of the day, so Snape kept the two students after the lesson as opposed to having them come after dinner.

"As Mr. Potter ruined your serum, Mr. Malfoy, I feel privileged to give detention to him as well as yourself." Snape glided across the dungeon classroom, pacing as though waiting for something more.

"But Sir!" Draco protested vehemently. "I haven´t-"

"Done anything wrong? Of course not, Mr. Malfoy."

Snape knew! He had to have known Draco was lying all the while.

"But under the circumstances-" Snape shot Draco a look, black eyes boring into Draco´s own. Draco felt himself shrink in height considerably. "-you can join Mr. Potter in detention this afternoon."

There was a knock at the door to the classroom and Professor Sprout waddled in, arms full of some green bushy plants. The plants were making a strange buzzing sound that seemed to make the rafters vibrate. Snape took the plants from her with a curt nod and then she waddled back out in a hurry.

Snape set the plants down on the lab bench between Draco and Potter. "This, gentlemen, is the West African Singing Fern, useful in Restorative Draughts. I expect it all to be ground into a satisfactory powder before either of you may leave. I also expect you don´t need a babysitter?" He sneered at them one last time, and then left the room in a whirl of black robes.

Sometimes Draco could honestly see why the Gryffindors snickered about Snape looking like a bat.

Draco sighed. Lovely. He picked up his mortar and pestle (marble, with silver inlay) to move closer to where Potter was sitting in the back. The ferns hummed and shrieked in an even higher-pitched tuneless squeal.

His ears were ringing.

He wanted earmuffs.

He wanted Harry to forgive him and kiss him again.

Potter smashed a bunch of the ferns with fervour and just glared at Draco as the Slytherin boy sat down beside him. Potter didn´t seem keen on anything like a come-on at the moment.

Draco thought a little small talk first might lighten the mood. And butter Harry up to be wooed. "There must be, what, ten pounds of that stuff, Potter?" he asked cockily as he began to grind some of the leaves up with his pestle.

Potter at least had the dignity to grunt in acknowledgement.

Draco wasn´t pleased with the reply, though he wasn´t much surprised. He tried again. "How long do you think it´ll take us? At least two hours, I expect."

More than enough time to put his plan to action; this really was made easier by being alone in private with Harry in the empty classroom compared to Draco needing to get his attention in the halls.

Potter didn´t even grunt this time, he only glared behind his dorky, out-of-date glasses.

Draco groaned. He was being so difficult! Maybe a different approach would have better results. "Look, Potter- Harry- what happened in the library on Saturday-"

Potter whipped his head around and his pestle clanged to the floor. "This isn´t about what happened there, Malfoy," he spat. "Why did you do it?"

Draco blinked. "K-kiss you?" he offered.

"No! Open your big mouth today?" Potter resumed smashing his ferns (which were still shrieking) even harder. His fingertips were green from the juices oozing up. "You know I didn´t do anything. Snape knows too."

Draco flicked a little speck of dust from his shiny prefect´s badge, unwilling to look Potter in the eye and wanting to appear oblivious to Potter´s accusations. "Well, I can´t tarnish my reputation," he said simply.

"But you don´t have the same courtesy to anyone else!" Potter was growing increasingly exasperated it seemed.

"Actually," Draco paused, "that´s not why I said it...exactly."

Potter´s brow furrowed and he only managed to look confused on top of being ticked off.

The Slytherin sighed. "Look, Potter, I need to talk to you. I-" He fidgeted with a fern, stripping the leaves off from the stalk.

Potter seemed to know exactly what Draco wanted to talk about. "Malfoy, I don´t know how you´ve gotten the impression in your mind that I have anything other than intense loathing for you. I chose to help you in the library these weekends because I felt...sorry...for you- totally clueless with that stupid knife of yours." Harry´s fingers began to toy with his malachite pendant. "You and I are enemies. We´ll always be enemies and I´m happy with that." Harry gave a smirk and Draco was struck at how much it reminded him of his own expressions. "I hate you."

Draco´s lower lip began to quiver and a lump the size of Goyle´s fist formed in his throat. His eyes stung. He wouldn´t give Potter the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Not today, not ever. He turned to face the wall and blink away the tears forming in his eyes. Oh Harry...

He couldn´t let Potter see his emotions. He couldn´t let Potter break him. If anything, it had to be the other way around.

"I hate you," he said in a choked voice that he hoped sounded better than it felt. "More than anything, Potter. More than anything."

