Chapter 10: The Miscalculation

"Fuck," whispered Draco, to nobody in particular.

He'd slammed the door of the cabinet shut after seeing its contents, turning his back to it and sliding gracelessly onto the floor, collapsing all of his weight at its base. He shuddered, the swallow's mangled form punishingly vivid even as he forced his eyes shut.

He let his wand slip through his fingers, barely conscious of the sound it made as it clattered onto the hard marble floor.

"Fuck," he repeated, louder. "Fuck!"

He was shaking.

Draco scrubbed at his eyelids furiously, aggressively shoving a few straggling blond hairs away from his face. His breathing was loud, uneven; it was the least control he had felt in weeks, and that was saying something, considering the entropic downward spiral he'd been experiencing.

He reached out for his wand, picking it up and putting his weight on the cabinet to steady himself to his feet. He took one deep breath, then yanked open the door, flicking his wand soundlessly to remove the bird's broken form, eliminating the evidence of his failure. He stared gloomily into the now empty cabinet, gathering his thoughts.

So, evidently it was still broken.

He straightened, trying to be rational. Right, he thought, skimming his mental image of the notes he'd gotten from Borgin before he'd arrived at school. Back to the drawing board.

He brushed some non-existent dust off his immaculate trousers and adjusted his collar. He would have to leave now, if he wanted to join the others at Hogsmeade. He scowled, not particularly in the mood to socialize amidst the countless blithering idiots who would no doubt just be mindlessly indulging in sweets or overtly snogging. But with Potter so openly tailing him, he felt it was best to simply keep up appearances. He was sure he'd regret it if he let Potter realize he was keeping to the castle – particularly this part of the castle.

He walked to the door of the Room of Requirement, listening for any muted sounds on the other side; hearing nothing, he slipped out of the heavy door quickly, catching the eye of a small, redheaded first year.

Draco nodded to the polyjoice potion-influenced form of Gregory Goyle. "Later," he said curtly, turning in the opposite direction. He caught a glimpse of a small nod from the temporarily feminine form of Vincent Crabbe from afar, but didn't bother acknowledging it.

Crabbe and Goyle's part in the mechanics of Draco's plan was, at this point, more out of necessity for their fathers than out of loyalty to Draco, although he suspected they considered themselves favored because of his confidence. He had needed eyes on the outside while he was working, and for all their stupidity, they didn't ask questions, or at least, not ones he felt compelled to answer. Theo would have doubtlessly been more help, but this was to be Draco's failing, and his alone.

Draco subconsciously rubbed his inner left forearm, which seemed to always tingle with a phantom vibration.

He stepped hurriedly onto the stone path out of the castle, closing the gap between himself and the group of students as they made their way toward the village of Hogsmeade en masse.

"Theo," he said breathlessly, catching him.

He turned and nodded. "Draco," he said pleasantly. "Running a bit behind?"

"Overslept," Draco replied simply. Theo frowned.

"Really?" he said skeptically. "Because you look like you haven't slept in – "

"Oi, Malfoy!" Blaise called, taking a diagonal path through the herd of students to reach him. Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

"Zabini," he said, nodding. "Glad you've recovered from your wounded pride."

Blaise shrugged. "I needed a few days to nurse my ego," he admitted. "But I'll keep my wand on me today, thanks, if that's okay with you."

Draco grinned, inclining his head gallantly. "I'll allow it."

"Got time for a drink, Draco?" Theo asked. "I could go for a butterbeer."

Blaise nodded in agreement. "Same," he added.

Draco shook his head. "Just running in to grab some parchment," he lied. "Got some work to do, yet."

Blaise nodded, oblivious; Theo looked as though he might say something, but clearly thought better of it.

He shrugged. "Your loss, mate."

Upon arriving, Draco rushed out his goodbyes and quickly swerved into Tomes and Scrolls, ducking in briefly to legitimize his lie. With fresh parchment in hand, he paused to survey the village, looking for one bespectacled, scarred, and idiotic face. He saw the tufts of Potter's messy jet-black hair just outside Honeydukes and he prepped himself to stroll by casually, pausing only to take in his surroundings.

Potter was walking with Granger – alone, it appeared; Draco scanned the area again, catching Weasley suctioned to Lavender Brown while walking into Madame Puddifoot's. That explained that.

