Help From an Unexpected Quarter
(In Which a Plot is Formed, Harry is Oblivious, and Draco is Conniving)
By Ibrium
February 11th:
It was raining. Water sleeted down from the overcast sky like the tears of a bereaved lover, pounding on the heavy, lead-glazed windows of Gryffindor tower and sloshing noisily from the snarling gargoyle down-spouts. A slim young man sat in a deep alcove starring out over the drenched grounds toward the Forbidden Forest. His shaggy raven hair wafted gently back and forth with his breath, which clouded the windows with a fine veil of mist. Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyelids slid shut over vivid emerald eyes, and Harry Potter fell into a deep sleep.
Harry walked through the charred ruins of his natal home, stirring the rubble with the toes of his soft leather boots. Soft clouds of dust and ash puffed up with each step and eddied around him like memories in a Pensieve. Echoes still lingered here; echoes of love, of fear, of power, of death. They magnified, tumbling over and over each other until they formed a single wrenching chord. Harry's knees buckled and he collapsed, remembering high, cruel laughter and his mother's voice. Sickeningly green light flashed and suddenly he was falling, tumbling into an inky abyss. The wind rushed by whistling, and then the sound of wing beats filled his ears, reverberating through his soul like thunderclaps. Strong arms closed around his waist and Harry found himself rising as precipitously as his descent. Silver-white pinions flashed at the edges of his vision, filling out to vast wings as Harry lifted his head. The face of his rescuer was tipped upward, hidden in the long flowing strands of pale blond hair. Together they broke free of the pit and spiraled up into the sun. Golden radiance cast dark shadows over the face of the angel as he looked down at the man in his arms, obscuring his features completely, but the sense of familiarity was nearly overwhelming to Harry. Comforted, the black-haired boy cuddled closer to the angel's chest as they soared over the earth far below, sliding into a hazy, trance-like state. Seconds, hours, days later, incessant tugging jerked him back from his reverie. Surprised, Harry looked up and found that the angel was gone, and then he was spinning back down to earth, tumbling madly through the atmosphere. Harry closed his eyes and braced for impact . . .
"HARRY!"
Harry's eyes snapped open. Hermione was standing near his shoulder looking furious and Ron was opening his mouth to yell at him again.
"Wh-aaaaaa-t?" Harry yawned. Hermione's expression, if possible, darkened even more.
"'What?' 'WHAT!?'", she shrieked. "Harry, we have a test today in Double Potions and we're already five minutes late! Professor Snape is going to be livid!"
Harry gazed at them blankly for a few moments. Hermione looked as though someone had told her that Hogwart's was holding mass house-elf executions. Ron looked as though a spider the size of Aragog had cornered him in a dark alley. It took a few more minutes for Harry's sleep-numbed mind to grasp the full horror of the situation, but when it did –
"Shit!" Harry yelped, leaping to his feet and sprinting to the portal-hole, Ron and Hermione trailing along behind.
Five minutes later the trio filed into Snape's classroom, still breathless from their run. They slunk to their seats under the watchful gaze of one Severus Snape. Malfoy flashed them a sneering, gleeful smile as Snape swooped down the aisle toward them like a grim reaper.
"Well, well, well," came the sibilant tones of the Potion Master. "I can see that our Golden Trio has far more pressing matters than a Potions test, which will determine your grade, to attend to." Snape smiled nastily before continuing, this time speaking to the class. "Since the month of February has the ability to transform even the most stoic of wizards into love-smitten fools, I am going to give you the key to escaping the ensnaring tendrils of affection. We are going to brew the Lover's Bane. A single drop of this liquid will turn even the closest relationships into powerful repulsion. Instructions are on the board. Begin."
Soft blue-purple flame leapt into life at regular intervals, heating the tiny, fist-sized silver cauldrons hung above them. Cupboard doors sprung open, revealing a treasure-trove of potion ingredients. Meanwhile, Harry and Ron sat dumb-struck.
"Why didn't he dock us a billion points?" Ron whispered to Harry, who shook his head in confusion.
"I don't know. He's planning something nasty, and I have the feeling that it has to do with a big 'D' on our papers. Still, it's weird." Harry lapsed into silence and they listened for a while to Hermione muttering furiously two cauldrons down before picking up their knives and beginning to shred hemlock roots.
