The Plan

Draco Malfoy was having a Bad Day. When he'd gotten up in the morning, he'd stubbed his toe on one of the books he'd thrown to the floor after studying. While he'd been hopping up and down, clenching his toe and howling, he had hopped on his Potions homework, which made him fall while simultaneously ripping the parchment and making all the studying he had done the night before worthless. Cursing, Draco had nevertheless gotten up to get ready for classes. Of course, more bad luck awaited him in the bathroom.

First, his feet betrayed him yet again as they slipped on a bar of soap that someone (most likely Goyle) had carelessly left after showering, and he fell for the second time in as many minutes. Groaning, Draco stood and stepped in the shower, turning on the hot water as high as it would go. It was common knowledge to the boys in Slytherin that Draco hated the cold, hated being cold, and therefore would use up all the hot water if allowed. Usually, they allowed it, for fear of Draco's father and the hell he could inflict upon them through his connection to You-Know-Who. Unfortunately for Draco, all of his housemates had showered and left, so there was no one to tell him that the hot water tab in the stall he was in was broken that morning. When the first spray of cold water hit him in the face, Draco let out a very undignified girl-like scream and bolted out of the stall, shivering and dripping.

Abruptly deciding that he would have to forgo his shower this morning, Draco turned to the mirror, fully prepared to fix his hair before getting dressed. That's when he remembered that he'd used up the last of his hair gel the morning before. He'd meant to get some more on the Hogsmeade trip yesterday, but thanks to the combined efforts of Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson, he had spent the whole time trying to avoid what the girls called "a shopping expedition" and what he called "the highest form of torture". Hence, no hair gel.

Scowling, Draco looked at the supplies of his housemates, hoping for some hair gel. Alas, no one had any, and Draco almost decided not to go to class that day at all. Really, what was the point? It was obvious that today would not be a good day anyway; he might as well quit while he was only a little behind. After all, who knew what horrors the rest of the day would have?

Deciding to just put his pajamas back on and crawl into bed, Draco went back into his room. He was just about to slide into bed when there came a tapping at the window. Curious, Draco looked over and spotted his father's eagle owl flying outside the window, looking extremely impatient. Knowing that having his father's owl outside his window rather than coming with the morning mail meant trouble, Draco reluctantly let the owl in, shivering more from recognizing the angry red of the Howler than the cold. The owl perched on Draco's bed whilst Draco took the Howler, and nipped his hand rather viciously when it realized he had no food to give it before flying out of the window. Bracing himself, Draco opened the Howler, fingers shaking, and immediately dropped it as his father's angry voice spilled out, loud and commanding.

"I AM THOUROUGHLY ASHAMED TO CALL YOU MY SON. I TOOK THE LIBERTY OF SPEAKING TO YOUR PROFESSORS YESTERDAY, AND THEY TOLD ME THAT MY SON IS BEING SURPASSED IN ALL SUBJECTS BY A MUDBLOOD. I SWEAR TO YOU, DRACO, THAT IF YOU DO NOT GET OFF YOUR ARSE AND IMPROVE YOUR SCORES I WILL TAKE MEASURES TO ENSURE THAT YOU NEVER FAIL ME AGAIN. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

The paper tore itself to shreds with the last sentence still echoing around the room. Still shivering slightly, Draco cleaned the mess up and decided against skipping class today. He moved to put on some robes, and as he did realized that he'd worn his last new pair the day before, and the others still hadn't been returned cleaned by the house elves yet. Still shell-shocked from the Howler, Draco got one of his robes from the year before and put it on, even forgetting to sneer at the thought that the robes fit him as good as they had last year because he hadn't grown an inch since third year. Draco started out of the dorm, then realized that he had missed breakfast and would need his books and had to backtrack. He forgot about the broken fifth step on his way up to Transfiguration and his ankle twisted painfully, but he kept on, his father's words still fresh in his mind. Professor McGonagall looked up as he limped into the classroom, and her eyes widened in surprise as she realized who besides Hormone Granger had entered her class early voluntarily. "Mr. Malfoy," she said dryly, "you are aware that class doesn't start for another fifteen minutes, I presume?" Draco nodded indignantly. What did she think he was, an idiot?

McGonagall gave him a look that said she did indeed think so, then asked, "And are you also aware that Slytherins don't have this class until one this afternoon?" Draco blinked at her dumbly for a second, then pulled out his timetable and groaned. She was right. He had Double Potions with the Gryffindors after breakfast. Draco felt a blush rising to his face, and tried his best to keep it down as he rose from his seat, avoiding his Professors laughing eyes as he limped towards the door. Noticing the limp, McGonagall called, "Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco turned around reluctantly, and McGonagall continued, "If your leg is bothering you, perhaps you should go see Madame Pomfrey." Draco nodded once, curtly, and then exited the room. He decided to take the Professor's advice, and went to see Madame Pomfrey. She informed him he had a twisted ankle, asked him how he'd gotten it, and bitched about the step when he told her. Afterwards, she fixed him right up, and wrote a small note telling Filch to fix the broken stair. Draco walked quickly out of the infirmary to Potions, scowling whenever his un-gelled hair fell into his eyes.