He turned his attention back to Granger, who was wearing her usual weekend muggle clothing: worn, fitted jeans and a dark blue hooded sweatshirt, zipped up to accommodate the morning chill. Her hair was tied back, fairly lazily, and she sipped occasionally on what appeared to be a travel mug; she seemed tired but happy, her eyes dancing at whatever nonsense Potter was spewing.

Draco saw Granger's smile falter as she watched him approach. Her eyes flicked nervously from him to Potter; he wanted to reassure her, somehow, but knew that would be counterproductive.

"Treating yourself after a long week of academic triumph, eh, Potter?" he called arrogantly, reaching into his deep vault of generic insults. He tried his best to seem normal, to give Potter no cause for alarm or suspicion, though he very much wanted to take off at a run back to the castle. He was wasting his time here.

Potter scowled darkly, crossing his arms while Granger seemed to be holding her breath, eyeing Draco. When Potter turned abruptly back to Granger, Draco knew he had provided himself a sufficient alibi, and though he maintained a leisurely pace so as not to arouse suspicion, he angled himself back toward the castle and headed directly back to the seventh floor.

No sooner had he reentered the castle grounds, though, did he feel a swift yank on his arm, dragging him behind one of the courtyard's massive pillars.

"Ouch, wh – "

"Silence, Draco," Snape said urgently. "I need to talk to you – "

Draco angrily pulled his elbow out from Snape's clutches. "There's no need to accost me, Snape."

Snape looked sharply at him. "Professor Snape, Draco. Do not forget yourself."

Draco noticed that Snape's pallid complexion was unusually chalky, even for him; his long black hair was wild, and his labored breathing gave the impression that he'd recently run, or even sprinted.

"Professor," Draco repeated slowly, though not entirely apologetically.

Snape continued to look down his nose at Draco, who felt the haziest impression of thin, tendril-like fingers scratching through his brain.

"You won't find out that way," Draco hissed at Snape, annoyed. "If there's something you need to say, then say it."

"Very well," Snape drawled. "Have you considered the consequences that might follow from you bringing visitors into Hogwarts?"

Draco gaped at him, confused. "What?"

Snape glanced around, pulling Draco into a more remote region of the courtyard.

"You are planning to bring Death Eaters into the castle?" Snape accused angrily.

Draco was stunned. "I don't – "

"I offered you my assistance and you refused, only to turn to Bellatrix?" Snape continued, his fury rising. "Why would you not tell me – "

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco said, cutting him off swiftly.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Do you mean to tell me that you are not attempting to resume the connection between the vanishing cabinet in the castle, and the one in Borgin and Burke's?" he said slowly, clearly aware of the answer.

"I – I am, yes, but I don't see what that has to do with anything," Draco admitted, still lost. "Bellatrix – I haven't – "

"They know you are repairing it," Snape said, putting both hands on Draco's shoulders and gripping them tightly. "He knows you are repairing it."

Draco shook his head, trying to grasp what Snape was telling him.

"Do you mean to tell me it is not your intent to bring Death Eaters into the castle?" Snape said urgently.

"No," Draco said, stammering. "It wasn't – I wanted an escape route for myself, I always intended to be the one – on my own, I mean – "

"You realize what will happen if Bellatrix comes here, don't you?" Snape pressed. "Bellatrix, who likes to toy with her food before she eats it? And she won't come alone. She could bring Fenrir. She could bring Avery, or Nott. She could bring – she could bring your father," he said, falling silent on the last two words.

"If you bring them into the castle, people will be killed," Snape said finally, fixing Draco with an uncomfortably candid stare.

This had not occurred to Draco before, because this had not been Draco's plan. He had thought it would be much easier, fulfilling the assignment the Dark Lord had given him. He thought a single imperius curse and a couple of dark artifacts would do the trick, and he would slip away somehow. If the cabinet had been mended with a single spell, and if Katie Bell hadn't – well, things would be different by now.

He had realized recently that it was going to have to be him, that ultimately it would have to be at his hands, and he would need an out. He had never considered the unspeakable damage that could occur if the cabinet was to be used as an entrance, rather than purely his exit.

