A Potion

A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who has been sending such nice reviews and been reading my story. I love you all. You are too kind. I hope I can produce stuff that all of you will enjoy in the future. (hugs)

Previously in ‘A Potion’:

Harry closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Oh, how he hated traveling by portkey. He looked over at the empty potion vial that would be his transporter. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to go to some unknown place and wait, not knowing what was happening to his friends and his home. He wasn’t ready to admit that Voldemort was so close; that times were so dark and dangerous. Harry wasn’t ready. He wasn’t nearly ready. And Severus. He would have to face Severus when he woke up.

Harry wasn’t ready for that either.

Harry swallowed and looked up into the ever-glowing eyes of the Headmaster.

“I’m ready,” he said.
Chapter 9

Harry shivered and stood, wishing he could rip his stomach out so that he would never feel the familiar pull at his navel again. He blinked back his dizziness and swallowed, his throat dry. Looking over, he saw Severus lying, still unconscious, on the floor, and rushed over to him.

“You’re lucky you weren’t awake for that,” Harry muttered, kneeling by the unresponsive professor. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, taking his wand from his robes. “Levicorpus.”

Severus rose into the air and Harry softly guided him over to the bed, laying him down with the utmost care. Only then did Harry realize that he hadn’t taken in his surroundings. He squelched the nervous feeling in his gut and looked around.

It looked just like an apartment, which surprised the young wizard. He had been expecting someplace dirty or cold, like Grimmuald Place or the dungeons of Hogwarts. He wasn’t expecting a small, cozy living area. It wasn’t big, and it was pretty easy to guess where everything was. There were two beds, one of which Severus currently occupied, a fire crackling in the wall to his right, a large table with a few chairs, and a bathroom to his left. It was simple.

Harry frowned. Why wasn’t there a kitchen? How in the world did Dumbledore expect him to get food? Panicking, Harry swung his head around, searching for a door. There wasn’t one. Who knew how long they would be down here before Dumbledore realized his fatal error! He and Severus would starve! Harry’s palms began to sweat and his heart rate sped. Then, he realized, with an embarrassed shame, that Dumbledore, being the places secret keeper, would undoubtedly know where to send food. Of course. Food would just appear. He hadn’t thought of that.

Harry shook his head and calmed his pounding chest. He still wasn’t used to magic.

Noticing that the potion vial was still clasped tightly in his fingers, Harry loosened his grip so he wouldn’t crush the thick glass. Which reminded him… Dumbledore had said Severus would need a potion dose right when they arrived at their destination, seeing as the potion could have some terrible side effects if Severus had ingested it before the trip.

Summoning the little courage he had left, Harry removed the potion from his robes and filled the vial.

Severus would have to wake up for this, but Harry would have to work quickly, as the Potions Master’s consciousness would probably not last long. Harry sat on the side of the bed, his heart speeding up once more, but this time it was accompanied with a fresh ache, still quite painful and unbearable. Harry resisted the urge to cry as he looked upon the older man’s face, which was wrinkled slightly in pain even in his slumber. A few stray raven locks fell over his gaunt cheeks and Harry brushed them away reflexively, letting his fingers run delicately along the pale cheekbone of Severus’s face.

He grasped his wand and pointed it at the teacher, muttering, “Ennervate”, and flinched as the dark black eyes fluttered open, confused.

“Har…?” Severus couldn’t seem to finish the word, either from weakness or confusion.

“I need you to swallow this,” Harry said quietly, his heart wrenching. He felt a wave of the old anger come back, rushing over him in drenching torrent, but he drowned it with the task at hand. He pressed his palm to the back of the man’s head, lifting it slightly and pressing the vial to his lips. Severus’s eyes struggled to remain open, but his gaze never left Harry’s face even so. Harry didn’t meet his eyes and coaxed the professor’s lips open. “Swallow,” he said, trying his best to sound soothing. Tilting the vial up, he poured the contents into Severus’s mouth, only to receive a pained coughing and spluttering; but, somehow, it was swallowed and he laid the wizard’s head back down on the pillow.

