Chapter Twenty-One: Lying To Himself

The nightmares began almost immediately and they didn't all happen while Draco was asleep. First, there was the nightmare that was his current relationship with Harry. Harry wasn't talking to him, and the cold, blank mask was in place every time they met. Harry had stopped showing up for midnight Quidditch, which Draco thought was cowardly as well as spiteful. Harry also had stopped their lessons, making the time they had to spend together on Tuesdays and Thursdays into a silent revising hour. Draco tried once to make amends, but the stubborn sod rebuffed him and his pride wouldn't let him try again.

Not that he cared about Harry's attitude anyway.

Another nightmare was Dennis Creevy, who followed in his brother's footsteps by forming the Draco Malfoy Fan Club. Every time Draco turned around, Creevy or another student from the club was there, taking his picture or asking asinine questions, and generally driving him barmy.

A lot of the pictures Creevy took ended up in the magazines and papers, as did Colin Creevy's photos of Harry. Dumbledore didn't allow the press on school grounds, but that didn't stop the reporters from writing sensational stories about Draco, Harry, and Voldemort -- who hadn't been believed to be alive again until Harry's Current Events in the Wizarding World updated itself. (The corpse was also undeniable proof.) Rita Skeeter was the worst of the reporters, and Draco ignored Ron Weasley's jibes of just desserts.

On top of all that, Draco was having flashbacks of the confrontation with Voldemort. The dreams while he was asleep were taken care of by a dreamless sleeping potion. But during the day, Harry was killed again and again in Draco's mind. It was a never-ending, waking nightmare. Draco was continuously haunted by sightless green eyes.

Stupid, bloody Gryffindor.

"Damn it!" Draco swept the potions ingredients off the table in a fit of anger and flinched at the sound of breaking glass. His derivative of the wolfsbane potion, which would prevent animagus' from transforming, was not gelling in spite of weeks of work. He crumpled his parchment of notes, threw it in his cauldron, and set it and the mauve liquid inside the cauldron on fire.

Martin emerged from the storeroom, arms laden with potions ingredients, just as the contents of the cauldron exploded. Light purple gunk rained down in the potions classroom, mostly on Draco's head. "Everything all right, Malfoy?"

"Right as rain," Draco said flatly.

Martin set his jars down on Snape's desk and joined his friend in cleaning up the broken jars on the floor, saving what ingredients they could. A quick spell took care of the rest of the mess.

"What's going on, Draco?" Martin said, leaning on the table as Draco pulled out a fresh piece of parchment.

"I stuffed up the potion and have to start again," Draco replied.

"Looks to me like you threw a tantrum."

Draco glared at Martin. "I was not throwing a tantrum."

"Then what would you call it," Martin queried, "'expressing your pique'?"

"Oh, go away and leave me alone," Draco scowled.

Martin chuckled and headed over to Snape's desk to retrieve his potions ingredients. "Hey, are you going to the Quidditch game tomorrow?"

"No."

"It should be a dinger of a match," Martin tempted. "I hear Potter's been awful at practice."

Draco clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking in his cheek. "Please refrain from saying that name around me."

"Are you still fighting with Potter?" Martin rolled his eyes. "Blimey, Draco, it's been a month since you ran off at the mouth."

"Are you saying I'm at fault?" Draco said icily.

"Yes," Martin answered. "You're the git who told Potter that you hated him."

"I do hate him."

Martin laughed. "Oh, come off it, Malfoy. Take some Veritaserum and stop lying to yourself. You hate Creevy and I don't see you getting all in a lather when I say his name."

"I am not in a lather over Potter!"

Martin just smiled smugly in response.

"I don't have to listen to this. Goodbye." Draco gathered up his personal supplies and stomped out of the classroom. Martin's laughter followed him into the hall, further peeving him.

"I am not in a lather over Potter," he grumbled to himself, as he made his way down the corridor towards the Slytherin dorms. "I don't care about that prat, at all. He's nothing. Absolutel-aaah!"

The sudden flash of a camera startled Draco, temporarily blinding him. When he could see, he pinned Dennis Creevy with a murderous glare. "Creevy!"

The second year stepped out of the alcove he'd been hidden in. "Hello," said Dennis. "Could I trouble you for an interview?"

"No!" exclaimed Draco.

Undaunted, Creevy lifted his camera. "Another picture, then?"

"Engorio!" Creevy's ears were suddenly the size of a small elephant's. Draco grabbed one and yelled in it, "Leave me alone!"

Draco released Creevy and walked away, leaving the shaken boy quivering on the floor.

In the Slytherin dorm, Draco slammed the door to the fifth years' room and threw his supplies on his bed. He yanked open his trunk, grabbled the sample vial of Veritaseram, the closest thing he had to a truth telling potion, and drank a small amount. He tossed the recapped vial on the bed, turned to the mirror hanging on the wall, and glowered at his reflection. He'd show Martin.

"I hate Harry Potter."

His reflection turned pink.

Draco inhaled sharply. "I don't like Potter at all," he said quickly.

His image stayed pink, his own body chemistry revealing his lie.

Draco took a step closer to the mirror, a slight edge of panic in his voice. "I think Potter is a stupid git."

His reflection turned back to normal. "That's more like it," Draco said with a satisfied nod. "The potion must be faulty, since I want nothing to do with Potter."

Instant pink.

"No, no, no!" Draco grabbed the edges of the mirror. "I have no feelings for Potter, other than disgust!" Still pink. "I don't care that he's not speaking to me!" Pink. "I don't miss our lessons--" Pink. "--I don't miss midnight Quidditch--" Pink. "--I don't miss anything about the messy-haired, dorky poufter!"

Pink.

"I dye my hair!"

His reflection turned normal. The potion wasn't faulty.

Draco's chest was heaving, his pale eyes wild, and the mirror shook under his tense grip. "Harry makes me batty. Completely and totally nutters." His reflection stayed clear. "I don't understand him at all." Still clear. "I know exactly how I feel about him."

Still clear.

Draco spun on his heel and stalked out of the Slytherin dorm. He strode with unwavering purpose through the corridors of Hogwarts. Students jumped out of his way the moment they saw his determined expression.

The Gryffindor tower entrance was guarded by the Fat Lady. She didn't slow Draco down. "Repetica password." The password appeared on the Fat Lady's fan. Draco repeated it aloud and the portrait swung open.

Gasps and exclamations followed Draco through the red and gold common room and up the stairs. Draco ignored them, heading directly for Harry's dorm. He'd been there once over the winter holidays, and was taking the chance that Potter would be inside on a Friday afternoon.

Harry was there, along with Weasley, Longbottom, and Thomas. They all jumped when the door slammed open and Draco stormed inside.

The open expression on Harry's face disappeared beneath the despised mask. He met Draco halfway into the room. "What do you want?"

Draco grabbed Harry by the chin and dragged the overly large Gryffindor to Draco's level. "You," he answered with a snarl, and proceeded to show Harry exactly how he meant.

Chapter 22