"I haven't fixed it yet," he said suddenly. "I could just – "

Snape shook his head vigorously. "You must," he urged. "You have no choice, now. The Dark Lord approves, and now, not to do so would be to face repercussions I swore to prevent – "

"I can't, I can't bring them here," Draco said, shaking his head. Visions of Jugson swam through his head, floating to the surface of his mind; he blinked forcefully, eradicating them. "If I do it sooner – If I do it on my own, I have no need – "

"Let me help you," Snape insisted, almost pleading. "I can – "

Draco shook his head forcefully. "No," he said, choking. "No, you can't. If you do, there's no guarantee . . . " he paused, swallowing hard. "There's no guarantee he won't kill me anyway."

Snape's icy glare softened, a speck of sympathy in his eye. "Draco," he said quietly, "That is the way of the Dark Lord." He raised a hand, as though to place it on Draco's shoulder comfortingly, but chose instead to grip his arm, more forceful than paternal.

"There is never a guarantee that he won't kill you," Snape said chillingly. Draco could think of nothing to say in response.

They both jumped as they heard footsteps coming toward the courtyard. Draco froze, listening; he heard familiar voices and tensed, impatient.

"Why is it always Potter," Snape muttered under his breath, barely audible.

Draco immediately flinched under Snape's uncomfortable grip and pulled away, taking off at a brisk march.

"Thank you, Professor," he called loudly over his shoulder, trying to beat Potter to the castle entrance as nonchalantly as possible. His raven-haired nemesis was wearing his classic Harry Potter: Wizard Detective expression, and Draco fought to think of what reasonable behavior might look like in this situation. Without Crabbe or Goyle around, he needed to ensure that he wouldn't be followed on his route up to the Room of Requirement, where he would invariably be going. He rounded on Granger as his only source of inspiration.

"I need you to check the potion, Granger," he said bluntly. "Professor Snape thinks we may need an additional mandrake – "

"What!" she exclaimed instantly, "But we – "

"Just take a look, Granger," he commanded quickly. "I have to take this inside," he added, raising the package of parchment he'd acquired earlier.

"Maybe take Potter with you," he tossed out casually, striving for his usual derisive detachment. "That way he'll at least know what an acceptable potion looks like."

Granger was eyeing him strangely; her eyes searched out his, and he averted his gaze.

"Alright," she said slowly, before suddenly straightening. "But if you think I'm going to do your work for you, Malfoy – "

"How many times a day do I have to say this, Granger?" Draco snapped impatiently. "I'm not Weasley – "

"You leave Ron out of this," Potter rumbled menacingly, clenching his fists. Draco caught Granger's eye, understanding. She was quicker than even he gave her credit for.

"Sorry Potter, didn't mean to talk about your girlfriend," he said quickly, nodding at Granger and turning his back on Potter before he had a chance to respond.

He strode confidently toward the stairs to the prefect dorms and did not stop until he heard the echo of their footsteps fade along the stone floor; once they'd passed, he hurriedly changed paths, heading to the seventh floor.

"You realize what will happen if Bellatrix comes here, don't you?"

He pulled at his collar as he climbed the stairs, feeling strangled by the fabric around his neck.

"Bellatrix, who likes to toy with her food before she eats it?"

He felt something bubbling under the edges of his control, and thought he might be sick; he stumbled onto the seventh floor landing and ducked immediately into the nearest bathroom, doubling over on top of one of the cold, porcelain sinks. He panted, struggling for breath, while his mind raced through his conversation with Snape.

"And she won't come alone . . . "

They would be coming here, the worst torturers he had ever known – his father included – all the mindless weapons of a murderer whose influence knew no bounds. His dread could scarcely be contained at the thought; he would endanger them all. He would put the lives of hundreds at risk.

And if he did not?

"There is never a guarantee he won't kill you."

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry as he spat into the empty basin of the sink. His chest burned, and his eyes stung; he hurriedly unbuttoned the top of his shirt, rubbing his clavicle painfully, gasping for air.

Them, or me, he thought, retching. Either way, he won't make it painless.

His fingernails dug into his clavicle as he felt hot tears of panic burn behind his eyes. He quickly splashed water on his face, looking up into his harrowing reflection while he fought his body's reaction to his crippling fear.

He had never been more pale, and the dark circles under his eyes had never been in such stark contrast. He shoved pieces of his polished blond hair away from his forehead with the flat of his palm, dragging it down his face and curling his hand around his mouth. He exhaled sharply, a strangled gasp escaping as he failed to regain control of his emotions.

Only when he saw the reflection in the mirror did he realize he'd been crying.