The best part about having his head of house hate everyone other than Slytherins was that Draco could walk into class at pretty much any time he pleased, and Professor Snape would not say a word about it. Now, if it had been Potter, Snape would have taken as many points as he could off of Gryffindor without seeming too harsh...which was usually a lot. So Draco knew that it was just his bad luck that Longbottom had destroyed yet another cauldron just before Draco walked in, consequently putting Snape into a horrible mood. (Well, more horrible than usual)

Snape was livid. Draco walked into Potions twenty minutes late, acting as if he owned the world, and that just wasn't acceptable. Snape, who in truth was still bristling from the tongue lashing he had received from the boy's father the day before, decided right then that Draco would no longer be allowed to slack off in his classroom.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said silkily, and across the room Harry Potter's head came up in surprise.

Draco sneered at Potter before turning to Snape and replying, "Yes, Professor?"

Snape gave Draco a truly malicious smile before saying, "Since you think that your time is infinitely more important than mine, I suggest using your time to learn the potion we are making today. Lunch, Malfoy...and don't even think about skipping."

Draco stared at Snape in shock, unable to believe his ears. Did Snape-Harry Potter hating, Slytherin favoring, Draco Malfoy loving Snape-just give him a lunch detention? He just stood there, looking for all the world like a fish out of water, until Snape told him that if he didn't sit down right away he would be joining him for dinner as well as lunch. Draco sat down in a hurry, still wondering what the hell was up with Snape. He looked around the classroom, trying to get his bearings back, and whose eyes should he meet but Potter's. Draco gave Potter his best Death Glare before looking away, but his gaze had stayed a little too long for Snape's liking.

"Potter, Malfoy," he said, upper lip curling into a sneer, "since you seem to be more interested in each other than my class, you can sit together for the remainder of it. Potter, move your things next to Malfoy." Potter made sound of protest, but Snape quickly cut him off, saying, "If you make one more sound, you will be spending lunch in here with Mr. Malfoy."

That got Potter moving. He plunked next to Draco without looking at him, and immediately got to work on his potion. Draco began taking the notes that he had missed earlier, one thought rushing through his mind: why me?

~****~

Lunch had been a disaster. Draco had rushed to Snape's classroom, hoping to finish off his potion quickly and then go eat, as he hadn't eaten breakfast and was starving. He really should have known better. Instead of allowing Draco to just do his potion and leave, Snape had spent most of the time lecturing Draco on his sloppiness and irresponsibility, and how it was his, Severus Snape's, duty to make sure that Draco improved, at least in Potions. By the time that Draco was left to do his potion, lunch was almost over. Draco finished the potion in record time, but there was only three minutes left for him to get his books and get to class.

The rest of the day wasn't that much better. All of his professors were rather testy with him as a result of his father's recent lecture. Even Professor Binns, who usually couldn't be bothered with caring about his students reactions to his lessons, made Draco sit right up front and got irritated when he noticed the boy's eyes glazing over. Draco really couldn't help it; History of Magic was his last class before dinner, and by the time it rolled around, he was so hungry he thought that he could devour a whole table full of food without problem. It didn't help much that the classroom was right next to the kitchens, and he could smell dinner cooking. Nope, it was a losing battle from the beginning. And really, how could Binns possibly expect anyone who wasn't crazy to enjoy hearing him drone on and on about famous wizards in history?

By the end of class, he was so hungry that he could have eaten the very table he sat at with relish, uncaring that it was wood and therefore not particularly good to eat. As soon as class was over, Draco jumped out of his seat, fully prepared to flee to the Great Hall and devour his dinner, but Binns stopped him. "I do believe that we should talk, Mr. Malfoy," he began, and Draco tuned the professor out as he gave the same lecture Draco had gotten from every one of his professors that day, only delivered in the same lackluster tone Binns used during his lectures.

Draco resisted the temptation to simply run through the ghost and to the Great Hall as the professor droned on for what seemed like hours, but was really only a few minutes...and then, finally, Draco was free. Free to gorge himself on all that delicious food he had smelled all through class. Draco ran to the Great Hall as fast as he could, feeling that if he could just get some hot food in his stomach, the day would seem more bearable.