Finally, emerald eyes allowed themselves to meet ebony and Harry felt his face flush and head spin with emotion.

Severus’s eyes were filled with a hard pain. He seemed to be trying to find something, like he was lost. He frowned; whether from his own agony or the memory of the previous night, Harry did not know. Harry looked away quickly. He couldn’t help but feel guilty.

When he looked back, Severus’s eyes had closed once more. Harry sighed and looked over the face of his ex-lover. Last night he had been so angry, so hateful. He had said terrible things. Severus could have tried harder though. He could have done… something. Harry couldn’t just forget that Severus watched as Remus died.

But had he just watched? Or had Harry missed something?

Had Severus really done all he could? Had he done too much? After all, Voldemort realized him to be a traitor. Perhaps Harry just didn’t catch the subtleties of Severus’s actions. Harry felt his heart clench. Had he been found out because he tried to help Remus? Had Severus been tortured in his attempt to save the werewolf?

But, Harry saw it! He saw the whole thing! Severus had barely uttered a word. Voldemort had even given him the option!

Option?

Immediately, as if stuck in the face, Harry realized his stupidity.

Voldemort didn’t give options. He wasn’t giving Severus the choice to let Remus live, he was giving him the chance to prove his loyalty or let himself be known as a spy. If Severus had done anything more, he probably would have been killed on the spot.

‘I am a fool,’ Harry thought morbidly to himself, feeling tears burn their way up to his eyes again. He couldn’t apologize, though. He had lost most of his pride by this point. He still had to keep a bit of it. Severus hadn’t tried to stop him from leaving his rooms that night. He hadn’t come after him. That was reason enough not to do anything.

Harry’s thoughts traveled back to Hermione’s words, suddenly. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

Harry shuddered and swallowed. Looking over to the sallow face of the sleeping professor, he closed his eyes tightly and a lone tear found its way down his cheek.

“It’s always been him,” he muttered.

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He was hovering on his broom, flying back and forth across the Quidditch field, his eyes searching for the snitch. Nearby, Goyle, newly appointed as the Slytherin teams second beater, grinned over at him and gripped the bat tightly in his hand, ready to swing as a bludger came racing in his direction. He hit it with full force and it went plummeting towards a very spaced out Potter.

Potter noticed a split second before the bludger sliced the air where his head had been moments before as he clumsily dodged the angry ball. Chuckling at this display, Malfoy smirked at Potter and imitated the move, earning an annoyed eye roll in response.

But Potter’s eyes weren’t rolling for long. His eyes darted quickly to the right and his expression turned serious. He had spotted the snitch. Half a second later, the two seekers were streaking towards it. It took a sudden turn straight up and they followed, both keeping a tight clutch on their brooms so not to fall off.

Malfoy had caught up to Potter now. He elbowed the scowling Gryffindor in the ribs a few times, hoping to gain an advantage, but the stubborn teen didn’t budge. Malfoy had to admit, he could take a bit of discomfort.

They were within just a few feet of the glittering prize; hands reaching, fingers stretching to their limit.

Then he felt it.

Right in the side.

Malfoy gasped lightly and his eyes widened in shock.

He had been hit with a spell.

Who? Malfoy’s mind raced. Who had shot a spell at him? Before he could look around, he felt a sharp stab of pain in his side, and he slipped.

Malfoy barely registered that he was falling to the ground. The air rushed into his ears like a freight train and images of horrified faces and halting brooms raced by his vision.

Then, someone grabbed him. It was Potter, to his horror, and his rival pulled him onto his broom. Malfoy was too shocked to care. What had just happened?

He was about to snap at the other student, who was gawking at him most stupidly, but he was cut short when he saw Zabini’s mortified face, his arm hanging midair and a bludger flying towards them.

Or towards Potter, more like.

The brown beast hit the side of the other seeker’s head with a sickening crack, and Malfoy felt an annoying flash of fear as he saw Potter’s eyes go unfocused and blank.

And then he was falling again, Potter along with him this time, and then there was darkness.

“Gah!”

Draco Malfoy awoke with a start, his dark green sheets tangled in a mess around his legs. He frowned and rubbed his eyes, shoving the vision of Potter’s blank expression from his mind. He had had the dream again. This wasn’t the first time and it was actually a memory.

