Author's rambling: Sorry for the delay, everyone, busy week for me, plus my computer decided to take a vacation from the realm of the living. I am suffering from something in my left wrist, which prevents me from moving it- that is, I can move it, it just hurt very, very much. I was minding my own, making stir fry, when suddenly, bam- IT HURT. So now I am bandaged and can't use it at all.: cue sniffle: hope you all had a good week.

Six chapter (this is the longest thing I have ever wrote, it's official now), in which there is a brilliant plan, a somewhat less brilliant execution of that plan, and smut (sort of, I think. Maybe?). Angst, too. And Draco turns out to be an easily panicked kid.

Have fun!

This chpater is dedicated to all my reviewers, you have no idea how wonderful it is, to open the internet and see your reviews. Luff and hugs to all!

-

The spell Draco found turned out to be quite easy, but complicated, as it consisted of three different stages;

First, the victim had to consume a few drops of the essence of an Anemone flower. That part had been easy. Essence of Anemone was a common enough potions ingredient, and Snape let him take some from his private storage without any questions.

Being a teacher's pet had its perks.

Draco visited the kitchens about an hour before breakfast, and, ignoring the House Elves that were watching him with huge, terrified eyes, he let a little of the liquid in the bottle trickle to each jug of drink that was intended for the Gryffindor table; he wanted to make sure Potter would actually drink it.

"It's completely harmless," Draco promised the House Elves that gathered around him, protesting his actions, and let a drop land on his tongue. "See?"

At breakfast, he sat and watched greedily as Potter drank a full goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Perfect," he smirked to himself, and poured himself a mug of coffee.

-

The essence needed three days to work, so in the meantime, Draco held try outs for the Quidditch team. They were a few positions short, and as the new Slytherin captain, it was his duty to take care of that.

"Professor McGonagel is going to offer the position to Potter, no doubt," Professor Snape muttered sourly as he gave Draco the spot. "Well, never mind. He may be an adequate Seeker, but no one ever said he was intelligent, and being Captain is all about strategies. I trust you will make me proud, Malfoy".

-

The next stage required an incantation. Draco, who sat behind Potter in Transfiguration, took advantage of a moment when McGonagel's back was turned, and cast the spell, satisfied when Potter's back glowed softly for an instant.

Now, to the final step, he thought.

-

In order to complete the spell, he had to find out where the Gryffindor sixth year's dormitory was. He got up early the day before the final stage was to be performed, grabbed his broomstick, and walked quietly out of the dungeons.

Once outside, he mounted his broom and flew in the direction of the Gryffindor tower.

It was cold, up in the air, and Draco shivered, regretting not wearing anything warmer. He circled the tower, peeking into windows and hoping no one was awake.

It would be so humiliating to be found like this.

At last, something caught his eye. He drifted closer, clutching the window frame with one hand to steady himself.

It was a red, worn out sweater. The one Potter wore that Saturday, when Draco found him by the lake.

Bingo.

He traced the window frame with his wand, whispering a nifty little charm he learned years ago. It was a spell his mother taught him during his Christmas in first year, when he lost a book he'd received as a present and threw a tantrum loud enough for the entire manor to hear.

Draco was a spoiled little brat when he was younger.

It was a spell that helped you keep track of things- you concentrated on the object you had cast it on, and your wand tugged you towards it.

He flew back in the direction of the entrance, wanting nothing more than to take a scorching shower and get something hot to drink.

He halted, though, when he noticed something moving on the way to Hogsmead. He flew closer, narrowing his eyes in order to see better.

Two people. One was Kinglsey, the DADA teacher, and the other… Potter?

They were running. Or at least, Kingsley was running. Potter was keeping up quite well, but his face was so red Draco could see the colour from this distance, and sweat was gleaming on his face despite the cold weather.

Some light-side-bonding, perhaps? Dumbledore was too old so the Auror took Potter out?

Draco could picture it already. This is a squirrel, Harry, Kingsley would say. Repeat after me: Animals are our friends. Except when they are on our plate, or the pets of evil people, and then, of course, feel free to blast them away. Ho ho!

For some reason, Draco didn't find this amusing.

Or maybe… yes, this sounded far more logical: Kingsley was giving Potter special lessons. Trust Dumbledore to bend the rules like that, just because Potter was "the boy who lived".

Apparently, the training consisted of making Potter run until he dropped dead. Draco could live with that, although it would spoil his brilliant plan for revenge.

Sending a last glance in the direction of the retreating figures, he returned inside.

-

It was around two A.M. when Draco got out of bed, pulled his robes quickly over his head, placed a silencing spell on his shoes, grabbed his broomstick and the vial waiting on his bed, and padded silently out.