Hermione Granger had woken up that morning to a fairly typical Saturday. She'd put on her favorite pair of jeans, and her warmest sweater. She'd poured some hot coffee into a muggle travel thermos of her father's that she'd magicked to hold twice the volume of contents. She'd met up with Harry, chatted about things here and there, browsed Honeydukes – all the things she normally did.

With the exception, of course, of trying not to projectile vomit all over Ron and Lavender, who were unfortunately both revolting and omnipresent. She'd been looking at them fairly intently before Draco Malfoy had sauntered by, and it had occurred to her that perhaps she inadvertently owed him for the distraction.

As time had passed she'd found she wasn't exceptionally hurt by Ron's actions, only angered by his explanation; she was disappointed in herself, though, for ridding herself of what had clearly been her only opportunity for a relationship in her life.

It's okay, she'd mused. No time for anyone else, anyway . . . for now.

She dreaded to think what her life would look like in a few weeks time, when her potion was finished and her usual time suck was eradicated. And when she wouldn't be alone with Malfoy anymore . . .

She laughed a little to herself, thinking of what Malfoy might say about Ron and Lavender. She pictured his handsome smirk and his skeptically narrowed eyes. He would make a comment about how Ron's mouth seemed vacuum-sealed to Lavender's face, and it would be a much cleverer insult than anything she could come up with, which pretty much began and ended with calling Ron a stupid git in her head.

She'd been worried for a moment when she thought she'd have to intervene between Harry and Malfoy, and was relieved (albeit prematurely) when Malfoy's comments didn't escalate. It was only when they ran into him at the castle that she realized something was wrong.

He wasn't looking her in the eye, for one, which was telling. And she knew that he knew that there was no such issue with mandrakes. But he must have caught Harry's expression the same way she did, and she did something she never thought would ever happen in her lifetime.

She covered for Draco Malfoy.

But that did not mean that she was going to let him off that easy.

She glanced into the classroom, walking over to the textbook that lay open on her usual desk. She gestured to Harry to follow her.

"Come on, Harry, just for a moment," she said impatiently.

He wandered in, grumbling. "I don't see why I have to be here – "

"You don't," she assured him casually. "Let me just check something and then we can go do something else."

She was fairly certain that Malfoy had never intended for her to make any changes to anything, but being the student that she was, she reviewed the potion instructions carefully, checking its color and consistency. After about five minutes she shrugged, satisfied.

"I think it's fine," she said finally, turning to face Harry. "Maybe Snape was just making a suggestion."

"Mhmm," Harry said, mumbling absentmindedly.

As they walked toward the stairs, Hermione reviewed the events of the last ten minutes. Malfoy had been speaking to Snape – that wasn't good, considering the last time she'd overheard them, and obviously it wasn't actually about their potion.

"Harry," she said suddenly, stopping abruptly. "I feel bad."

"What?" he said, startled. "Why? About what?"

"Well," she said slowly, not having compiled her lie fully. "I – I've just monopolized you all day."

He looked at her, confused. "What?"

"You should go see Ron, don't you think?" she said hurriedly. "I wouldn't want you to have to go through us pushing and pulling you, you know."

He nodded slowly. "I guess so," he said uncertainly.

"You know, I might just run up and see if there's any work I can finish while I have some spare time," she said brightly. "Why don't you go find Ron, Harry?"

"Okay," he said, hesitating. "You want me to hang out with Ron?"

"Well," she said, smiling sweetly. "Unless you want to come to the library with me, I'll just do a bit of reading – "

"No, no," he said quickly. "You go ahead, I'll just – "

His voice trailed off as he turned and wandered in the opposite direction, headed to the outskirts of the grounds. She waited until he had disappeared, and then stepped hurriedly up the stairs.

If I were Malfoy . . .

Relying on a hunch, she wandered up to the seventh floor, though she was uncertain what she would do when she got there. It was only when she saw the outline of a tall, silvery figure in black that she knew where she was going.

She walked into the bathroom quietly, trying not to make a sound. He was bent over one of the white porcelain sinks, looking as though he'd been yanked over it by some invisible force, and his arms shook while his white knuckles grasped the sides of the faucet. When she caught his glance in the mirror's reflection, she saw the hollow shadows around his bloodshot eyes.

He whipped around to face her, raising his wand quickly and slamming the door shut behind her.