It was from a Quidditch game not too long ago. A few weeks, months maybe. Draco didn’t care. He didn’t want to remember the humiliation of Potter saving him.

Draco snorted ungracefully, quickly looking around the dorm to make sure the action hadn’t been witnessed. Seeing that the flickering walls bore shadows only of furniture, he briefly wondered where his dorm mates were. Breakfast no doubt. It wasn’t like Slytherins to wake each other up. No, they had to rely on themselves to do that. Bloody gits. He’d miss breakfast now…

Draco slipped of the gray silk of his pajamas and neatly fit on his school uniform, taking his lazy time as he did so and scowling in the process.

Of course. He had to be saved by the bloody fucking Golden Boy. That was just cruel. It had been a harsh blow to his pride. He housemate’s had mocked his fall for about five minutes before he silenced them with various threats and harsh retorts. They weren’t foolish enough to mess with him. He was, after all, a Malfoy.

Draco sulked down the halls, sneering as a pair of small Ravenclaws moved quickly out of his way. He was turning freakishly similar to Professor Snape. He needed to fix that. He didn’t want to be as snarky as that man. Even if Snape had good intentions, he was far to cold, even to Draco.

Sure, he was a Malfoy. He was supposed to be calm, cool, collected. Undoubtedly it would be necessary to retain an air of supremacy sometimes, especially around mudbloods and the like, but that was because he was supposed to. The other Slytherins wouldn’t respect him in the least if they thought he was weak or, heaven forbid, unlike his father.

Not that Draco liked people like that mudblood Granger. No, he couldn’t stand her and Weasley and their pathetic group of hotheaded Gryffindors.

Gryffindors. Draco scoffed. They thought they were so high and mighty. He was a pureblood! He had been trained in dark magic since he was a child; dealt with more than they could imagine from a “greasy ferret”. He couldn’t stand them.

Contrary to popular belief, however, he did not hate Potter. No, he envied him.

He had friends, stupid, reckless courage, and fame.

Draco wouldn’t admit it, but he felt sorry for him too. Potter had so much on his plate; the fate of the Wizarding world on his shoulders. Perhaps that was why he had lost so many brain cells. Draco chuckled to himself and entered the great hall. He swept past the Gryffindor table and noticed, interestingly enough, that Granger and Weasley were there, but Potter was nowhere to be found. He frowned slightly and sat down in his seat next to Crabbe and Zabini. Had the eternal klutz found his way into the hospital wing again? Draco rolled his eyes. Sometimes Potter was worse than Longbottom.

Draco picked at his eggs. He wasn’t particularly hungry. He’d woke up with a sore stomach. It felt like someone had dropped a bunch of stones into it. He had felt that feeling before. It was the day that his father had first talked to him about the legacy he was supposed to fulfill. He had felt that feeling in his gut the day his father told him that he would have to become a Death Eater.

Draco swallowed down a few bites so as to not provoke questions from his classmates and head off to his first class, wondering why the feeling; the dead, cold weight of a foreboding event lurking behind the next corner; had come back this day. What had happened? Or, for this was more likely the question, what was going to happen?

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Draco wandered aimlessly around the darkening grounds of Hogwarts. It was late evening now. The sky had turned to a dry navy like an old pair of muggle jeans. The moon, starting its nightly glow, bathed the ground in an eerie shine. He stuffed his hands into his robe pockets and looked around to make sure no one was around. Sighing, he slouched a bit, relieved to put some pressure off his back now that he didn’t have to stand like there was a stick up his arse.

His mind clicked back into gear and, unfortunately, he began to think again. He hadn’t seen his Head of House again today. The man had been gone for quite a while now. He knew full well he was a Death Eater, but he also had his suspicions that the man was a spy for Dumbledore. If this was true, perhaps Voldemort had discovered him.

His father spoke of the Dark Lord’s greatness all the time. It was unlikely that even Snape could keep a secret from him for long.