He tiptoed along the corridors, keeping to the shadows, ears straining to hear every noise that could indicate Filch, his damned cat, or one of the Professors out on a round. Now that it was widely acknowledged that the Dark Lord was back, the safety measures Dumbledore took increased dramatically.

He closed the front doors behind him, sighing in relief at the fact that he managed to get this far, and started flying towards his destination.

The tracking charm proved helpful indeed, and soon Draco found himself hovering by the sixth year boys dorm's window.

"Alohamora" he whispered, and the window clicked opened.

Draco climbed inside, leaning the broom on the wall. He peeked at the nearest four-poster.

Ugh, he shuddered. Longbottom.

The next one contained Finnigan, but after that, Draco found what he was looking for.

Draco stopped, one hand on the curtains, staring into the sleeping face of his most hated enemy.

-

Potter was laying half on his back, half on his side, his head turned towards Draco. His black hair was all over the pillow, framing his pale face like a dark halo.

After looking around one last time, he knelt next to the bed. The Gryffindor's face was slightly troubled, a light frown on his face, as though he was having bad dreams.

Unable to control himself, Draco reached out a trembling hand and pushed away the messy locks of hair, surprisingly soft, revealing the famous scar.

He had never seen it from this close up; at least, not like this. He and Potter only got this close in order to punch each other in the nose.

He leaned closer, feeling the boy's steady breath on his face, which smelled of mint toothpaste and salt. The scar stood out vividly against the white forehead, needle-thin, red and ugly. It was indeed lightning shaped, a cruel slash in the skin. It looked fresh.

Without thinking, he pressed a finger against it.

Potter jerked under the touch, his mouth opening in a silent scream, and Draco scrambled back on his elbows hurriedly, heart pounding like mad. But after a moment Potter stilled, returning to normal slumber.

Right, Draco thought, trying to calm his racing heartbeat, that was the scariest thing ever.

He had knocked the vial over in his haste, and now inspected it worriedly for cracks, but it was still in one piece, the almost-transparent liquid shimmering through the glass.

Gold dust and Moonstone dust, sprinkled in lake water. Those ingredients were a bit less common, but Draco had ordered them by owl from two different shops in Diaggon Alley, one store for each ingredient. Money wasn't a problem, after all.

He rose back to his knees, leaning in again. He uncorked the vial, dipping two fingers inside the water.

With his wet fingers, he started tracing runes across the Gryffindor's forehead, nose, cheekbones.

He has freckles on his nose, Draco found himself thinking distractedly. I never noticed that before.

He wetted his fingers again and dragged them over Potter's lips and chin.

Potter opened his mouth suddenly, his breath terribly hot on Draco's hand, and to his horror, Draco felt himself flush.

What's wrong with you? He berated himself. It's nerves, that's all. Concentrate.

He ignored the way his hands were trembling when he unbuttoned Potter's shirt.

Wet fingers again, smooth, steady strokes against his throat, his shoulders, the dip under his collarbone.

Don't think, you fool. Concentrate.

Wet fingers, trace the runes, don't count his ribs, concentrate!

When he was finished, he was sweating despite the chill air, his breathing uneven. Finally, he thought, refusing to think of it, it seemed like forever.

Now to wait, he told himself, corking the vial and slipping it back into his robes. The spell was supposed to take effect after the liquid was exposed to moonlight, but Draco wasn't sure how long it was supposed to take.

After a few minutes of waiting, growing more nervous as each moment ticked by, he reached for his broom, deciding that since the instructions didn't say he had to wait, he might as well leave.

He looked at Potter one last time, his gaze lingering on his face, and the closed eyelids opened, revealing eyes of burning green that looked straight at Draco.

-

The week didn't start all that well for Harry.

Professor McGonagel called him to her office at the beginning of the week, saying she had something very important to discuss with him.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said worriedly, looking at him from above her Arithmency homework "you didn't do anything, did you? The year's barely started, and you can't afford to get detention, now. You don't have enough time as it is".

Harry assured her he didn't do anything wrong, but couldn't help feeling a little anxious himself as he knocked on the door to his Head of House's office.

"Come in!" a stern voice called, and he opened the door quietly. "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Oh, Mr. Potter, yes," she said, raising her head from the papers she was bent over. "Have a seat, please. Tea?"

As Harry sat before her, apprehensive, she poured him a cup of tea and smiled at him. He nearly had a heart attack, right there on the spot.

"Now, you're probably wondering why I called you," at his nod she continued. "As you know, the Gryffindor Quidditch team is a Captain short. As your Quidditch ban has been canceled by the Headmaster, and taking to considerations your impressive talent and experience at the sport, I am delighted to offer you the position".

