The Subtle Knife

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

The title of this story comes from Philip Pullman's book of the same name. I am only borrowing his genius for titling.

Chapter 8: Symposium

Draco squeezed his eyes tightly as he felt his insides being ripped and wrenched apart. He wanted to puke, he wanted to curl up in pain, he wanted to-

It stopped.

And the world stopped spinning.

Carefully, he opened his eyes and blinked, before slowly turning to face the mirror in the bathroom.

Cho Chang.

Utterly dishevelled and stunned, was staring back at him.

Draco laughed in relief. A quiet, feminine voice emerged from his throat and he laughed again. The potion had worked after all!

One down, two to go.

Draco gathered up the moke-leather book and slipped his robes back on, flattening out any possible creases. He smoothed his hair down- it was strange having long, dark hair. It felt coarser than his own and heavy. The mirror smirked back at him.

That wouldn't do. He thought of Harry and tried to smile sweetly like Chang did, but he ended up with more of a sickly-saccharine icing face.

It would do.

He opened the door to the corridor and stepped out of the loo cautiously. So far, so good. Now he needed-

Wait...

Draco took a moment to glance down at his chest and the two strange lumps of flesh. He poked at one and found it...interesting.

He smiled. If he had some time later with Harry, he'd have to further investigate them for himself.

But then Draco noticed a distinctly shaped Slytherin crest with the silver snake on the left breast. Shit! He couldn't remember how to transfigure Hogwarts crests. They were enchanted for a reason.

He glanced down at his wristwatch. One hour, fifty-five minutes left. He trusted Snape's potion-making skills that this wouldn't be a faulty double-strength batch. He had just enough time to find a Ravenclaw to fix his robes (fifteen minutes, tops) and then find Harry (fifteen, maybe twenty minutes) and woo him (an hour and fifteen minutes- he needed five to start explaining the situation).

Draco walked towards the west side of the castle and up four flights of stairs, past the portrait of the Lady Peony Spickleton-Hives, who had the indecency to wink at him. Normally, he wouldn't have minded- the lady was nice enough on the eyes, but he was a girl now. So instead of winking back like he might have under other circumstances, he gave the portrait a disgusted sneer and pushed back a long lock of dark hair that had fallen in his eyes.

He knew the vague area of the Ravenclaw dorms, that it was somewhere on the fourth-floor down the south-west corridor lined with late medieval suits of armour. The armour had the habit of posing in different prostrations from time to time, demonstrating their prowess every minute or so and the regular creeks of old, unused iron were somewhat settling.

But...Draco felt a strange knot of both worry and anticipation pretzel itself inside him. What if Cho Chang suddenly showed up, not ill? What if Harry hated Chang now? What if someone else found him and took him back to the Ravenclaw dorms all afternoon or to the hospital wing or to the Headmaster's office?

What if Harry still didn't want him?

It didn't help that nearly everything down the corridor in question was a garish shade of blue or bronze. The armour was bronze-plated. The peeling tapestries were rust and frayed cobalt. Even the occasional one was tone-on-tone navy.

The corridor wasn't overly long and as Draco neared the large (cornflower blue) stained glass window, he was beginning to get disheartened. There was nothing remotely resembling an entrance into dorms here. He was nearly prepared to march up to the Prefects' meeting in his Slytherin robes anyway.

"Cho!"

Draco didn't think to turn around at the sound of his current name. He walked on, oblivious to the other student.

"Cho!" A hand spun his shoulder around and he found that Chang's body was more pliable than he would have imagined a girl's to be.

A Ravenclaw prefect of Draco's year was staring at him. He couldn't remember her name exactly. Something...Foster? Fawcett?

He gave the girl a winning smile despite this. "Ah! Just the person I was looking for...." he trailed off.

"It's Stephanie." Clearly Cho wasn't terribly good with names from her own house. "Stephanie Fawcett."

Her eyes wrinkled with puzzlement and she dragged him backward towards the staircases at the opposite end of the hallway. "Why are you wearing a Slytherin robe?" she spat after a moment.

"Oh." Draco was dumbfounded. He hadn't thought of a reason for that yet. "Oops?" he offered, but she just glared.

He never knew Ravenclaws could be so bitchy!

He tried again. "Er...Draco Malfoy hexed them?" Good excuse! "And I can't remember the counter-charm."