Greatness. That was what he was supposed to achieve, supposedly. He had to be as great as his father. He had to live up to the Malfoy name. But what was the Malfoy name anyway? It was a name that made people think of prejudiced, nasty, manipulative bastards; that’s what the name was. Draco didn’t want to be thought of as that. He didn’t need to be liked, but it’s not like he wanted to be hated either; but his father had told him; warned him. He had to be like a Malfoy. He couldn’t be weak. He couldn’t be liked. There was no room for that. There was only power and ambition.

Draco was as ambitious as any Slytherin. He wanted glory. He wanted success. But he didn’t want to kill people for it. There were other methods than being a pawn of some lunatic. That’s all his father was: a pawn. He was being utterly and completely used, and he was foolish enough to call that power. What Voldemort gave him wasn’t power. It was a false existence.

Draco wasn’t false. He wanted to make his own way. He didn’t want to be told what to do. Which was why he hadn’t taken the dark mark… yet. His father would force him eventually. He beat Draco sometimes. He told him he would be forced. His mother had been reluctant to let Draco go. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t yet been dragged to a meeting and given the mark. He had to thank her for that. Not verbally, of course, but he was, in a way, grateful.

Draco hated his father more than anything. The man loved blood. He loved death and torture. He was as little of a human as Voldemort himself was. What was the point of being the best if there was no one left to be better than? Why kill everyone? What the hell was the point?

The air went chilly for a moment and a harsh breeze bit at Draco’s face. He grimaced and kept walking, his perfectly set hair not moving a millimeter in the wind.

That time, in their first year at Hogwarts, he had offered Harry Potter his friendship. Now that he thought about it, it had been wise for the boy to refuse. Draco was the son of a Death Eater. That friendship could doom their only hope for survival. Draco was on Dumbledore’s side, even if he did think the old man to be a bit senile. The Headmaster had a great deal more sense that the Dark lord. That much was obvious. Everyone knew full well that Dumbledore was the only man Voldemort feared except, perhaps, Potter.

Potter. How pathetically unlucky to be given such a role just as a baby. Most of the Slytherins laughed at jokes about the Golden Boy. Huge ego with all the popularity, but he wasn’t like that. Maybe that’s why he annoyed Draco so easily. Saint Potter. How could you not get a big head with all those fans? It wasn’t normal, not to have an ego. How could he just shrug it off? How could he try to be normal when everyone depended on him?

And why had he saved him?

Why had that goddamn bastard saved him! It was infuriating. After years of trying to be better than Potter. After years of trying to prove himself. He had shown weakness in front of him once again. And of course Potter had to go and be the hero. Draco would have rather died. He wanted to save, not be saved. He wanted, just once, for his nasty personality created from years of his father’s grooming, to not matter. He wanted to be the hero. He wanted to be smiled at. He wanted to be respected. He wanted to help…

How was he supposed to help when Potter always overshadowed him? What was the point if no one noticed him anyway? Why couldn’t he just be better for once! Draco clenched his fists tightly and his skin pinched underneath his nails.

He wondered when the time would come to finally face his father. It wouldn’t be pleasant, and it would most likely be the last confrontation they had. It would be a battle.

The last one.

Draco knew there would be one; a final battle. Everyone knew, but no one spoke of it. No one spoke of the time when Voldemort would finally seek out Potter and attempt to destroy him and everyone alongside him for good.

It was inevitable. That day would determine the fate of the world and every person on it. It would tell if the world would become clouded over by evil, or begin a time of peace.

Everyone had the same question on their minds. It tortured them in their sleep, haunted them in their waking hours, and troubled them with every step they took:

When?

Suddenly, Draco’s ears perked at a hushed muttering down by the lake behind some trees. Intrigued, he took a look to see Granger and Weasley, along with Weasley’s little sister, whispering fervently to one another. Smirking, he stepped from the brush and sauntered over to them. “Planning another party for Pretty Potter?” He sneered, trying his best to look uninterested.

Ron scowled. “What do you want, Malfoy? Don’t you have to go torture some Hufflepuffs or get your goons to steal someone’s lunch money?”

Draco frowned, he didn’t always go around and torture people. “Where is Potter anyway? Did he finally decided to ditch you losers? First smart move he’s ever made.”

