Metamorous

Chapter 3 - Apathy

I went to see Dumbledore first thing the next morning, just like I had promised Hermione. He hadn't changed the password yet so I didn't have to play 'guess the candy with the highest sugar content' this time. It was much too early in the morning for Dumbledore's games.

"Good morning Harry," he greets me jovially. "Is there a problem you wanted to talk about?"

Lots of problems, only one for talking about.

"Hermione wanted me to have a teacher check me for love potions or spells. She thinks Draco's out to get me as usual." If this weren't so depressing it would be funny. Ok, Harry, you need more sleep. You're not making sense anymore. And you're referring to yourself in the third person again. I mean I'm referring to myself in the third person again.

Dumbledore chuckles, breaking into my inner conversation. "Ms. Granger is startlingly perceptive. You must be a very good actor Harry, to mimic love potion symptoms so well." My heart skips a beat. Wasn't acting, my hormones boast. Bloody too was acting! my brain keeps shouting. Stupid voices.

"Are you going to actually check or can we just assume?" Hey! Maybe he did use some kind of spell on me, and made up the Metamorous as an elaborate cover story. Sneaky.

Dumbledore chuckles again. Doesn't it seem like he's always doing that? "If you look in the mirror over in the corner, you'll see there's no magic in or on you except your own." Puzzled, I turn and glance into the corner to which he's pointing. A large mirror looms rather ominously. It seems startlingly out of place in Dumbledore's cozy office. Was it there before? It has black edging, and even the glass itself seems much darker than a normal mirror. There's a faintly purple glow around me, nothing serious or evil looking. Like I'm such an expert on what's evil. Hah.

"So the purple's my magic then?" Purple. Never really liked that color overmuch.

"Yes. Purple, the color of humanity. Also the color of shadow. Shadows aren't really gray you know," he adds mildly. "It's a common misconception. They're purple. Very dark purple."

Uh oh. Dumbledore's gone all Oracle-like on me again. It's vaguely creepy, when his eyes start to blank out like that and his voice gets all misty and far away. Maybe he's just getting old. That's almost preferable, but not much.

He snaps out of it a second later. "Be sure to tell Ms. Granger you are not under the effects of any potion, love or otherwise."

"I will." And that won't go over so well. I think she's completely sure it's a love potion and that regular Harry Potter will be back real soon. Fat chance. (Ok, here's a random Harry though: Why does fat chance and slim chance mean the same thing? Anyone?)

"Goodbye Headmaster."

"Goodbye Harry."

I walk slowly down to breakfast, snagging a seat at the end of the table and mechanically placing food onto my plate. Without Hermione here to nag me about eating something I just push it around with my fork. Currently the egg army is taking horrible punishment from the bacon brigade. The toast is calling for reinforcements.

I sigh. What a great day this is going to be. Oh. It's a Saturday. It should be a great day. I should be laughing and joking with Ron and Hermione. I should be planning to head to Hogsmeade. Things should be fucking perfect.

It's been two days since I kissed Draco. Malfoy. Since I kissed Malfoy. And things are all ready too unbearable for words. At least it can't get worse.

~~~~~~~~

Did you know that Harry pushes his hair back with his left hand, even though he's right-handed? Did you know that his eyes aren't as green as everyone says? They're more hazel. And I bet you had no clue he has an almost triangular birthmark right above his collarbone. If you asked me about any of those things two days ago I wouldn't have known. But now I do. Harry-watching has become my new hobby. Not that I didn't watch him before, but I guess that was for different reasons. I have an obsession with knowing people's secrets, and Harry has more than anyone I've ever known.

I was attracted to him. I can admit that now. Big deal. Half the people in the school have turned me on at one time or another. And I still hate Harry Potter on general principle. Our new... arrangement isn't going to change six years of bitter rivalry. That stuff isn't just blown away with one kiss. Even if it was a really good kiss.

Not that I'm thinking about it. Not that I'm watching Harry all that much. And I go over to greet him because as far as the rest of the world is concerned I am his boyfriend.

"Morning beautiful," I murmur before kissing him gently. He jolts a little, but not so much that anyone notices. It's just a quick kiss, a good morning kiss, like we've done it a million times before. Except we haven't. It's only our second. Maybe our third, because in the hall he technically kissed me twice. I think. No, stop thinking! Stupid brain. Giving in to temptation I kiss him lightly again. No biggie. More acting.

"Morning." He smiles at me a little, gesturing to the bench beside him. "Wanna sit down? You're safe, there aren't many Gryffindors up yet." That's true. There's only one small gathering mid-way down the table. Not rise-and-shiners it seems.

"Did you have plans for today?" I flirt subtly.

"Well, I though maybe I'd go to Hogsmeade... unless something better comes up," he flirts right back, leaning towards me a little.

Ok. Ok. We can do this. We can carry out this stupid plan. Not get caught. Live. Defeat Voldemort. Not necessarily in that order. Hopefully the living continues after we defeat Voldemort.

"Well, I was going to study Potions today. Care to join me?"

"Studying huh?" Harry pretends to consider. "I could handle that." He touches my hand briefly.

"I have Quidditch practice in about an hour, so why don't I meet you in the library later, at 10? Then we can get lunch and hang out."

"Sounds good to me." We're both so close to cracking into hysterical laughter at this point we're grinning like idiots. God, this is so fucking unbelievable! I exhale slowly through my nose, biting down on my lips.

"Right. I'll see you later then."

"Uh huh. Later Draco."

I can't take this anymore. I walk out of the Hall as nonchalantly as I can, round the corner, and burst into giggles. Oh my God. This is unreal. We're acting like a pair of honeymooners. Merlin's Balls, this is entertaining. I choke back another laugh as some Third Years round the corner. At least I won't be bored.