Stephanie Fawcett rolled her eyes but appeared to buy the feeble excuse. "I can't believe he was made a prefect," she said as she examined the crest, "acting the way he does."

"Well, he is smart!" Draco defended himself unconsciously before realizing his mistake. "Intelligence is everything to us Ravenclaws, right?"

Stephanie Fawcett didn't say anything to that, but nodded a little uncertainly. "We have the prefects' meeting in a few minutes. We should go." Stephanie Fawcett began to walk ahead, clutching a scroll and a non-descript inkbottle possessively.

Did all Ravenclaws feel the need to take notes at the meetings? Draco hadn't noticed before, but fingered his- rather Cho's- please let her stay ill!- leather-covered book.

Draco frowned at the other girl. "Speaking of which," he tried to mimic Cho's soft soprano, "do you think we could go back to the dorms?" He nodded to the Slytherin crest. "To get a change of robes, that is. I think Bro- Mandy Brocklehurst is about my size."

The Ravenclaw prefect looked at Draco as though he was insane, raising her dark eyebrows. "Not quite," she said in a clipped voice. "Try someone ten inches shorter."

Right.

Cho is short and Mandy is about Draco's height.

Draco felt it would be appropriate to give an airy, silly female laugh, like his mother might. "Sorry." He flitted his hand emphatically. "I'm a little tired from being so sick and all..."

Stephanie Fawcett gave a half-hearted smile and pulled out her wand. "I happen to be studying advanced textile transfiguration in my spare time-" Did these Ravenclaws honestly have no lives whatsoever? Even Gryffindorks were more interesting! "Insignia Corve Ungue Manifestens!"

The little silver serpent slithered into oblivion as a bronze and blue eagle soared onto the crest, fluttering its wings restlessly before slowly stiffening into place.

Not bad, he thought, for an extra curricular pursuit.

"C'mon." Stephanie Fawcett grabbed Draco's arm lightly and jogged off, Draco falling instep behind her. "We're going to be late now."

They weren't the last of the prefects to arrive at the meeting. Draco was not, however, able to sneak off with Harry when they got there. Fawcett seemed to be watching him like a hawk. As Draco was taking Cho Chang's seat at the head of the long table in the conference area of the prefects' headquarters alongside Bert Macmillan of Hufflepuff (and feverishly praying the real Chang was sick abed), Blaise sauntered in lazily to the remaining seat on the left of Harry Potter.

As all of the twenty-four prefects were settling down, the Ravenclaws all diligently arranging their quills and scrolls to take notes, Draco caught Harry's eye.

Harry looked...relieved to see him- Cho, he reminded himself with a mental kick- there. Draco was slightly miffed that Harry didn't appear the slightest bit worried that Draco Malfoy wasn't present, but they still had some things to iron out yet. Draco batted his eyelashes and smiled coyly, hopefully something Harry found seductive.

He sent a prayer to every god he could think of to make the meeting fast- evidently Harry found him rather appealing because the Gryffindor turned a shade of pink and quickly seemed distracted by Granger's afternoon plans with the Weasel.

The meeting itself was rather uneventful with the simple tasks of voting on whether or not to ban several (unnamed) ghosts from the Hufflepuff lavatories. Apparently a certain phantasm had twice been accused of spying on fifth year Hufflepuff boys in the shower. They also debated what colours to decorate the Great Hall at the upper years' Valentine's Ball. Granger and the Weasley girl, in addition both seventh year Gryffindor prefects wanted red and gold, but Blaise, along with the Slytherins (sans Draco Malfoy) protested vehemently for red and silver instead.

"What about red and white?" Harry suggested tentatively, barely heard over the fervent arguments of the loud-mouthed long-molared Granger and the Slytherins.

Draco flashed Harry a grin. Maybe there was hope after all. "I second that suggestion." He dared a wink in Harry's direction and the boy smiled back, running his hands over that silly necklace again.

That motion was passed and that Creepy kid in fifth year was put in charge of the decorations (supposedly he had an eye for artsy-type things) along with Blaise, who stated quite clearly that she didn't want the Gryffindors "...to ruin such a romantic evening with their poor choice in taste".

Towards the end of the meeting, which was running over an hour long, Draco was frequently checking his watch under the table and trying not to draw attention to himself. He didn't have time for this to be carrying on like it was!