Two hours later, Harry filled his vial with a dubious-looking, violently purple sludge. One cauldron away, Ron was busy forcing solid crystals of his potion into a similar vial. The two boys looked glumly at each other, and then at Hermione. Her potion glowed pale, silvery lavender and shot wisps of silvery fog out from under the cork occasionally.
"I don't suppose Hermione made her potion wrong and we're actually right," Harry sighed.
"I don't think so mate," Ron grumbled. "Urg, it smells like moldy love." Harry nodded in agreement and the three of them brought their vials up to Snape's desk. One vial already rested there, radiating pure silver energy in a halo around the bottle. Hermione glared at it enviously as the three of them turned and trooped out of the classroom, followed by Snape's gloating presence.
They were silent until they reached the portal-hole, where Ron gave the password (fiddlesticks). Once inside the common room, Hermione made a noise rather like a kettle boiling over.
"Oooh," she seethed. "Didn't you see it? Malfoy made a perfect lover's bane potion. I just can't stand him." And with that she stomped up the stairs to the girls' dormitories.
"Mental, that one," Ron quipped, rolling his eyes. Harry nodded, and the two of them settled down to enjoy the rest of the day, which was fortunately devoid of classes.
Upstairs in the girls' dormitory, Ginny paused by a closed door. An oddly criptic conversation could be heard through the heavy wood.
"You remembered to 'arrange' for the delivery of the potion, didn't you?" a soft, hurried voice queried.
"Of course. Did you pay for the bird?" came a second hushed voice.
"Yes. Now all we have to do is wait for hidden feelings and pureblood pride to out." The first voice was very familiar.
"That's not going to take very long. One of them is oblivious and the other is manipulative; the seeds of love will be sown by Valentine's!" This declaration was followed by hysterical laughter. Shaking her head, Ginny moved on.
At ten 'til seven, Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way to the Great Hall. Dinner had already started, but they managed to find a place to sit. Ron immediately stuffed his face with mashed potatoes, his plate hardly an intermediary between the serving platter and his mouth. Hermione shot him an ugly look and carefully cut her steak into tiny bits before eating it one piece at a time.
"C'mon, Hermny," Ron spurted. "Yrghra shtarve—," he swallowed heavily, "before you get that all eaten." Hermione just sniffed at him before pulling out her Ancient Runes textbook and slamming it open on the table. Harry absentmindedly toyed with his goblet of pumpkin juice, distracted by what was going on across the Hall.
At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was playing with a small, silver-haloed glass vial. Their eyes met and Draco's smile became wicked and calculating. Warming bells went off in Harry's head as Draco rose to his feet and sauntered toward the Gryffindor table. Hermione looked up as the silver light from the vial spilled over her book. Her eyes fell on the potion and a flurry of emotions whizzed across her face before an inscrutable mask dropped into place.
"Jealous, Granger?" Malfoy drawled, tossing the vial lazily from one hand to the other. "That's really too bad, but a mudblood like you just can't be expected to control their emotions."
"Shut up, Malfoy," snarled Ron.
"After you, weasleby," Malfoy replied off-handedly. "But you never answered my question, Granger."
Hermione closed her book with a snap before answering, her voice shaking with some barely-restrained emotion. "At least I'd have the balls to use my potion, Malfoy."
With that statement, silence filled the Great Hall like an oppressive cloak. A muscle in Draco's jaw twitched slightly and his expression darkened and turned pensive as though he was weighing two equally difficult dilemmas. Every eye was riveted on the handsome, white-blond Malfoy heir as the seconds ticked by. Apparently the scales tipped in his brain because Malfoy snatched an empty goblet from the table and filled it with the incandescent Lover's bane potion. A thousand breaths were sucked in as Malfoy extended the cup in Harry's direction.
"One sip each, Potter," he instructed. A thousand necks craned to see as Harry curled his hands around the bowl of the goblet.
At that moment, the air filled with owls, obscuring the scene with tawny feathers and pink and red Valentine's cards. The gleeful shouts of the students receiving chocolates and the loud thrashing and hooting from the feathered mail-carriers created such a din that Draco almost- mind you, almost – didn't hear the soft clink of something falling into the goblet. He frowned and reached for the goblet, but it was too late. The owls lifted away just in time for Harry to take one long swallow. Sneering, Harry passed the goblet to Draco, who stared down into the cup for several long moments.