~~~~~~~

Well that was interesting. I nearly busted a gut in the Great Hall this morning. Being lovesick does not suit Draco. At any rate I feel a little better. Laughter - and chocolate, gotta love chocolate- is the best medicine.

Afterwards we meet in the library like we planned. There was a lot of page-turning and failed attempts at conversation. I guess we don't have that much in common. Ah well. Boring, but not as bad as hanging out in the common room and being continually glared at.

... it was Bartel's belief that charms contain one of more of the four elements; fire, wind, water, and air. Though not an entirely original idea, he was the first to write a comprehensive hypothesis containing his findings and theories. Bartel's Theory is taught as a background for charm work though it can be used in reference for potions. It depends entirely upon...

Blah blah blah. God, this is boring. Stupid History of Magic. I attempt to start up a conversation again.

"So what do you think about Professor Harz?" I haven't met her yet. DADA is on Mondays.

"Surprisingly normal," Draco says dryly. "Boring I suppose, but nowhere near Binn's level. She seems to know the stuff but she won't use it on us like Mad Eye. Not that that was the real Mad Eye," he adds.

"Creeps you out doesn't it? Knowing now that it was someone completely different?"

"At least he bothered to pretend."

Ok, now there's a cryptic statement if I ever heard one. I would have commented on it but a group of Ravenclaws decide to sit at the table next to ours. Act 1, Scene 3. I smile at Draco and he places his foot onto of mine. We're sitting next to each other, thighs touching slightly. I imagine I can feel it even through the robes we wear. Stupid, stupid hormones.

We go back to reading our books. About a half hour late I realize I'm still on the same page. Gah. Slamming it shut I touch Draco's shoulder. "Wanna go fly? I can't study anymore."

He stares at me a second. "Sure. Good idea." We place the books back on the shelves or into our bags and walk out the door, clasping hands. The Ravenclaws don't bother to hide the fact they're watching us the whole time.

"Hope we passed the bloody inspection," Draco mutters. I smile a bit. It does feel a bit like we're under a microscope.

"Twenty minutes, the Pitch. Ok?"

Another stare. "Yeah. Ok." We drop hands and I brush my lips over his cheek. This is going to take some getting used to.

"See you there."

~~~~~~~

The library was tense. I didn't want to say much of anything. Harry caught me in a bad mood this time. Got a letter from father this morning just after breakfast. The usual. No 'how are you', just a 'don't disappoint me', a 'the plan had better work', and veiled references to 'our Lord'. Not my Lord, thanks.

Can't blame Harry for wanting to get out the library. I hope everyone gets over his or her obsession with watching us soon. And if that Colin kid snaps one, just one more picture of us, there will be bloodshed. The Ravenclaws were a bit much though. They very obviously came to study us and not Transfiguration. We put on our little show. My foot on top of Harry's, our thighs rubbing against each other... Ok, thinking of Harry's thighs is not helping. And Harry's thigh near mine is even worse. Better. Worse. Shut up!

Express message to my hormones: I hate him remember? Saint Potter, the bane of my existence and the reason I'm in this stupid situation anyway. Harry Potter, golden boy of Hogwarts and pain in my ass. Pain somewhere else actually. More like an ache.

I sigh and shift in my chair. My hormones have not gotten the message. They have taken an extreme liking to Harry's hazel-green eyes and long midnight black hair... and that's just starting on his face. Eye candy. And whatever I can imagine through those ruddy robes. God. I slip into my Quidditch robes. I can't stop thinking of him because I'm supposed to be thinking of him but not in that way. Strictly platonic. Friends. Not friends even. Associates. Co-workers more like. That's it. Nothing beneath the surface.

I grab my Firebolt, which I finally wrangled out of father, and head for the field, doing my best not to think about my partner in misery. Ok, 'partner' was a bad choice of word. I almost trip down the front steps. Really bad choice of word. Misery's about right though. You know what they say. Misery loves company. And right now Harry's that company.

Reaching the pitch I decide that I am not thinking about how good he looks in those Quidditch robes. I am not thinking about what's under those Quidditch robes and when he smiles a little I do not think he is beautiful.

I'm screwed. Figuratively.

Drawing a deep breath I paste on a smile instead of the scowl I feel like. "Ready to go?"

He nods, smiling too.

I mount my broom, flashing him a grin. "Race you to the south goalpost," I shout over my shoulder. I hear his cry of protest and laughter but soon enough I'm too far away to hear. Nah nah. I'm going to win!

