Title: The Quandary's Hope
Author: Intrepid Aarcher
Summary: Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his arch-nemesis, but why does he care? And where does a surly Potions master fit into the equation? HPDM
Disclaimer: I'm not making any money out of this foray into the world of fan fiction. I just like to borrow the characters.
Warnings: eventual Harry/Draco slash. So that's male/male duh. A bit of abuse here and there, and some pretty dark themes.
CHAPTER 3
Leaning on Hermione
Harry stumbled into the Great Hall halfway through breakfast the next morning.
"Whoa, mate, you look like shit." Ron said as he sat down next to him. Harry started and had a moment of panic as he wondered how his glamour charm could have worn off, then relaxed as he realized even his imposed self would look a bit ragged after a late night bent over sickly potion vapors and a seizure.
"What did Dumbledore want, Harry?" Hermione asked.
"Oh," Harry spluttered having forgotten about his excuse for running off, "I wanted to tell him about what happened on the train." Ron and Hermione nodded approvingly. If Dumbledore was handling this matter then there was nothing to worry about. Harry almost rolled his eyes.
His first class that day was Advanced Potions which suited him perfectly as the classroom was close to the location he had left the antidote in, so all he had to do was slip away and take his first dose.
He made his way down to the dungeons with Hermione. They were the only two Gryffindors in NEWT level Potions, as Snape had worked hard to fail anyone unworthy of his time. How Harry had gotten past his web he would dearly like to know.
Hermione noticed Harry limping slightly, and when pressed, he lied and said he had twisted his ankle when the staircase he was standing on had shifted. He did however take advantage of the support she offered, draping his arm across her shoulders and leaning heavily on her slight frame.
They descended the last few steps into the classroom and squinted into the gloom, waiting for their eyes to adjust. Predictably, the Slytherins were already there, trying to look imposing whilst juggling numerous volumes of text. They were standing clustered in a group which showed the social pecking order of the Purebloods. Crabbe and Goyle filled space towards the back, while Malfoy fended off a clingy Pansy Parkinson at the head of the group, and somewhere in the middle stood Blaise Zabini, a tall elegant figure Harry had little to do with. He had shoulder length brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. That's uncanny…he thought, but a closer inspection was cut off as the group's leader rid himself of his burden and stepped forward.
"Watch out Potter, you'd better not get too close to the Mudblood, someone might just tell the Weasel." Malfoy said in a nasty snarl when he saw them. His face was twisted with malice as he observed the two, and inexplicably, turned and stormed away to his usual desk, leaving his posse unclear of their next actions.
Harry and Hermione turned and shrugged at each other before moving to their desk. As they sat waiting for Snape, Harry flicked though his Potions text book, distractedly marking which potions he was running low on, when he felt eyes on him again. His head shot up, scanning the room for the intense gaze he had felt, but whoever it had been had looked away. Harry frowned. Stranger still was Snape's lateness – something that had never happened in the history of the professor teaching at the school. Even Hogwarts seemed uncomfortable, the presence of the classroom was nervous, the flames were flickering in their wall brackets in the still foreboding air.
The smattering of students jumped as the heavy door slammed shut. Snape stormed to the front of room with a livid expression on his face that would curdle butter. So the ingredients were missed…Harry thought gleefully as he watched the professor pace furiously behind his desk. His classmates were stunned, for even in a rage Snape barely betrayed so much emotion. Harry wasn't worried, he was safe from suspicion. Indeed all of the students were, not once did the brooding man even indicate that he was aware of their presence. He couldn't fathom the thought that anyone below the level of Grand Wizard would be able to break through his wards and reset them with a flick of their wrist, not to mention achieve this in the space of ten minutes! Someone cleared their throat and Snape snapped from his internal monologue and glanced around as if just remembering he was a teacher in this infernal institution.
"Turn to page three hundred and ninety-four…"
About halfway through the lesson, Harry lost his patience in pretending to learn and decided to create a distraction so he could leave and take the antidote. He had become rather skilled at sabotaging his own work, this being the only reason Snape hadn't found out that he could be a potions master in his own right. Today they were working alone, so thankfully no one else would share the wrath that would surely come down upon his head, as well as the lost credit.
