Chapter Seven
The disastrous results of his cursed necklace plan still shocked and appalled Draco, but as the unmistakeable chill of winter crept across the grounds, he realised that there was still time to think of something else. This, however, was much easier said than done because whenever he caught a glimpse of Harry, all his plans would falter and extinguish.
Once again, his workload was increasing at an alarming rate and though he tried to meet all his deadlines, many an evening was spent simply staring into the hypnotic flames of the common room fire, trying in vain to construct a plan. More often than not, though, Draco found himself reliving the day of the Quidditch match and examining each gesture, each shared smile in minute detail.
It was Harry's impulsive touch before he left that captured Draco's attention the most and he agonised obsessively over whether he should have said something or reached out his own hand to the boy.
****
After a particularly long evening of fruitless plotting which had extended until the cold light of the morning had gradually dawned, Draco wearily gathered his books and headed off to the Potions dungeon. He slid into his usual seat beside Zabini, not even bothering to acknowledge him, and yawned widely as he set up his cauldron.
Eyes itching with tiredness, he barely took in a word of Slughorn's lecture and began throwing ingredients in at random. Twice he nearly set the sleeve of his robe on fire as he trailed the material too close to the flame. Draco stirred his concoction slowly clockwise and stared around at the other students, his mind elsewhere.
Almost immediately, he caught Harry's eye, looked away for a second and chanced another glance across the dungeon. There didn't seem to be any open hostility in the other boy's gaze, only a slight questioning frown in the way his brow was furrowed. Draco tried to focus on his potion, but his concentration had become even worse than before as again and again he looked up to see Harry staring back at him.
A sharp elbow jabbed him suddenly in the ribs and he glared to his left, demanding,
"What?"
Zabini pointed wordlessly at the contents of Draco's cauldron which was spitting and bubbling furiously. Draco grabbed his wand to control the temperature of the fire as Zabini asked,
"What were you staring at?"
"I was watching Har....Potter to see if he messes up this time," Draco finished hurriedly, ignoring the Zabini's response.
So, he was 'Harry' now, not merely 'Potter?' Draco struggled to pinpoint when exactly he had stopped calling the Gryffindor by his surname in his head, glowering as the answer came to him. Of course; it was that bloody Quidditch match and all that had followed. Thoroughly annoyed that he had let a few hours alone with the other boy change everything, Draco emptied his cauldron and thrust the contents at Slughorn for marking.
Fortunately, Zabini did not appear to have noticed Draco's careless slip of the tongue and was busy scribbling down the essay title for homework. Granger stormed out of the classroom, followed at a distance by Weasley who managed to appear both defiant and guilty. Clearly, he'd said something thoughtless which had upset her and Draco rolled his eyes at their persistent arguing.
Harry walked past his bench on the way out, looking exasperated and sharing a grimace with Draco. On the spur of the moment, Draco shot his hand out and grasped the other boy's arm tightly, but so briefly he barely had time to register what he had done.
The Gryffindor's jolt of surprise, along with his shy smile, definitely outweighed the risk Draco had taken by acting in such a way in front of the other Slytherins. They left the dungeon only a few steps apart, close enough that it could be seen as walking together, but a sufficient distance apart so as to prevent suspicion.
****
In the common room that evening, Draco was once again deep in thought and neglecting his homework. As he had eaten in the Great Hall that evening, he'd felt his gaze drawn to Harry who was acting as a neutral barrier between the warring Weasley and Granger. Draco had come to the unanticipated, yet inevitable considering how they had been interacting of late, conclusion that he could no longer view Harry as his nemesis of six years. What he was now exactly, Draco was unable to say and was unwilling to delve into his feelings any deeper. However, the fact remained that he was now unable to even contemplate harming Harry.