~~~~~~~

Nah nah. I win.

Draco's pouting. It makes him look absurdly adorable. I did not just think that. I did not just think that. Shit. I thought that. But I'm not going to do anything about it. Nope. Not a thing. Not a blessed thing. Except smile at him.

~~~~~~~

Wow. I don't think he's ever smiled at me before. Not a real smile anyway. He really does look beautiful when he smiles.

Hey! I thought I said we were not going there. Did you misunderstand me? Does Little Draco have something to say? I didn't think so. More flying. Just the thing.

~~~~~~~

Draco takes off on his broom, shooting almost straight up into the sky. What is going on in his mind? The strangest look passed over his face a second ago. Bah, why bother with psychoanalyzing him? I'll never figure him out. Why am I getting the feeling that I want to?

I stay on the ground this time, just watching him fly. He's whirling and twisting and doing things I haven't even tried. In the games his moves are cool and calculated, exactly what he should be doing... but somehow it doesn't work for him. If he flew like this I wouldn't have a chance to grab the Snitch. I'd be too busy watching him.

He makes nearly a whole lap upside down. Careful Draco, wouldn't want you to fall and break that aristocratic head of yours. Then he begins to spin and weave back and forth, making a green-silver spark in the sky. He shimmers.

I think this is the man behind the mask. Not cool and calculated, but pining to be free. I recognize the longing. The feeling that you get when you see the edge of the horizon and makes you want to speed towards it as fast as you can. You want to see where the sun goes when it sets, the rain before it falls; you want to hang on the edge of forever. But then something on the ground catches your eye and you remember. Remember that's where you belong. With two feet on the ground. We both want to live with our heads in the sky. Maybe we do have things in common.

I'd look to the sky for more answers, but it's empty now. Draco walks toward me, mask firmly in place.

What I'd give for the mask to fall completely.

~~~~~~~

I love flying. That never really hits me until I'm up in the air again. Once I'm down on the ground the memory seems to dim, it seems hyped up. But sooner or later I'm back in the air again and it doesn't matter that the memories are worthless because I can always have the real thing. A memory of flying is to flying what a picture is to a real person. A picture can look like a person, move like the person, but never be the person. It's a cheap substitute. There's only one real thing.

Harry's looking at me thoughtfully. I blush, somehow feeling the need to explain myself. "I know it's not how I fly in matches..."

"It's better," he interrupts smoothly. "I wish I could fly like that."

Oh. We're pretending. I forgot. But he continues quietly. "You seemed so free. It was beautiful Draco." He looks straight into my eyes, something he doesn't have to do since no one's around.

I'm so confused. Does he mean it or are we faking? What's real and what's not?

"Let's go in for lunch," I mumble, averting my face from him. I don't want to deal with these feelings right now. I don't want to deal with them ever.

~~~~~~~

What's wrong with him? Can't he even take a compliment with out blowing things out of proportion? Grrr. He is so annoying sometimes! Argg, why am I bothering with stating the obvious? This just goes to show that the next three months really will be unbearable.

Lunch was tense. Everything in my life is tense these days! I step into a room and conversations stop. The Gryffindors ignore me to the point they won't answer a direct question, or they glare at me. Last night there were Filibuster's Fireworks in my bed. Seamus and/or Dean's work I'm certain. Neville wouldn't do something like that, and I really hope Ron wasn't involved. Kinda the last straw there. To me there's a difference between my former best friend ignoring me and my former best friend tormenting me along with the rest of them.