"Good, because the feeling is mutual." Potter hissed back.

"I hope you burn in Hell- with your parents!" Draco added for good measure, but it didn´t help much and he still felt miserable.

Potter´s jaw dropped. He looked stunned to hear Draco say something so nasty. He had a look of pure and unadulterated rage on his face. His lips were drawn and colourless, his eyes huge and he was as pale as a vampire. Potter´s fist was balled up on the desk and ready to strike but he didn´t move.

"Bloody poof," Mumbled.

Draco heard the mumble. "What did you just say?" He snapped his head over to glare at Potter. "What. Did. Y-"

Potter´s own eyes were slits. His fist loosened slightly. "You are a poof, Malfoy. Stay away from me."

Draco´s mouth dropped open. How dare Potter accuse him of that? "I´m no more a fag than you are."

Potter had the nerve to snort. "Even if we weren´t enemies, I don´t swing that way and if I ever did, it wouldn´t be for you."

Draco´s eye twitched irritably and he thought his hand was shaking. He didn´t look down to check, instead he grabbed hold of the nearest shrill fern and began to smash it into his mortar forcefully.

Just then the door swung open and Snape strode in. He glanced over at Potter with a cold sneer. "I trust the two of you have been productive?" he asked as he sat down at his desk with a pile of paper to grade.

Draco narrowed his eyes and didn´t say anything. Potter looked furious and his green eyes were glowing with a strange, ethereal glow. Though he wouldn´t have ever admitted it, Draco was glad for Snape´s return. Potter could have done something very rash, like hit the Slytherin, especially since Draco didn´t have Crabbe or Goyle anywhere nearby.

It only took the two boys an hour to crush (to smithereens) the ferns to a powder. Snape had never been more impressed by the two of them working `together´ though he didn´t exactly say that.

"Now get out!" he snarled at the boys after they had presented him with their respective powders. Potter left immediately; Draco hung back. He needed to sort his business out with the Potions Master.

Snape didn´t look pleased when he noticed Draco was still there. "Has Potter sabotaged your hearing as well, Malfoy?" The Professor pulled a vial of lacewing from an unlocked storage cupboard, then several more bottles and jars of stored concoctions.

"Sir?"

Snape spun around, glaring.

"Er...isn´t lacewing poisonous?" Draco asked, focusing on the vial. Snape didn´t seem to be opening up much, or wanting to open up.

"Exceedingly. But it is vital to Polyjuice Potion, as you should know."

Draco nodded. His father had told him that years ago. "Then...why are you getting it out?" he said after a pause.

Snape scowled. Clearly, Draco´s questions were asinine and insistently aggravating. "I am nearly out of Polyjuice Potion. I need to brew some more." He held a half-emptied jar, setting it aside on a table with the other containers. "Last amount of double strength batch I have."

"For what, Sir?" Draco couldn´t imagine why Snape needed Polyjuice Potion- maybe he was just experimenting with the longevity of it, or was a really kinky wizard.

"It proves its uses from time to time."

Eugh.

This wasn´t going in the direction it should be.

"Oh." Draco piled his books, quickly stuffing the jar into his bag- Snape wouldn´t notice. There were so many other potions set beside it on the table, all unlabelled. He began to walk towards the corridor.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape beckoned with a thin finger; Draco stopped abruptly. A small smirk spread across Snape´s sallow face.

Shit.

"Perhaps you should be a little more careful with your attention skills next class. I would prefer not to have to give you further detentions for adolescent recklessness."

Draco blinked once.

He nearly sighed in relief. Thank God!

Draco really, strongly suspected Snape knew more than what he let on and he left the classroom swiftly to avoid any possible awkwardness, especially if Snape didn´t appear to be talking.

Draco didn´t have any classes at all with Potter or the Gryffindors the following day, which was fine as far as he was concerned. Potter had taken a page from Draco´s own book and glowered at the Slytherin that night at dinner, then leaned over to whisper something in the Weasel´s ear. Weasley returned Draco´s own glare and matched it with a finger.

Well, fuck you too!

The mail arrived Thursday morning with one of the Malfoy family eagle owls among the usual array of Barn and Tawny owls. It landed perilously close to Draco´s sausages and he pushed it away roughly before it pompously strutted over his plate waiting for its burden to be removed.

Draco took the package and the attached parchment before the owl flew off in a flurry of feathers that drifted into Goyle´s porridge. Goyle didn´t notice.