"Leave me alone, Granger," he said flatly, his voice breaking as he fixed his wand on her.

She stood still, considering her options. "No," she said finally, taking a step toward him.

"Don't," he hissed, stabbing the air with his wand. "Stay away from me."

She took another step. "No," she said simply. Another step.

His teeth tore at his lower lip as he continued to point his wand at her menacingly. Whatever was happening was eating away at him, visibly. She kept walking until she was only a few feet away from him, with his wand at her chest.

"Go away, Granger," he said threateningly. "I mean it."

She set her jaw and looked him dead in the eye. "I'm not going anywhere, Malfoy," she said intensely.

Without breaking eye contact, she closed the gap between them, casually knocking his wand hand aside and stepping in close. He merely looked at her, exhausted, allowing his wand to clatter to the floor.

She put her hands flat on his chest, experimenting. She couldn't tell if he was breathing.

She wasn't totally sure she was breathing, either.

"Get out of here, Granger," he snarled quietly.

She raised herself onto her toes, the side of her nose sliding along his as her breath ghosted across his lips.

"Make me."

An animalistic growl ripped from his throat as he grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her lips to his. She responded in kind, throwing her arm roughly around his neck and pressing herself to him, hungrily.

He released her neck to put both hands on her waist, turning her and throwing her aggressively onto the lip of the sink. The cold metal spout dug into the exposed area of her back where her sweater had ridden up and she winced, reaching around to pull the fabric down. He pulled her hand away, instead letting his hand linger over the exposed skin before letting it travel under her shirt and up her back, tracing patterns on her spine. She let her head loll back slightly, leading him in.

He dragged the tip of his tongue across her lip and sucked it lightly, teasing a breathless moan out of her. She felt something burning inside her and wrapped her legs around him forcefully, sitting up straight to bring her chest to his. He let his lips travel over her chin and down her neck, biting lightly on her earlobe before taking it in his mouth briefly with his tongue. She gasped, the fire inside her roaring.

He continued down the side of her neck, sucking lightly on her clavicle, spreading his hands wide under her shirt until his thumbs tucked themselves under the cups of her bra. She leaned into him, encouraging him, desperate to feel him on her.

He pulled his hands back roughly and yanked the zipper down her front, pulling the garment open to reveal a thin cotton undershirt; he put his lips instantly on the tops of her breasts, savoring them, occasionally running his tongue along the curve of her bra. She let out a quiet whimper and he peeled one cup of her bra back, licking her nipple quickly and then teasing it with the pad of his thumb. She instinctively squeezed her legs around him tighter, feeling herself dampen unexpectedly at his touch.

She slowly untucked his shirt, letting her fingertips linger on his waistband. She felt him flex against her fingers and she smiled, pressing her hands against his stomach. She reached for the top button of his shirt, slowly making her way down, until, frustrated, she simply tore it apart, revealing his hard, angular chest and abs. He was lean and muscular, firm and stoic under her touch; he, not to be outdone, ripped open the thin fabric of her shirt and she gasped as cold air hit bare skin. She pressed herself against him, reveling in the feel of him, feeling herself throb where she'd never thought possible. His lips returned to hers, angry with urgency, feverishly kissing her, over and over, as he tangled his fingers tightly in her hair. She put her hands desperately on either side of his face; not to control him, as she had with Ron, but to pull him closer, though she wasn't sure physically how that could be possible. She held him, running her thumbs along the sharp curve of his angular jaw, kissing him back as fully and as deeply as she could.

The mood of the kiss shifted then; his fevered lips slowed, and he gathered her fully in his arms, lifting her slightly so that he could wrap both his arms around her ribcage, encircling her. As he slid his tongue around hers slowly she snaked her arms around his neck, responding in kind.

The pace slowed until they both just held each other, his lips on hers, coveting them, eyes closed. He broke the kiss once – only to kiss her again, softly; then again, bringing his lips to her ear.

"Not like this," he said simply, pulling back.

She was startled, until she looked closely at his face. She realized then that the area around his eyes was raw and rough, and that his breathing had been labored and uneven since she walked in. She realized that his grey eyes, flashing like steel, burning like the last ashes in a dying fire, were particularly haunting, and filled with an ache she neither recognized nor understood.

She realized then that Draco Malfoy wasn't just a fantasy she'd banished to her mind. He was a man, and a man with complexities she had yet to fathom.