So he should have known what would happen. Draco made it to the doors of the Great Hall, made it close enough so that he could actually see all that food, sitting there on the tables, just waiting to be devoured, before he felt an insistent tugging behind his navel which was rather like the feeling he got when he touched a Portkey...and suddenly the Great Hall was no longer in front of him. What was in front of him, and around him, was a bedroom. There was a warm fire blazing, which Draco thought quite odd since there was no one occupying the room save himself, and he had just been transported here scant seconds before.

Upon further inspection Draco noted that there was a bed on one side of the room, a door across from him, and a door across from the bed. Figuring that one of the doors had to be the way out, and still hoping for some dinner, Draco started for the door across from him, but before he could so much as look up, the door opened.

In stepped one Harry Potter, possibly the last person that he wanted to see at the moment. Confusion immediately set in. Why was he here? How did Draco get here? And most importantly, why did Harry-bloody-Potter get his own room?

Draco was yanked out of his musings by the sound of the door clicking shut. Realizing wholly just who stood in front of him, Draco glared up at Potter, putting as much hate as he could muster on such short notice into it. Potter was unfazed, which annoyed Draco greatly. Potter was not supposed to be unaffected by the Malfoy Death Glare. Potter was supposed to be so scared that he was rendered immobile, leaving Draco free to get past him whilst throwing a parting shot over his shoulder.

But of course Potter had to be contradictory, so instead of shrinking away from Draco as he should have done, he took a step forward, causing Draco to step back with a slight prick of uneasiness.

Quick as a flash Potter had grabbed Draco's arm, and Draco felt his eyes widen in surprise. He started to ask Potter just what the hell he thought he was doing, but was stopped when Potter's other hand started to run through his hair.

The sensation was completely new, as Draco had never had anyone run their fingers through his hair before, and even if they had, the gel helmet that he called his hair would have been too stiff to actually slide their fingers through. But because of the lack of gel, Potter's fingers brushed through Draco's hair effortlessly, and Draco was surprised at how good it felt. It didn't matter that it was Potter who was doing it; Draco was sure that it would have felt just the same if, say, Pansy had done it.

At least, he told himself that was the reason why he leaned into the touch, eyes almost closed with the comforting pleasure of having Potter's hands in his hair. Just before his eyes closed all the way, Draco glanced up into Potter's face, and he realized just who he was allowing to pet him. Eyes widening in an expression of total fear-mostly because he'd almost forgotten how much he hated Potter and leant into the touch-Draco jerked back. Quickly he pushed past Potter and ran to the door that the other boy had just come through, trying to wrench it open. It wouldn't budge. Furious, Draco whirled to face Potter and hissed, "What the hell is this, Potter?"

Potter smiled. Draco did not like that smile. That smile said that this had been Planned, and if there was anything Draco hated more than running out of hair gel, it was people-especially Potter and his little sidekicks-making Plans which included him, Draco Malfoy.

When Potter finally opened his mouth to speak, he found himself cut off by a furious Draco. "Whatever Plan you have in that little brain of yours, Potter," he snarled, "you can just forget. Now."

Draco's evil snarl was usually quite effective. He'd made third year Hufflepuffs piss their pants in fear of what might accompany the snarl. He'd reduced seventh-year Slytherins into quivering piles of terror at what that snarl implied. He had made all of Ravenclaw whimper in unison by the chill that the words that issued from that snarl held. He had never really tried it on any Gryffindor other than Longbottom, but he was sure that Potter here would react the same way that Longbottom had, with a squeal and a slump into a dead faint. He was so sure of himself that he almost smirked, which of course would have ruined the entire performance. It was an extreme effort, but Draco managed to hold the furious expression, knowing for certain that this was where Harry Potter met his doom.

So you can just imagine how much angrier poor Draco felt when Potter merely raised one eyebrow, presumably in an inquiry as to what the hell Draco thought he was accomplishing. Draco scowled. Damn Potter! Why did he have to be different from every other person Draco had ever used his snarl on?

"It's a gift," Potter said, and Draco blinked a bit before realizing that he'd spoken aloud. Potter was smirking and Draco really wished that he wouldn't. It threw his whole concept of reality off balance, because everyone knew that Draco was supposed to be the one smirking while Potter felt uncomfortable. It was just the way things worked at Hogwarts, and it really wasn't fair of Potter to change the rules without consulting Draco.

Draco was just about to inform Potter of this when the prat started speaking. "Look, Draco," he began, but Draco blocked him out, concentrating on the newest insanity. Potter had just called him Draco. Not Malfoy, not Ferret Face, but Draco. Draco leaned back slightly, studying Potter's face, looking for the telltale signs of insanity. Hmmm...he's not twitching, not stumbling over his speech; his eyes aren't shifting back and forth, his--

"AHA!" Draco shouted, internal monologue abandoning him as he found a sign. Potter stopped speaking abruptly, and his hands stopped twisting together nervously as he stared at Draco.