Draco´s package was larger and heavier than usual- there was something more than the custard creams and other sweets his mother usually sent.

He broke the dark wax seal embossed with a silver dragon. It was snorting at him. He unrolled the parchment. Stiff, bold, black lettering. Formulaic and harsh. A letter from his father. His eyes scanned the letter quickly, not wanting to attract attention:

Draco,

I have taken your request to remain at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays into consideration and concluded that your reasoning has proved acceptable. Keep an eye out for me there.

Your mother is, however, saddened to learn that you will not be returning to the Manor over the holidays. Nevertheless, you are of an age where you should be capable of making your own judgments in the best interest of both yourself and all concerned (namely, your family).

If you do reconsider, your mother is planning a large Christmas gathering of our close acquaintances. It will be a formal event, as per the usual. Return at your own discretion, though, the house elves have been particularly mutinous since you last had to deal with them.

Your mother sends her love and best wishes,

Father

P.S. I have sent you a little something from my most recent business trip to tide you over.

Draco scowled. He did not want to stay at Hogwarts now, not since Potter had spurned him again. Potter now had a dark and a dirty secret of Draco´s which could be used against him. Draco didn´t like to think that Potter, being the goody-goody Gryffindor, would resort to use blackmail, but he was nonetheless worried for his reputation. Either he had to pursue Potter further to prevent any negative retaliation or take the offensive himself and hurt Harry Potter beyond belief.

Plus there was the fact that Draco wanted to be next year´s Head Boy. Not all of the professors and other prefects´ votes could be won over with large pecuniary bribes.

Plus he didn´t want to really hurt Harry in the first place...he wanted him.

Plus there was the whole fact his father was a murderer.

Oh God...

Draco felt ill. He regretted eating all of the bacon that he had.

"What?" Crabbe grunted, briefly leaving his food.

"Hear from home?" Goyle shoveled a heaping spoonful of porridge into his mouth, spraying food as he spoke.

Draco grimaced. "Yes. I´m staying here for Christmas."

Pansy, who was sitting several seats down and across from Draco, perked up. "That´s too bad. I was invited to your parents´ party. I thought you would have been there..." She looked at him hopefully with big brown eyes outlined in black. Her eyelashes were batting and her hands neatly folded together.

Draco narrowed his own eyes back at her. He wasn´t falling for her prim and put-together charade now or ever. Pansy must have gotten the hint because she quickly became very interested in Queenie Greengrass´ new haircut.

After breakfast, Draco had a free period so he went back to the Slytherin Common Room to study and open his sweets from home. He was sitting in the empty room, languidly on a couch and ripping open the package. There, along with his Chocolate Frogs and custard creams was a lacquered box tied with a white ribbon. Draco glared at the box. What did his father send him now, a finger from a murder victim? A Muggle´s doll from the wreckage, perhaps?

He undid the ribbon with difficulty, as his nails were chewed down low. He lifted the lid, ominously anticipating a horrible, rotting flesh stench-

Chocolates.

The bastard had sent me chocolates!

That was what his father had been thinking of when he was murdering Muggles and Mudbloods- what shall I possibly get Draco here? I´ll have to find something after I go sabotage a train of Muggles...

Draco screamed and threw the box into the fireplace of the common room. The box lit up in orange and gold and vermilion flames licking at the foil wrappers of the chocolates. The chocolates themselves started to melt, then flamed, then burned. Then they burned some more.

Was that what the massacre had been like? Did the train burn up like the sodding chocolates are now?

The acrid smell of burning sugar hit Draco and he coughed. He tried to fan the smell away from his face, but it only grew so much that he panicked someone would find out he was burning things and fled the common room. Snape had given them all the lecture in their first year not to burn anything but the logs specifically set aside for the fire and that there would be dire consequences for anyone who chose to disregard that.

If that was what burning a pound or so of chocolate did, Draco couldn´t imagine how his father ever got the stench of burning, searing, charring flesh out of his nostrils....

My life is so fucked up.

When asked later that day if he knew anything about the horrible smell in the fireplace, Draco didn´t claim any responsibility for the burned mess he had caused. Filch had been summoned to clean the fireplace out after a first year had complained to Snape that his eyes were puffy from the smoke. Plus the Common Room downright stunk. A seventh year had claimed they saw Draco toss the chocolates in, but Draco vehemently denied it. He just didn´t have the heart to be accountable for his actions that day, or explain to Snape why he had to get rid of the Swiss chocolates his father had sent.