Twenty-five minutes left...then twenty...

He was to the point of gritting his teeth- when would it end?!

Stupid Granger and the Gryffindorks, always needing to argue with the Slytherins. It was their fault for wasting such valuable time!

Finally, with only about ten minutes left of the Polyjuice potion, Macmillan adjourned the meeting and Draco strode- no, nearly ran over to Harry Potter briskly.

His hands were shaking and his left eye twitching, but Draco figured Harry wouldn't notice, being four-eyed and all. He tapped the boy on the arm and Potter turned to face Draco, a smile forming on his lips and a blush starting to stain his cheeks.

Draco had to resist the urge to touch those gloriously flushed cheeks. He didn't know if Chang, and Harry for that matter, were into public displays of affection.

"Could I speak to you for a moment, Harry?" Draco nodded to the door, careful not to lick his lips, and fluttered his eyelashes thoughtfully.

Which was clearly the wrong thing to do as the Boy Who Lived narrowed his brilliant emerald eyes suspiciously. "All right," he said after a pause. "Somewhere a bit more private?"

"Please."

Harry lead the two of them back into the halls of the castle and down a nearby, but luckily deserted, wing filled with Mannerist landscapes. The prefects could be heard milling out of the meeting room, but not seen.

It would have to do.

Harry stared at him carefully, studying Draco in Cho Chang's form, who tried to remain composed and cool despite the ticking time. Draco nervously curled a strand of hair around his index finger and chewed on the other absently, willing Harry to be quick.

Draco bit his bottom lip lightly, trying not to check his watch again. "Aren't you glad to see me? I was going to ask for a good morning snog, long and thorough preferably-"

"I thought you were feeling sick." Harry stated this earnestly; it wasn't a question. Draco felt a pang of something- maybe guilt, but he didn't like to think of that.

"Oh, just..." Draco stopped twirling his hair and waved his hand around in the air, "...monthly cramps."

Pansy used that excuse for everything. She swore any guy would back off immediately if it was brought up.

Draco had to chance it; he didn't have the time for chitchat.

"For two weeks?"

Any guy but Harry Potter, evidently.

Draco tried to giggle shyly, but it came out as more of a snort. Fuck! I don't have the time. "You know, us women." He chewed on his thumb, risking a casual glance to his watch...

Five minutes.

He stiffened involuntarily.

Harry was still watching him, almost like he was one of the magical beasts the oaf had them take care of in class. The Gryffindor looked both concerned and leery; he furrowed his brows. "Er, not...really..." he said.

Draco was glad to hear of this. He couldn't help but smirk at this admonition. "Fancy boys, then?"

He didn't know where it came from, but he needed to get there. And get there now! Draco figured that Harry, at this point, would either a) blush furiously and stammer out some incoherent answer or b) deny Draco's accusation passionately.

Harry Potter instead gawked at him.

His mouth was wide like a fish and those jade eyes formed huge unreadable orbs beneath his thick lenses.

This was not the reaction Draco was expecting. He shifted uncomfortably in the pantyhose. They were beginning to itch again.

Would Cho have said something so bold? Well, no...but...

His stomach knotted itself painfully.

Finally Harry must have found his voice. "What- Cho, what just happened to your eyes?"

Draco breathed an inward sigh of relief. Good. Harry hadn't seemed to notice anything bizarre with Cho's personality today.

He blinked when the question was processed internally. "Sorry?" he...squeaked.

Not good.

So not good.

Harry continued to gape and backed up a step. He took his glasses off, cleaned them with the hem of his shirt and put them on again. He squinted, with a look of confusion still apparent. "Your eyes, they...they just changed colour. First they were brown, but now they're..." Harry moved in closer and Draco froze in fear. "-grey?" he spat in disgust.

Oh, shit!

Draco felt the snakes beginning to coil in his lower stomach and writhe in near-agony. He could feel the ends of each individual strand of hair shortening and slide up his back, over his chin and shoulders and ears and his face was tingling.

The last thing Draco saw before he tore off for the safety of the Slytherin dungeons was Harry's face contorting in absolute loathing, his mouth forming a distinctive name silently.

Malfoy.