Ron stood up from his spot on the ground and waved his fist in Draco’s face, his face beat red. “For your information, Malfoy, Harry’s-!“

“Ron!” Hermione silenced him as she and Ginny stood up beside him.

Ron frowned, but his mouth snapped shut.

“Ball and chain, eh, Weasley?” Draco snickered and grinned maliciously. “Let your girlfriend boss you around?”

“Bugger off, Malfoy,” Hermione replied levelly, though her cheeks turned a light shade of crimson.

“I didn’t give you permission to speak to me, Mudblood,” Draco spat. He forced a look of disgust onto his face as he regarded her, imitating the facade of being affronted.

“You should know about ball and chain, Malfoy,” Ron shouted out, his ire evident. “After all, I bet you’re a death eater by now. Daddy’s little boy.” He stepped into Draco’s face tauntingly, provoking a fight just as a foolish Gryffindor would do.

Draco was about to growl out a reply when a sudden crack, then another, and another reverberated though the air. That was the sound of someone apparating. Spinning around, Draco peered out towards the end of the apparation wards. Sure enough, the was a dark mass within the night. People.

“What the…?” Ron’s voice had gone quiet.

Ginny gasped audibly and they all shifted on their feet uncomfortably.

Who had come to Hogwarts?

“Do you think it’s the Ministry?” Ron questioned, “Aurors?”

“I can’t tell…” Hermione replied, moving near Draco to squint into the distance.

Draco didn’t even think to tell her to get away from him. He could only cringe as he felt the feeling in his stomach double its previous uncomfortable level. So this was why his had felt strange all day. His senses were never wrong.

“They’re not Aurors…” he muttered, sounding stony and apathetic.

“How would you know?” Ron asked, irritated. “Can see in the dark that far can you, Malfoy?”

“Don’t you have any feeling in your gut, Weasleby?” Draco retorted. “What kind of wizard are you that you can’t even feel that aura? That’s no friendly muggle-loving group over there.”

“Are you saying that…?” Hermione’s eyes widened in realization.

Suddenly, one of the figures moved forward from the rest and waved its wand into the air. A green jet of white-green light streaked upwards and the dark mark exploded into the sky with a hiss.

“I think that answers your question, Granger,” Draco said grimly.

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed, stumbling backwards. “Why are Death Eaters here?” He looked frantic.

Hermione seemed frozen. Then, as if struck by something, he face turned serious and she pulled out her wand, whirling around to face Ginny. “Ginny, go warn Dumbledore and everyone! Run as fast as you can!”

“What about you?” Ginny squeaked, “You’re not going to fight them alone, are you?”

“Don’t worry about us, Ginny,” Ron muttered somberly as he grabbed his wand as well. Draco was surprised by the unfaltering resolve in the redhead’s voice. “We’ll hold them off. Just go!”

Ginny took off in a frightened sprint, dashing desperately towards the castle.

They turned back around to see the mass drawing closer to the school, their glowing white masks and dark, hooded cloaks now visible as they stalked with deadly precision. There were at least fifty of them. There was no way a few students could hold them off for long.

Draco sighed and tried to calm his raging heartbeat as two of his enemies moved to stand by him, their wands drawn.

Ron turned to look at him and, with some resistance, Draco met his gaze. Ron nodded and with a strange rush of relief, Draco realized something. They knew. After all those years of fighting and insults, they knew. They knew he was on their side.

He drew his wand and straightened. The three walked out onto the grounds and stood before the most dangerous people on the planet, side by side, wands raised, and none of them felt fear. In fact, all apprehension seemed to vanish into the night air as they stood there.

The question was answered.

When?

Now.

Tonight.

This very moment.

It was time for the fate of the world to be decided.

Draco’s slender fingers tightened around his wand, and with a deep breath, he shouted.

“Stupefy!”

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Fkjhsfkjdsf. Good god… it was bloody difficult to write from Draco’s point of view. I think this chapter turned out shitty, but oh well. Maybe you guys’ll think otherwise. Review and tell me I’m pretty!