On the way from Arithmancy the next morning, Draco happened to brush by Granger speaking with Girl Weasley. Draco could only assume the youngest Weasel was just going to her own Arithmancy class- Professor Vector had a fifth year class just after her sixth years. When the name "Harry" was mentioned, Draco happened to slow down his pace to a creep to get a better listen.

"Harry´s been really upset the past few days, Hermione. What´s wrong with him- has he said anything to you?" The Weasley girl seemed a little too concerned about Potter for Draco´s liking. He felt furious at her concern. Potter didn´t belong to her! What was this- the result of a five-year crush? That was pathetic! Her voice sounded too sympathetic and contrived for him.

The Mudblood nodded sagely. "He´s probably really worried about Cho. She´s been really sick lately. Lisa Turpin told Parvati that she´s missed the Quidditch practice for Ravenclaw twice and that last week she-"

At this point Draco had slowly inched forward to the point of hovering behind the statue of Ivan the Impregnable that Granger and Girl Weasley had been leaning against. Granger whipped her bushy head around and scowled at Draco, hands on her hips.

"What do you want, Malfoy? Spying on us now?"

Draco snorted. "You wish." He leaned back gracefully against the statue. "No," he drawled after they continued to glare; he didn´t want to sound interested in what they had been talking about, "just getting more inside information on my favourite hero- Harry Potter." He gave a theatrical swoon at the name for effect.

Granger wasn´t impressed. She didn´t move her eyes from him. "You hate Harry."

Draco rolled his eyes. Gryffindors were all so terribly dense. "That´s a given."

Girl Weasel stepped up. "Sod off, Malfoy," she said in a small voice.

Draco had to laugh- she hadn´t changed one iota in five years! "Sorry Weasley, I have better things to do with my life than stick around and trade insults with the likes of you." He began to saunter off away to his next class.

"You- you´ll never get to Harry!" The Weasley girl cried out after him with increasing confidence. "No matter what you do, Malfoy, you´ll never get to him!"

When Draco had left their field of vision he stopped for a moment.

Stupid bint!

With this new information regarding Potter´s current flame, Draco found himself sneaking into the prefects´ study room late that night (being a Friday) with the small jar of Polyjuice Potion under the folds of his black velvet cloak- the black one without the lace.

He would have used his Invisibility Cloak but Crabbe had borrowed it to spy on Tracey Davis in the girls´ dorm when she was undressing. He didn´t want to let anyone think he was interested in seeing Pansy´s naked body ever again.

Draco shuddered at the imagery.

He was, however, struck with the idea of using it to watch Harry Potter undress, but he didn´t know the Gryffindor password and doubted the Head Boy or Head Girl would give it to him. Only members of a particular house and prefects were allowed in other house dorms, with good reason, of course.

No, you want to woo Harry Potter properly! Not watch him like a stalker.

He didn´t want to risk being discovered by Peeves- he shuddered at the memory of having a bucket of ice water dumped over his head in his second year- or by the other ghost who was rumored to haunt occasionally nearby- Whining Wendy, or something, so he didn´t bother to use the Lumos charm with his wand. He was a Malfoy; he could see in the dark well enough, even if it were only dim shapes in varying shades of grey.

Draco was fairly certain he had remembered to take his most recent dose of Oculus Potion in early November.

Hmm... Draco´s hands cautiously fingered and felt their way along the shelves than ran along the walls of the room. He tried not to bump or trip over the oversized armchairs that littered the space either.

Where is that book of hers?

Cho Chang conveniently kept a notebook record of the prefects´ meetings. He knew she would diligently keep it up to date before preparing the meetings´ minutes biweekly to distribute to all of the prefects.

It was a big book...leather cover...no, moke leather cover...scaly feeling? Draco tried to remember what a moke felt like, but his visit to a wizard´s zoo when he was eight wasn´t very memorable...It was usually where, on the...on the second to bottom shelf by the...near- no, far wall and the hanging fern...

Then, Draco´s head hit something squarely, thought it was rather soft and swinging and entangling and earthy- the fern!

He was elated; he was close. He so didn´t need a wand for this. Draco crouched to the floor beside the wall. His fingers glided along the bare wooden shelving before colliding with a bumpy, scaly, albeit soft, cover.

The book!

He snatched it up and clutched it to his chest, bolting out of the room haphazardly and conveniently forgetting the locking spell on the door.