Despite himself, Draco flushed, but he refused to look away. There was no way in hell he'd give this crazy person the upper hand. Sticking his rather pointed nose into the air-mostly to get his annoyingly loose hair out of his eyes-Draco told Potter in his haughtiest voice, "It has come to my attention that you are insane. I recognize the signs, Potter, and as much as I would normally enjoy seeing you go crazy, I must say that these were not the circumstances in which I had envisioned it happening. So I'll make a deal with you: you let me out of here and I will take you to Madame Pomfrey, you'll be treated and we'll both forget that this ever happened. Sound good to you?" he asked, crossing his fingers in hope. Draco had no intention of keeping that promise and every intention of tormenting Potter after he got out of this, but Potter needn't be aware of that information until later.

Potter stared at Draco hard; those disturbingly green eyes probing Draco's grey ones, making the blonde boy uncomfortable. Draco kept his face impassive with difficulty, and was just about to crack when Potter looked away. The boy seemed on the verge of tears. His mouth opened slowly, and Draco got ready to savor his victory.

But as I already mentioned earlier, this was just not Draco's day, so instead of sobbing, which Draco fully expected, Potter began to laugh. He laughed loud and long, and every time he seemed to be slowing down, he would look at Draco and go off into another peal of laughter. Draco personally didn't see what was so funny, and said so, scowling so hard his face hurt. This wasn't the way that this was supposed to go. Potter was supposed to be sobbing his heart out with the realization that he had cracked; he was supposed to be a broken heap on the floor at Draco's feet, not laughing his bloody arse off.

Gradually Potter calmed down enough to look Draco full in the face. "I guess you wouldn't see the humor," he replied, and snorted. Draco glared. Potter sighed exasperatedly and shook his head. "I honestly thought you would have figured it out. Oh well, I guess I'll just tell you."

Once again Potter looked at Draco as though trying to see his soul, and once again Draco was trying not to squirm under that stare. That's what he wants he thought angrily. He wants me to break. Well, it's not that easy, Potter. I can take whatever you throw at me. Be strong Draco, be strong.

Potter was looking at him expectantly. Deciding that Potter had said something while he'd been thinking, Draco said, "Pardon?"

Potter stared at Draco incredulously, mouth hanging open. Annoyed, Draco snapped, "Shut your damn mouth Potter, you look like an idiot. Not much change actually," he added as Potter shut his mouth.

Potter smirked at Draco before replying, "Not half the idiot that you're proving yourself to be, Malfoy." Giving a long-suffering sigh, Potter added, "I suppose since you don't understand plain English, I'll have to show you what I've been trying to say." With that said, Potter took a step towards him. Draco was tempted to take a step back, but he wasn't about to let Potter get the best of him, so he stood his ground as Potter moved closer and closer.

Potter stopped when there was about an inch of space between him and Draco, who was feeling very uncomfortable. Be strong, he thought furiously. Don't let Potter get the best of you. Be strong, be str--what the FUCK!!?

It really isn't very polite to use that particular word, or think it for that matter, but we will excuse Draco anyway, because the usage of that word, while not polite, is a way to express extreme surprise...and to say that Draco was surprised would be an understatement, because Draco had just been kissed by none other than Harry Potter. It had been quick, no more than a peck, but it effectively rendered Draco speechless, both in voice and thought. He could only gape at Potter, who was smirking down at him, which gave him back his voice, if not his wits.

"You kissed me," he stated, and Potter's smirk grew wider.

"Noticed that didn't you?" he replied smugly, but Draco was having a hard time comprehending the words.

All he seemed able to do at the moment was stare at Potter and repeat, "You kissed me."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, we established that. Now, do you want to know why I kissed you?"

Yes, Draco wanted to know why Potter had kissed him. However, his vocal cords were still not in proper working order, and all he could do was ask, "You kissed me?" and hope that Potter understood.

It seemed that Potter did, for he grinned and nodded. "I'll take that as a 'yes'," he said, more to himself than Draco. With that he leaned toward the blonde boy, who felt his eyes widen in fear that Potter would kiss him again. Potter chuckled. "Don't worry, Draco, that's not what I had in mind at all," he informed the other boy, then leaned in farther to whisper in his ear, "I kissed you, Draco, because I like you." Pulling back, Potter stared into Draco's eyes, searching for a reaction.

He got one. Draco let out a squeak of terror before turning around and running straight into the bathroom. Shutting the door behind him and locking it, Draco sat on the toilet and stared at the door with wide eyes. No way in hell was he ever leaving this bathroom...not while Potter was out there.