The Best of Intentions
By: silvermisery
01 Prologue: Three Pieces Of Shredded Boomslang Skin
Disclaimer: If Harry Potter belonged to me, there would be a lot more Hermione-Draco action going on, Snape would so not have died, and Remus and Tonks would be happily making a lot of little babies. Oh, and the Weasleys would all be dead.
A/N: Pay attention to the dialogue, there's an important tidbit of info there. And I can't believe I'm starting another fic, but Far Far Better is on hiatus until I get past a huge writer's block. Sorry. Just—read this please.
I want to be big and let go
Of this grudge that's grown old
For the life of me I've not known
How to rest this bygone
I want to be soft and resolved
Clean of slate and released
I want to forgive for the both of us
Maybe as I cut the cord
Veils will lift from my eyes
--This Grudge, Alanis Morissette
It started with three pieces of shredded Boomslang skin.
Potions had been as frustrating as usual, due to the combination of it being the first class after the weekend, Harry's less-than-stellar Potions skills, and Snape's ever-present snarkiness. By the time they have moved on to the actual practical in the Double Potions class, Harry had been ready to chuck the whole bloody cauldron at Snape's head, call it an accident, and skip out, regardless of the consequences, and only Hermione's restraining hand on his elbow had kept him from doing something unforgivable.
"How many pieces of Boomslang?" he asked quietly to Hermione, who was busily flipping through her notes. "Oh, six," she said carelessly as she continued scratching out mistaken or sloppily written words.
"Six?" he asked sharply. "Not three?"
"Yes, six—why?" she asked, looking up suddenly.
"Damnit!" he cursed.
"Oh Harry, you got three, didn't you?" she said in the slightly exasperated, worried, but caring tone she tended to use around him ever since Sirius had died.
"Yeah," he mumbled, feeling guilty that it would be his fault that her perfect grade would be messed up.
"Oh well," she said optimistically, "I think if we maybe put some extra shrivelfig, it might counteract it…won't be perfect, it'll be slightly too thick, but—"
A pale, perfectly manicured hand intruded upon their conversation, and both Harry and Hermione looked up in astonishment at Draco Malfoy. He stood with his natural feline grace, leaning slightly against their double desk with one hand outstretched.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry spat.
Malfoy's blond eyebrows arched expressively, and his grey eyes slid pointedly down to his long, aristocratic fingers. Automatically, the Gryffindors' eyes followed his to the white palm
Nestled among the folds of albino skin were three small pieces of shredded Boomslang skin.
"I had three too many," he said in his lazy drawl. And dropped them, one by one, on Harry's desk before he sauntered off.
Harry and Hermione stood staring after him, mouths gaping, before Hermione visibly collected herself and said uncertainly, "Well…I suppose we should…" her hand made a half-hearted effort to collect them, but Ron, who had been watching from across the aisle, stopped her before she could drop them in the cauldron.
"Are you mad?" he demanded in a hissing whisper. "That was Malfoy who just walked by! He probably—poisoned them or something!"
"Yeah—yeah, you're right," she murmured. "I'll just—"
Before she could Banish them, Harry had deftly swiped the ingredients from her hand and dropped them in the cauldron.
"What the bleeding hell did you do that for?" yelped Ron.
Harry looked up and frowned, his forehead creasing slightly in a very distracting way, thought Hermione. "I don't know," he said confusedly.
"Watch your cauldron explode," Ron muttered. "It's your funeral, but you might at least have thought about Hermione's grade before you went and did that."
Harry's green eyes filled with guilt, and he turned swiftly to Hermione. "I'm sorry, Mione, I didn't think—"
"No," she cut him off. "No, Harry, it's fine," she repeated, not letting her slight exasperation show. She could never resist him when he looked like that.
To Ron's—and, though she would never admit it—Hermione's surprise, the potion turned out perfectly. "See?" Harry grinned. "I told you we could trust Malfoy! Besides, he hasn't done anything this year, not much."
"Probably just scared we'd hex him again like we did on the train," Ron laughed coarsely.
But Harry was listening to Snape's voice drawl, "Too thick, Mr. Malfoy. Not at all up to your usual standards. Half marks."