Draco needed to think. And so he did what he always did, and he took a bath. Not just any bath, however. No, this was the patented Draco Malfoy Bath. He took it, as usual, in the Prefect's bathroom, and he filled the tub with every kind of bubble and scent that it had to offer. Then he added his Top Secret Key Ingredient that kept his skin soft and his hair shiny.

When he got out, spelling himself dry, he put on the clothes that he had picked out especially for this occasion. Then he went back to the Slytherin dungeons to check his appearance in the mirror a few more times, before starting off to search for Harry Potter.

Harry was plotting. He had decided to ignore the fact that he was just a young man with no real training except for his Idiotic Gryffindor Bravery and Unfailing Good Luck. He wasn't smarter or more cunning than anyone else, and in fact he could think of a good many people who were smarter and more cunning than him off the top of his head. But he didn't care. He had but one mission in life, and that was to defeat the Very Evil Dark Lord.

I think I can, I think I can, he thought furiously to himself, I'm the Boy Who Lived, damn it. If I can't do it, no one can.

It was at this extremely opportune moment that Draco entered the library, where Harry was bent over a very large pile of books. "Plotting, eh, Harry?" he asked.

Harry looked up, bewildered. "How did you know?"

Draco shrugged. "Maybe because I have Magical Powers that allow me to enter the room just when you need me most and know exactly what you're doing?"

"Oh," Harry replied, as if that should've been obvious. "Well, anyway, your Magical Powers are correct. I am plotting, and I do indeed need your advice."

Draco sat dwn next to him with a smile. "Just ask for it, Harry, and I shall give it."

Harry was momentarily overwhelmed by Draco's scent. "Did you take a bath in perfume?" he asked.

"Well, yes, actually. In a manner of speaking. I call it the Draco Malfoy Bath. Why," he asked, and his voice came out more nervously than he wanted it to, "does it bother you?" IDIOT, he reprimanded himself. Harry's opinion DOES NOT matter that much to you. It DOESN'T.

Harry was surprised to find that it didn't bother him. Despite the sheer intensity of the scent, it was actually rather nice. But he didn't want to say that to Draco, so he just shook his head and moved on.

"Well…the problem is that I really have no experience with Cunning Plans. Despite my extensive research-" he waved his hand, indicating the stack of Muggle novels in front of him- "all I've been able to figure out so far is that in situations as horribly cliché as these, in which Good fights Evil, or Light fights Dark, depending on your preferred adjective, either Good automatically vanquishes Evil simply on account of its Goodness, or one of them knows the other's Secret Weakness."

Draco gave a Condescending Snort. "Well, given that you've already faced Evil multiple times, I doubt that in this case your Goodness is going to do its Automatic Vanquishing anytime soon." He had a mental picture of Lord Voldemort melting like the Wicked Witch of the West, and had to fight to keep from laughing out loud.

Harry looked suspiciously at the twist of his mouth, but he didn't say anything. "Well, there was this interesting thing where he got burned whenever he touched me, but I'm afraid that's gone now." His shoulders slumped. "So all I've got left is to figure out what Voldemort's Secret Weakness is, but knowing him, he probably doesn't even have one."

A Very Small Devil appeared on Draco's shoulder. Go on, it whispered. Say it. You know you want to.

He had just opened his mouth to speak when a Very Small Fangirl appeared on his other shoulder. Don't do it, Draco! it shrieked in a very fangirly way. You two are meant for each other! How are you supposed to fall in love and have hot monkey sex if you send him to his death?

"WHAT!" He snarled. Harry jumped, and he realized that he'd spoken out loud again. "Bloody hell," he cursed. "Hold on, Harry. I'm busy having an argument with my Devil and my…um…well, I'm arguing with myself mentally. Be with you in a moment."

Harry nodded, but he still looked extremely confused.

Get away from me, he thought as hard as he could at the Very Small Fangirl. What do you think you're on about, anyway, about us being meant for each other?

There's a thin line between love and hate! she quoted emphatically.

Yeah, like there's a thin line between me being angry and me CRUSHING YOU TO DEATH! he shouted in his head. She covered her ears.

Just don't forget, Draco. You may think that the opposite of love is hate, but you're wrong. The opposite of hate is APATHY, Draco. You already have strong feelings for Harry. You never know where they may lead.

"I do NOT have strong feelings for Harry, you little bitch!" Draco shouted at the top of his lungs. Harry nearly hit the ceiling.

When he landed, he looked dazed. "Erm," he said, "I think I'm going to forget that you just said that and go back to trying to find Voldemort's Secret Weakness."

Draco blinked at the spot where the Very Small Fangirl had been just a moment ago. Little bitch, he thought viciously.

My thoughts exactly, said the Very Small Devil from his other shoulder, and it was Draco's turn to jump in shock. Ow. Please don't EVER jump like that again, it does horrible things to my digestion. As I was SAYING…

And with that Draco remembered what he had intended to say to Harry in the first place before the Fangirl on his shoulder had interrupted him. Right. On to Phase 2, he thought, turning towards Harry.

"Harry," he said, with a Very Evil Smile Pretending to Be Nice but Failing Utterly. "You want to know what Voldemort's Secret Weakness is? Why didn't you ask me before?"

---------------------

Two Death Eaters were coming down the hall towards the place where Lucius was sitting, moping and holding his aching head. They looked strangely similar, and he couldn't figure out why. Then they got closer, and he realized that this was because there were two Goyles standing in front of him.

"Hello, Lucius," the Goyle on the left greeted him. Lucius stared at the other one, whose mouth had moved as the first Goyle spoke, but only one set of words had reached his ears.

"Hello, Goyle and Goyle," Lucius said faintly. Is the Dark Lord building a clone army? he wondered vaguely.

Goyle Two looked confused. "Um, Lucius, my son is still at Hogwarts."

Lucius nodded, and, with a wave of his hand, continued, "I know, Goyles, I know. I was referring to the fact that there are two of you."

"But there's onlyone of me," Goyle One protested.

"Well, yes, but then there is Goyle Two standing over there and leering at me…"

"Goyle Two? Lucius, what are you talking about? There is only one Goyle standing in front of you."

Lucius sneered. "And I used to think that you were smarter than your son. I guess I was wrong." He tried to stand up and walk away, but he was struck by such a severe bout of dizziness that he had to sit down again.

If he had been able to see clearly, he would have seen the realization dawn on Goyle's face. It was soon replaced by a sneer, but Lucius didn't see that either, as he was too busy waiting for the hallway to stop moving around him. He could, however, hear it in Goyle's voice when he spoke.

"I think someone's been flung against the wall too many times, Lucius."

"Shut up," Lucius muttered miserably. He tried banging his head against the wall behind him to make the dizziness go away, but when he looked up afterward, there were four Goyles instead of two, and he realized belatedly that banging his head i again /i was probably not the smartest idea in the world.

"Hey, Lucius, I think that your eyes might be permanently crossed now," came Goyle's voice from somewhere above him.

"Piss off," Lucius spat, and he made his way unsteadily down the hall.