"What's the matter, Draco? Scared of your own potion?" Harry snarled nastily, already feeling his gut clench with an indescribably unpleasant sensation which he attributed to the potion. Draco didn't answer, simple shooting Potter a coolly scornful look and tossing back the remaining potion, feeling something cold and hard strike his lips. Sure enough, when Draco lowered the goblet, a single silver sickle lay in the bottom. Relief flickered slowly over his features, unnoticed by everyone except Hermione, who lunged across the table and snatched the goblet from Draco. She gasped and pulled the sickle out of the goblet and hoisted it above her head for all of the students to see.
"A sickle," she screamed. "Oh, Harry, it's a silver sickle!" Harry looked confused: obscure effects of potions ingredients had never been one of his strong points. Draco rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to tell Harry what exactly the addition of silver did to the Lover's bane potion—but was cut off by Hermione.
"Harry! When silver is added to the Lover's Bane potion, the effects are reversed! Since Malfoy brewed a perfect Lover's Bane, it was turned into a perfect love potion!"
Harry's jaw slowly dropped. Draco's face stayed blank, but he was doing some quick thinking. Yes, he finally decided, this little fiasco could have some advantages . . . and with that in mind, Draco schooled his face into a look of disgust and swept from the Great Hall like a king from his court.
"It won't take effect for another twelve hours or so, Potter. Do try to kill yourself by then so I don't have to deal with you," Draco called over his shoulder. The entrance door snapped shut behind him and buzzing whispers broke out all over the hall.
"Can you believe it? Harry and Draco . . . together?" one Ravenclaw girl whispered to another.
"I can only imagine," the other giggled back and the two lapsed into a dreamy fantasy.
"C'mon, Harry," hissed Ron, dragging his best friend out of the hall. "Let's go get you sorted out by Madame Pomfrey."
"He can't, Ron!" Hermione explained sharply. "Harry'd get in so much trouble for drinking that potion. He might be expelled, and he'd get detention for sure!"
"Bloody Hell, Hermione!" Ron yelped. "Being in love with Malfoy is a thousand times worse than either of those things—"
"Detention with Snape," Hermione said primly. Ron's teeth clicked together and his eyes bulged out as her turned slowly to Harry.
"Blimey, Harry," he whispered. "You may want to take Malfoy's advice and just kill yourself. It'd be a lot easier, mate."
"Thanks, Ron," Harry said in a monotone. "I'm sure that would turn out well for me."
The fat lady swung open to admit them as they reached the portrait hole.
"Why so glum, dears?" she warbled at them.
"Harry's in love," replied Ron as the three of them climbed through, pulling the portrait shut behind them. Harry set off immediately for the boys' dormitories, followed only by the sympathetic gazes of his fellow Gryffindors. Once inside, Harry flopped facedown onto his bed. In second, Harry Potter was asleep. Moments later, he dreamed.
The sun beat down, scorching, painful, as Harry staggered across a vast desert. The air rippled and shimmered with heat and Harry fell onto the blistering sand, his mouth and nose filling with the chocking dust. He wheezed, clawing at his parched throat as the vultures circled closer, ever closer. Harry wept, the hot salt of the tears mingling with the blood from his abraded cheeks. The sand swirled beneath him, forcing a huge sucking whirlpool and he found himself trapped, sliding down the slender neck of an hourglass- but no, the hourglass had no bottom and he was being poured out over a dark, angry sea. White waves leapt up to swallow him, to carry him to the deepest, most crushing depths where no light had ever reached, to hold him close while he slept in the ocean's heavy embrace. Harry plunged through the surface of the water, streams of air escaping his tortured lungs. Desperate, he clawed his way to the surface, gasping for air. The towering swell slammed past him, buffeting his body back and forth until Harry fetched upon a desolate outcropping of rock that looked as though it had been carved from the bones of the earth itself. He stared up at the black velvet sky so high above and watched as a single blazing star detached itself from the firmament and streaked across the midnight sky, rushing through wind and wave then breaking around Harry's little rock. Molten fragments of stone and fiery dust cooled and condensed into huge silvery wings and Harry found himself sheltered by the body of his angel. White blond hair whipped in the wind, hiding all of the angel's face except for his soul-piercing gray eyes. Harry reached out to push away the unruly hair and—
Harry woke up with a start. Gone were the angel, and the rock, and the sea, replaced by his bed with its scarlet hangings. He glanced over at the clock on his nightstand; February 13, 5:37 a.m. was flashed back at him. Groaning, he rolled out of bed and dressed.