The very thought caused a twisting, nauseous feeling in Draco's stomach and he stared down at his parchment in despair as Voldemort's task, once again, seemed inconceivable. Absentmindedly, Draco reread the first line of his unfinished essay (Undetectable poisons were first brewed in order for a drink to be tainted without discovery) and an idea hit him like a bludger to the head. He felt exactly as he had during the summer when he had first decided to use Borgin and Burke's cursed necklace, only this time the risk of failure was far less and it seemed impossible for him not to suceed.
All the time spent worrying about cursing Harry has been wasted as Draco mentally kicked himself, remembering Voldemort's exact words: "Subtlety and cunning are necessary until Dumbledore is at your mercy. By the end of the year he must be dead by your hand."
As long as Dumbledore died, he didn't have to injure Harry.
Not wanting to delay for another minute, Draco hastily wrote a letter to Rosmerta, ordering a bottle of her renowned oak-matured mead.
****
Draco's owl wasn't alone in carrying a heavy package in the morning post as the students began ordering various gifts in time for Christmas, so the wrapped bottle went unremarked. Draco stowed it safely in his trunk and grew increasingly more confident as the day wore on. He would admit, though certainly not to Snape, that his previous plan had been somewhat flawed, but the simplicity of his current idea meant it was guaranteed to succeed.
All he needed to do was deliver the poisoned mead to Dumbledore, who would collapse and die on sampling it, leaving Harry unharmed and Voldemort's task completed.
Draco slipped out of the Slytherin dungeon an hour before curfew and hurried down the chilled stone passageways to the Potions store cupboard. At this hour most of the other students would be heading back to their own common rooms, none of them venturing down to the icy cold dungeons which suited Draco perfectly.
Either Slughorn placed too much trust in the students or he had simply become absentminded in his old age, but whatever the reason, he wasn't nearly as rigorous with security measures as Snape had been and the cupboard was easy to prise open. The countless rows of bottles gleamed eerily in Draco's wandlight and it didn't take a great deal of searching to find a shelf of poisons. Grabbing one at random, Draco withdrew the stopper and poured the entire contents into the mead. He backed out of the cupboard and closed the door firmly, before making his way back to his dormitory without troubling to hide the bottle beneath his cloak.
"Shouldn't you be getting back to your common room now?"
Slughorn's unmistakeably booming voice caught Draco completely unawares and he nearly dropped the bottle in shock.
"I was just on my way, sir"
"Good, good, can't have you wandering the school at night. What were you doing down here anyway?"
"Oh, er.....I was......."
Think, think; what possible reason could he have for lurking near the Potions classroom? Draco blurted out the first faintly plausible explanation which sprang to mind,
"I was looking for you, actually, Professor."
"Well, you've just caught me returning from my evening stroll. What is it you want.......ah, I see........"
Bewildered at Slughorn's abrupt change of tone, Draco abandoned his attempts to invent an excuse and stared at the professor. Slughorn was eyeing the bottle greedily, already outstretching his hands to receive it as he said,
"It's really too kind of you, m'boy, and so thoughtful. Madam Rosmerta's mead is said to be quite exceptional."
Draco had no choice but to hand the bottle over, trembling as he did so. Scanning the label with appreciation, Slughorn smacked his lips together when his gleeful expression suddenly fell. He appeared to be suffering from some sort of inner conflict and spoke his thoughts aloud,
"It's such a shame, but I really haven't the time to buy Albus anything better and this will make a perfect gift......"
He looked up and addressed Draco directly,
"I do hope you don't mind, but I'm going to have to give this to Professor Dumbledore as a Christmas present. It's too late to find an alternative and I know how fond he is of mead."
Stunned at the bizarre turn of events, Draco barely managed to nod mutely when Slughorn clapped him on the shoulder and took his leave. He stared after the professor's broad back as it disappeared around the corner and could just make out Slughorn's muttering about how Dumbledore would be obliged to share the mead.
Even if he did intend to give it as a gift to the headmaster, Draco knew enough about Slughorn's character to realise that he was just likely to keep it for himself. That would mean another innocent victim on his hands, another plan ruined.
What on earth was he going to do now?
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