Snape had his back towards him, leaning over a Ravenclaw's cauldron as Harry launched into action. He had calculated the moment that would cause the most damage and leaned out of harms way. He threw the wrong ingredients into the cauldron and dove for cover, wincing in pain as he hit the floor. A split second later there was a resounding BOOM and the classroom was filled with smoke and bits of cauldron debris rained down on them.
"EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY!" Snape barked above the turmoil and shouting of the students.
Shit. Harry thought as he tried to push himself to his feet. His vision swam and his face was a mask of pain as he sank to the floor again. The last of the students had exited the room and Harry groaned, he had underestimated his injuries but had to get out – if he inhaled too much of this the antidote might react badly. Suddenly, a pale hand wrapped around his wrist and wrenched him to his feet. He was then half dragged, half carried through the corridor, to a small alcove where he was dumped unceremoniously on the floor while an air cleansing charm was uttered. Sucking in lungfulls of fresh air, he peered up at the blond with a questioning gaze. Malfoy stared down at him curiously.
"You did that on purpose." he stated. "Why?"
Harry looked at his watch and avoided the question, throwing all his focus on disguising the fact that he was in agony and appearing calm and unfazed.
"What are you hiding Potter?" Harry jumped as he felt a warm breath and soft lips graze his ear. He had not noticed the boy getting closer.
Malfoy sneered as he stood once again. "No answer, Potter? Oh well." He shrugged and moved his hands to cup his mouth, "PROFESSOR I'VE CAUGHT HIM, HE'S OVER HERE!"
Snape's quick stride was heard and a moment later the potion masters pale face appeared in front of Harry's swimming vision.
"POTTER! Of all the… GAAAH!" he took a few deep breaths in order to compose himself. He then spoke in a flat tone, "You will serve detention. With me. Every Monday night. Until the end of semester." And with that he stalked off with his voluminous black robes billowing in his wake.
Harry slumped down against the wall in defeat. The pain was almost too much to bear now, and he momentarily forgot Malfoy seated on the other side of the alcove.
"What, no witty comeback? No biting remark?" the pale boy said scathingly, although his words were more to ensure he elicited a reaction from the Golden Gryffindor, and he grew wary about his nemesis' lack of spirit. Then to Malfoy's surprise, Harry lurched to his feet and ambled off down a dark corridor without a word.
Quickly, quickly, no time for discretion…Harry thought as he slipped through the door of 'his' classroom. With a wave of his wand and a muttered incantation, he locked the door, revealed the makeshift Potions laboratory and set about measuring out a little bit more than the required dosage. He wanted to make doubly sure he had every chance in overcoming the poison.
The antidote had developed into a viscous black fluid and smelled like acetone. Harry held the vial to his lips and started convincing himself to swallow the foul liquid. Why does nothing that's good for you ever taste like butterscotch? And with that he threw his head back and choked down the vile potion.
He felt the effects immediately as he clutched at his throat and chest. His eyes were wide as a searing heat pulsed through his being, causing him to spasm as he awkwardly lowered himself to the floor. Unable to hold down all of the antidote, the excess bubbled up inside of him and issued from his mouth with a gurgle, staining his chin and the front of his shirt with the black, tar-like substance. Finally reaching the cool floor, Harry pressed his forehead to the damp flagstones, shut his eyes and lost all grasp of conscious thought.
A creak sounded through the darkness as the door opened, emitting a quiet figure. The person moved cautiously towards the centre of the room where the shuddering form of Harry lay. Reaching out, the figure slowly turned him over and inhaled sharply.
"Potter!"
End chapter 3
A/N: Is it just me or does Harry seem to end each adventure by getting knocked out? Hmmm… must do something about that. Hope this was alright, please tell me if it is lacking in any way. Or you could just write a friendly note to say it was ok, I wouldn't mind that either.