This has been a very, very bad day, thought Harry as he sat staring blankly at Professor Sprout four hours later.
The "bad day" had started the moment Harry had walked into the Great Hall for breakfast. Every student had dropped his or her fork, knife, or spoon (or various combinations thereof) to look eagerly between him and Draco. Harry had blushed, tried unsuccessfully to hide his blush, blushed harder, and slunk over to his seat between Ron and Hermione where he commenced to attempt to camouflage himself with a pitcher of pumpkin juice. The approaching tidal wave of gasps and whispers should have tipped him off that something was happening, but Harry was too busy wallowing in self pity to notice. That is, right up to the point that Draco sat down next to him and began attempting to feed him little bits of sausage. But that hadn't been humiliating enough, oh no; Draco never did anything by halves.
Harry had escaped breakfast and arrived early for Defense Against the Dark Arts. He sat down in his customary place near the front of the class, dug his unfinished Divination essay out of his bag, and began to lie about the unfortunate alignment of Pluto and Uranus leading to a nasty case of frost bite in places unmentionable.
What Harry didn't realize was that a colony of Cornish pixies (no longer as freshly-caught as they had been in second year, having taken up a residence in the boggarts old wardrobe) had occupied itself by gnawing on the ropes suspending the skeletal dragon from the high ceiling. Unfortunately, chewing on centuries-old ropes often has the unpleasant side effect of rendering them incapable of bearing excessive weight. Sadly for Harry, two thousand pounds of calcified Chinese Fireball proved to be excessive weight. He looked up just in time to see a solid ton of old dragon bone fall from the ceiling above him when –
"IMPEDIMENTIA!" roared a powerful, cultured voice.
No, oh no, pleaded a small voice in Harry's mind.
"Harry, are you alright, love?" inquired the same voice, now much softer. Vivid green met concerned gray, and Harry felt the world drop out from underneath him. He started to shake, trembling to the very core of his being.
Now, an hour later, Harry had vague recollections of what had happened next. Draco, picking him up bridal-style and rushing him to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey, feeding him copious amounts of chocolate. Draco, feeding him more chocolate. Draco again, helping him down to Greenhouse 4 for the Herbology lesson. Draco, insisting on staying with him to look after his well-being.
Harry screwed his eyes shut and tried to puzzle out what was happening. Draco, who had hated him since first year, had saved his life and was honest-to-God concerned about what befell his arch-rival, one Harry Potter. Harry's heart gave a painful squeeze. Oh, Merlin, Harry thought wildly. This feeling again! A feeling only for Draco. Gratitude . . . yes, but . . . something more as well . . . could it be—?
A loud swish and thud, much like the one made by a swung greenhouse machete, brought Harry out of his own little world. A long thick vine lay twitching on the table before him, oozing thick black ichor from its severed stump.
"Potter!" came the unusually breathless voice of Professor Sprout. "Come now, boy, you need to pay attention! That Breakneck Vine could have killed you in an instant."
Harry stared at the dying vine in horror. "Who—?" he managed to choke out before lapsing once more into shocked silence.
"You're very lucky to have had Malfoy watching over you," said Ernie MacMillen pompously. "He saved your life again. That makes twice this morning, doesn't it Harry?" Harry nodded jerkily, feeling his heart clench once more.
"Maybe you had best take the rest of the morning off, love," said Draco softly, guiding Harry out of the greenhouse by one arm. Harry muttered his acquiescence and the two off them set off down the path that wound around Hogwart's vast lake. They walked in silence for several minutes before Harry voiced a question that had been bothering him since the night before.
"Hey, Draco?" Harry began softly, shyly.
"Mmm?" came the other boy's lazy reply. Harry simply gazed at hem for a while before continuing, drinking in his pale blond hair, half-closed gray eyes, and fine, high cheekbones.
"Why don't you just make an antidote for the potion we drank yesterday?"
"Because there is no antidote for love."