The only thing that pierced my cloud of anger was the kiss Draco and I shared before going to our separate tables. His lips were still cold from flying and even though the kiss was brief I had time to breathe in Draco's scent. He smells like dried leaves and the crisp, cold air that comes with them. Somehow, even after all the fights we've had, all the times I've been near him, that's the first time I knew what he smelled like. Autumn. A cold, clear autumn day.

~~~~~~~

"Things just keep getting worse," I grumble, trying not to throw my quill across the room. I've just broken the point for the third time in ten minutes. "Thursday they charmed all my things to the size of a fingernail, Friday Dean threw something in my cauldron in Potions which caused it to explode, Saturday no one said a single word to me all Quidditch practice, not to mention all the hate mail. It seems to range from 'House Traitor' to lots of expletives with a peppering of obscenities to taste. And would you believe Lavender had the nerve to call me the Gryffindor whore?"

"Lavender Brown? The girl doesn't let a day go by without visiting the Astronomy Tower."

"I know. And with a different person each time at that. Like she can throw stones."

Scratch. Scratch. Snap. Stupid fucking quill.

"So what happened on Sunday?"

I heave a sigh of relief. "Nothing, thank God, or I would have cracked."

Draco smiles a little. "They really hate me don't they?"

"And now they hate me. Gee, I wonder why?"

He shrugs and goes back to working on his homework. We've been doing that a lot lately, mostly because the more time we spend in the library is more time we spend away from people and their prying eyes. Not that it gives us complete privacy.

Draco and I've developed an uneasy friendship. Emphasis on uneasy, and to be quite frank, saying friendship might be stretching it a bit. Conversation but nothing too deep most times. Usually we complain and make fun of Snape. It was a pleasant surprise to find that Draco thought he was as much of a git as I did. But he doesn't take Ron's place. Can't. He just isn't Ron. I miss the idiot, even though he's being a jerk. And, well, an idiot...

"Can you remember the twelve uses for dragon's blood?" he asks, slightly puzzled. "There's transmutation..."

"Potion ingredient..."

"Duh, this is our potions homework."

"Shut up. Uhh, restoratives... rituals... ah... paint? Nice deep red color."

"That's morbid. Blood paint."

"Yeah. Ick."

"Ick? Ick? Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world, only known survivor of the Killing Curse, and boy who has seen unknown depths of evil can think of nothing but the word 'Ick' to describe blood? Good Gods we're doomed."

"Shut up Draco. Just because I don't sound like I've swallowed a dictionary doesn't make me unintelligent."

"Didn't say you weren't," he counters rather reasonably. "But if the fate of the wizarding world does rest in your hands, maybe I should have stuck with Voldemort."

"Do you really think that? Sometimes anyway?" Loaded question there.

"No. Never." He very carefully moves his parchment over so he doesn't smudge the ink. "Sometimes it's best to be on the losing side."

I've caught him in an unusually talkative mood. "So you think we're losing?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. You really can't tell until the very end, can you?"

"I suppose not."

There's more scratching of quills. More rustling as pages are turned.

"What's he like? Your father?"

He gently touches the paper, checking to see if it's dry yet. "As a father... he's actually ok. He puts a lot of pressure on me, yeah. Wants me to excel in everything. Even more than he did way back when. His only real flaw is that he wants me to take over the family business."

"And of course you not talking about the Ministry."

"Of course not."

I ruefully flip to the Potions index. Stupid dragon's blood...

"As a husband he isn't all that great," Draco continues quietly. "But my parent's marriage was arranged, so... They're fond of each other. They have affection, but it's like that... of a pet. You know? Sort of... 'you take care of me, I take care of you', but nothing beyond that. Hell, Weasel and Granger are doing better than my parents in the love department."

"So you believe in love then?" That doesn't seem like such a stupid question as I thought it would. And it's very important. For some reason. Just curiosity I suppose.

"Now who's throwing stones?" Draco pauses slightly, his eyelids hooded and his hair falling forward.

Who's throwing stones indeed.

He carefully rolls up the parchment and ties it neatly. "The ink's dry."

And I think we're done talking.

~~~~~~~

Later in bed I lie on my back and try to figure out I kept talking to Harry. Ultimately of course, I reach a conclusion. It's all his fault. His saintly aura, that martyred look, the fact that he's just so goddamn quiet and just there all the ruddy time. The way he's so cheery, yet I know that underneath it all is a soul even more tortured than mine. He's forgiving, yet he could dispatch you straight to hell with all the warmth of an assassin if he thought you deserved it. And he'd do it with a smile.

Such is the mystery of Harry Potter. When people hear that name, do they think of the suffering that lurks behind his eyes? No. The image they get is a radiant, glorified ten-foot tall legend with a lightning bolt insignia. They don't see the quiet strength and the almost unassuming beauty. They fall in love with the mask. Even Granger and Weasley don't see that all the way. He's their friend, true, but he's their hero friend. Why is it I understand him more than anyone?

That's why he's so good at bullshitting his way through this relationship. He's been acting since the day he discovered he was a wizard. He's acted strong, he's played the hero, he's done the twirls and sung the songs and shouldered a burden that wasn't his to bear. Fuck. Why am I thinking about this? I'm forced into his days, does he have to force his way into my nights? Into my very dreams?

I'd damn you to hell Harry Potter but it seems everyone else has all ready done it.