Draco ran down to the dungeons and the Slytherin Common Room before jumping onto his bed breathless from the excursion of running down six flights of stairs. And more importantly from the anticipation of putting his plan to action for Harry...

"Claudo Velum!" Draco whispered frantically and the heavy curtains around his bed zipped shut. He held out his wand and lit it as he peered down at the book. He opened the first page:

Prefect Meetings Record 1996-1997

Property of Cho Chang, Head Girl

Draco gave the small, straight lettering a raised eyebrow. Chang did have nice printing.

But Harry was going to be his!

Draco smoothed out the coverlet on his bed under the book and decided that the best way to do it would be the fastest way. He held the book up by both covers, in a sort of `v´, the pages all splayed open and shook the book furiously. Papers rustled wildly. He continued to shake it in hopes to find the elusive and crucial piece of Cho Chang to fall out. A hair, a fingernail, a flake of skin, a hair ribbon...

The lint stirred up fluoresced in the dank, stale air from the light but nothing fell. Draco squinted closer- he really didn´t think he had missed his due date to take his bimonthly Oculus Potion earlier.

Still nothing.

He shook the book a second time, harder, more viciously so much so that the papers threatening to unfasten from the binding.

But only more lint.

"Fuck!" He threw the book to the foot of his bed and ran a hand through his hair. The bitch was too clean, too immaculate, too perfect to even leave a trace of herself.

A draft of early winter wind fluttered the curtains airily around Draco and the book stirred, finally coming to rest on the first page with the Head Girl´s inscription. Draco glared at the name, hating Cho Chang for foiling yet another of his plans.

Property of Cho Chang.

Cho Chang

He blinked.

The printing. "Cho Chang", spelled out in the girl´s own printing. He tore the page from the book crookedly, the last tear grazing nearly to the small, circular `c´.

He grinned devilishly to himself. Would that be enough? It was hardly an actual piece of the girl, but it was her handwriting and her name. Surely the potion would recognize that much...

Draco was busy with Quidditch practice on Saturday, being the last practice before the Christmas holidays (and the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game was coming up soon- January), so he was determined to use the potion the following day- as soon as possible!

He woke up early on Sunday, and, too excited and (almost) too nervous to eat breakfast, proceeded to a relatively isolated girls´ lavatory on the first floor. Luckily, no one else was up at that hour to see the Slytherin enter otherwise it would have been the end of his life at Hogwarts.

And getting it on with Harry Potter wouldn´t do the same?

Draco sneered at himself. He didn´t have time to second guess himself. Two hours was all the time he had to 1) change into Cho Chang, 2) find Harry Potter and 3) woo Harry before revealing his true identity in a flourish. Draco hoped he could achieve all that. He was a Malfoy and Malfoys don´t fail.

Draco rolled the torn page tightly and shoved it into the neck of the glass bottle before capping it with a cork. He gave it several rough shakes to stir it all up and dissolve the paper. The liquid deepened to a nice shade of Prussian blue and bubbled a little inside the jar. Draco hoped the potion wouldn´t burst out of the jar.

He glanced down at his uniform and smirked, having already taken off his school cloak. Clearly his trousers and his jumper, in addition to a green and silver Slytherin tie wouldn´t do. Draco pointed his wand to them and concentrated on changing them into a Ravenclaw girl´s outfit.

"Ipsevestio Ravenclaw!"

His clothes shifted and twisted and bunched...

...before changing into a skirt with pantyhose and the blue and bronze of a Ravenclaw tie.

Perfect.

Draco walked over to a mirror and examined himself. The pantyhose were itching his thighs and he picked at them. How girls managed in them was beyond him- they were so uncomfortable.

His reflection preened as he did and sneered back. "Cute look, Draco," it catcalled.

Draco looked down at his legs, being clad in sheer black material, mentally agreeing that he probably did look ridiculous. He picked at his knee. "But it brings out the nice contours of my legs." He winked at the reflection, which rolled its eyes in disgust.

Okay. Now he was ready.

Draco picked up the jar and removed the cork for the last time, wafting the fumes carefully towards his nose. The potion smelled heavily of rotting bogs in the forest and lavender and slightly of...blueberries?

Eugh...essence of Cho Chang.

He brought it closer to his mouth, pinched his nose with his free hand.

Fuck! Here it goes...

He squeezed his eyes together in anticipation and downed the entire contents in one gulp.