He had barely made it down two flights of stairs, bumping into some prefect along the way- who gave a sharp "Hey! Watch it."- when Draco felt something breezy forming in the leg of the pantyhose he was wearing. His legs must have been stretching the material a bit too far in not-so-feminine places because there was a long tear running down his leg.

"Oh, bollocks," he mumbled, eyes misting over. Draco refused to cry (again) over Harry- no, Potter.

But Draco was miserable the remainder of the day and through into the evening when he had wandered out onto the school grounds overlooking the lake. It was very dark out, even though it was at least an hour until curfew. The snow had yet to fall that season and Draco could hear occasional plinks and splashes from the squid doing whatever it seemed to like doing in the water.

Draco sat down on a cold, granite bench which hovered perilously close to the precipice over the lake. The water was glassy, as there was no breeze, and slate-like.

He didn't bother with a cloak. He wanted to feel the chill of the early December air- well, it would be December in a week's time. He wanted to be cold, like his heart was supposedly (to Potter, anyway).

Feeling the cold at least gave him something to feel other than his own failure with Harry Potter.

His plan to seduce Harry Potter in Cho Chang's body had failed horribly. And it was his own fault! He had to try the Polyjuice out as soon as he could and he chose the most stupid day and time- the prefects' meeting.

Draco began to think that some of his father's insinuations that he wasn't the brightest person were true after all.

But to add to that, Potter knew it was him and the knowledge of what the Gryffindor could do with that was horrifying. He's probably going to tell the Weasel and Mudblood what a pathetic shirtlifter I am...

Draco's reputation seemed like it should have been the least of his worries.

He was angry with himself, especially because Malfoys never fail and he had. Draco wasn't worthy of being called a Malfoy after his plan went abysmally awry, and because this plan involved his wanting Potter.

But it wasn't about whether other Malfoy men had had lovers of the same sex that was the issue at stake- because Draco knew they had; he'd read about several during the nineteenth century family annals. Poets, no less, but still Malfoys.

The problem was the person. Harry Potter was the enemy of Voldemort and, as Draco's father, if not Draco himself (he had been really reconsidering lately), was allied with the Dark Lord, that made him an enemy of the Malfoy family.

And family was the thing that counted most.

Plus, Draco was supposed to be Potter's archrival. Archrivals couldn't exactly be together at the same time...

He was still wearing the ridiculous transfigured cloak (thin) and Ravenclaw-coloured jumper, but that was irrelevant. Draco stayed sitting on the stone bench for a long while, until his bum was numb and he heard his teeth chattering loudly and his cheeks prickles with the first signs of frostbite.

Good. That made him feel a little better.

A rustling of taffeta robes and a soft, but distinct clearing of a throat came up behind him. Draco didn't turn around. He didn't have the heart to care why or who it was.

A hand rested on his shoulder, warm against his frigid skin. "You forgot your cloak, love," Blaise said softly, no hint of scorn in her voice, only concern.

Draco didn't answer her. He had purposely not brought it and he didn't want to be around anyone. He wanted to be left alone. The ghost of a tear began to well up in his eyes and it slid down his cheeks in a ribbon of wet heat.

Blaise didn't press on, or even move for that matter. After several long minutes of frozen silence, she explained, "I don't feel it would be in my place to ask, Draco." She sighed and stroked his hair lightly, which was comforting, but Draco wouldn't have admitted that. He continued to stare out (albeit blearily) over the lake away from her.

She must have sensed that he may have been crying- Draco wasn't sure he was himself. He tried to ignore it and not think at all. He could almost feel her shake her head. "I didn't think that there was anyone who could resist the Malfoy charm."

Charm? Yeah, polyjuicing myself into Potter's crush and wanting a good snog from someone who will always hate me.

Draco snorted. "He did," he said quietly, after a moment. It wasn't as if he had anything left to lose by admitting it.

Blaise seemed unfazed. She didn't comment or sneer or even frown.

In fact, she put her arm around Draco's shoulder and led him back to the castle, all without looking Draco face on. He was grateful for this despite everything. After a heavy silence she said one last thing:

"He's not worth it, Draco. If he doesn't like you, he doesn't like you and nothing you do will change that. You'll only end up hurting..." she stopped, "...yourself."

She didn't see the final, fat tear slide down Draco's nose either.

Which Draco vowed to himself would be the last.