Harry stopped dead, his temperamental heart flip-flopping in his chest. He swallowed, tried to speak, and swallowed again.
"But do you really want to spend your entire life forced to love someone you hate? Or hate someone you love? Or, or—?
"Sssh," Draco interrupted, pressing a finger to Harry's lips. "So you really think I could be forced to do anything I didn't want to? I could have let you die twice today, but I didn't."
Harry's unruly heart swelled to bursting and, before he could stop himself, he blurted out his most private thoughts. "I love you, Draco. I know it's because of the whole silver-in-the-Lover's-Bane thing, but I think maybe I knew all along. That I loved you, I mean. And I-I just want to work it out with you. I mean, the Lover's Bane potion is forever, right? Let's just try to make the best of it."
Suddenly, Harry found himself crushed in the other boy's embrace. "You have no idea how long I have waited for those words. Let's tell them-all of them-at breakfast tomorrow." Smiling, and yet somehow managing to weep tears of joy, Harry nodded against the soft fabric covering Draco's chest.
February 14, 7:00 a.m.
The Great Hall fell silent as the two boys walked in hand-in-hand. Harry leaned his head against the older boy's shoulder as Draco stopped and slid an arm around the slightly-shorter boy's waist.
"We'd like your attention," Draco called, as though there was anyone present who wasn't currently staring at the two of them. "I'm sure you are all wondering about the rather bizarre series of events over the last few days, so right now, once and for all, I'm going to clear everything up." Harry looked at Draco, alarmed at this turn of events. This wasn't quite what he had imagined as their romantic Valentine's Day declaration of love.
"First," Draco continued, unperturbed by the ringing silence. "And most importantly: I am deeply and passionately in love with Harry Potter, and he with me." Harry nodded; this statement was something he understood. However, continued Harry's mind, what in Merlin's name could be—
"Second; this love is not, I repeat IS NOT, the result of the addition of silver to the Lover's Bane potion. This love is completely pure, and is not the result of any influences, magical , chemical, or otherwise."
"WHAT!" Harry shrieked. "But Hermione explained what happens when silver is added to Lover's Bane! She explained!"
"Did it ever occur to you that she was lying?" asked Draco calmly. Harry stopped short in mid-tirade. "It didn't, did it? So, let's continue. Third: dear Ms. Hermione Granger. You and Pansy are going to have to get up a lot earlier to put one like that over on me. In fact, it would be better if you didn't go to sleep at all."
Hermione looked slightly abashed, but Pansy simply leered and replied, "As long as you 'get up' and 'don't go to sleep' all night long, I think I did a pretty good job." The two girls started to giggle hysterically.
"I don't understand!" yelled Ron. Harry nodded frantically in agreement, staring at Draco with his huge puppy-eyes.
"Honestly, don't you two read?" came Hermione's voice from near the floor where she had collapsed during her giggle-fest. "Silver completely negates the effects of Laver's Bane. It turns it into water!"
"How come Harry didn't know that? He's a member of the DA!" called Justin Finch-Fletchy.
"Please. This knowledge has nothing to do with the status of your members," Pansy snapped back. She and Hermione stared at each other before beginning to cackle maniacally.
"That means Potter and Malfoy loved each other before Pansy and Hermione rigged this whole potion thing!" came a voice from the far end of the Ravenclaw table. The Great Hall was silent for a moment as a thousand minds processed this information, then erupted with ear-splitting sheers, cat-calls and cries of congratulations.
"Is that true, Draco?" Harry whispered softly. Draco nodded.
"Of course. I have always loved you."
"But why would Pansy and Hermione rig a potion?" Harry pressed for answers.
"They were trying to bring us together. Look." Harry looked to where Draco had pointed and, sure enough, both girls wore badges proudly bearing the slogan 'Harry/Draco fan club: Proud Supporters of Yaoi and Intrigue.'
"Oh," said Harry, turning his face to the other boy. "Why would some—oh." Harry was cut off by Draco's lips claiming his in their first real kiss. Several long moments later, Draco pulled back, his hair mussed and his cheeks slightly flushed.
"Draco, you'll always be my angel."
"I know. Happy Valentine's Day, love."
El Fin
This is not a new story, merely a version edited for spelling and grammar. I swear I will never let AccomodatorOmega type anything for me again.