For a second, Harry was overwhelmingly happy. Giddy, even. He could already see himself, wearing the Quidditch Captain's uniform, leading his team to one victory after another. But as soon as the feeling appeared, it vanished, reality settling in, cold and harsh.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry said, and McGonagel blinked at him from behind her severe glasses "but I must refuse the offer. I feel that, concerning recent events, I will not be able to fulfill the job satisfyingly".

"Mr. Potter," McGonagel stuttered, looking as flustered as he had ever seen her "I assure you, I have taken recent events into consideration- I'm sure you'll be perfectly able-"

"Professor," Harry interrupted her "I'm sorry. I simply don't have any time. I've got my hands full as it is".

"Well," she tried, obviously not ready to take no for an answer, "what about the evenings? Surely you can do your homework before that?"

Harry sighed, growing annoyed. Couldn't she see how hard this was for him? Why did she have to continue pressuring him?

"I don't have free evenings, Professor," he said tightly. "I have training with Professor Kingsley every night, and lessons with the Headmaster on my two free afternoons".

"Oh, oh, of course…" the old teacher said, comprehension dawning on her face at last. "I wasn't aware…" she fixed him with a kind smile, one that looked completely foreign on her usually stern face.

"Well, in that case, I'll have to find another Captain," she said, and Harry tried to feel relieved, not disappointed.

"Good luck, then, with your training," she told him, as he got up, "I hope you'll be able to stay on the team, at least?"

When he nodded, she smiled again and he left and closed the door behind him.

-

Half an hour later, he was sitting in the Quidditch stands, gazing at the distant golden loops, when he heard light footsteps coming his way.

He didn't turn around, and Hermione, after hesitating, sat beside him.

"You didn't come back," she said quietly. "What did Professor McGonagel want?"

Harry didn't turn his head to look at her, staring fixatedly at the pitch. "She offered me the position of Quidditch Captain."

"Well, that's wonderful-"

"I told her no".

"What?" Hermione sounded shocked, "why?"

"I don't have time. Someone else would be able to do it far better than me". His voice sounded bitter, even to his own ears.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, and a minute later her arms were around him, her body a warm comfort against his back. "You did the right thing. Of course you did. I'm sorry you had to give it up, but… I'm very proud of you, for being able to put everyone else before you. That's a very noble thing".

He felt a stinging in his eyes, but refused to let it progress beyond that. "I won't ever be normal, will I?" he asked, not actually expecting an answer.

When he indeed received none, he stood up. "Let's go back. We have homework to do, and I have to meet Kingsley in twenty minutes".

He felt Hermione's pitying eyes on him as they walked back, and almost hated her, for a minute.

-

Draco jumped back in alarm as Potter's eyes opened, then closed again, knocking over a few things with the handle of his broom. They fell, the noise deafening in the silent room.

Shit! Draco thought, panicking. He could hear sounds of waking from the other beds, heavy breathing from Potter, and a mumbling voice asking "whass wass thass…" sleepily, which sounded like Weasley.

Realizing he won't have time to get out the window, he dived under Potter's bed.

Ugh, dust, he scowled, disgusted, before panic flared again.

Above him, Potter started coughing violently. Weasley's voice surfaced again, sounding alert, now. "Harry?"

There was the sound of footsteps, and two huge, freckled feet appeared a few inches from Draco's nose.

Ugh, he thought again, more urgently this time. Weasley toe-lint.

"Harry? Harry!"

Potter now sounded as though he was choking.

Interesting, Draco mused, dazedly.

Then two sets of feet disappeared in the direction of what, Draco presumed, was the loo. Then there was the distant sound of retching, and a soothing murmur.

I'm never going to get out of here. I might as well get used to eating dust-bunnies as means to survival. He poked one with his finger. They don't look very appetizing.

Potter and Weasley returned, and there was the rustle of blankets, and a few soft words Draco didn't catch. Then the freckled feet left, and silence settled over the dormitory again.

Draco waited for what seemed like eternity, until he was convinced he was the only one awake. He crawled from under the bed, making a face at his dust covered robes.

I'm not even going to check how my hair looks, because I'm sure I'll scream right here in the Gryffindor dormitory and wake up the whole bloody tower.

He picked up his broom, and walked briskly over to the window, which bloody Weasley had closed. Before he climbed out, he cast a last look at Potter.

The boy was asleep, tossing and turning fitfully, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and his face shining with perspiration.

Draco left, closing the window securely after him.

It was only when he got back to his own dorm and changed clothes, that he found out he had lost the vial.

-

Ooh, action at last. Isn't Draco cute when he panics? Also, I was wondering- there's going to be more action later on, in the coming chapters, though nothing really graphic, so I wondered- should I change the rating from PG 13 to R, just in case?