Author's Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

Draco is near his breaking point in this chapter - poised on the edge of a cliff, teetering, just before he reaches that point where he realizes he's actually in control of his fate and in charge of his own destiny. Not everyone else as he's thus far believed. Basically, he's about to mature and grow up a bit.

PS I'm not J. K. Rowling, so I don't own anything :(

Ch 10: Consequences

"Draco, did you hear?" Zabini asked, poking his head into the dorm room.

Draco had just ducked in to write a letter to Lily while Crabbe and Goyle were completing their remedial homework, needing to retake their O.W.L.s this year, so he'd expected to have at least half an hour to himself. Hopefully more if luck was on his side. Apparently, it wasn't. But when was it ever these days?

It was getting harder to find time to write to her. Not because he didn't wish to make time, she was all he thought about, and there were a dozen inane things that happened every day that he wished to share. Possibly make her laugh. He could almost picture her shining hazel eyes. Too bad it'd been so dark the last few times he'd seen her. He'd love a clearer image to be branded in his mind.

Then there were all of his frustrations and struggles that he wished to write to her about. Unfortunately, nearly all of his free time was occupied with trying to repair the broken Vanishing Cabinet for the Dark Lord - the primary source of those frustrations. Not to mention the lingering memories of the incentives he'd used on Draco were highly motivating.

He'd still had no luck mending the blasted thing. He'd tried everything he could think of, and still it refused to work properly. As loath as he was to admit it, it might be beyond his skill level. Not that he'd ever specifically studied spelling or modifying magical objects. Seemed a bit of an oversight in the curriculum now. Even if it was illegal to spell Muggle artifacts, such as cabinets, in the first place. At least it was if the object was to be used for purposes such as this.

"Hear what, Zabini?" Draco drawled, not very interested in hearing about whatever ridiculous thing some inconsequential person had done. He'd just bet it had to do with Pansy and her latest scheme to snag his attention once more. Stupid bint.

"Weasley's gone and poisoned himself! The daft buffoon," Zabini said cheerily, grinning widely from where he'd propped an insouciant shoulder against their dormitory door frame.

"Poison? How?" Draco demanded, a trickle of unease snaking down his back.

"Don't know, just thought you'd find it fitting," Zabini shrugged carelessly. "Not like he's any good at Potions, is it?"

"Right," Draco agreed, faking a smile.

He waited until his friend had gone to share the news with Nott and a couple girls in their year, then slipped out of the common room, making the trek up from the dungeons to the hospital wing.

It couldn't have been the same bottle that Draco had laced with poison. It just wasn't possible. That had been months ago, and nothing had ever come of it. He was simply being paranoid. Probably, the prat had been messing around trying to brew a potion he wasn't smart enough to make, and had accidentally poisoned himself like Zabini suggested. Or something equally foolish. Weasel wasn't exactly known for his intelligence.

Because there was no way it was the same poison Draco had used. That had been in a bottle of mead, and with a professor. Weasel wouldn't have access to it. If it were that same bottle, something would have happened before now. Surely.

Months had passed. He repeated the last bit to himself over and over again, but it did nothing to tramp down the unease gripping him, tying his gut into complicated knots.

It was hard to believe that it had already been two months since he'd been lying on the floor of his home being tortured by the Dark Lord. Months since he'd last seen Lily. Missing her was an ever present ache in his gut. A deep pit that throbbed relentlessly like the steady beating of his heart.

Time was rushing by. And he was running out of it. He did not wish to dwell on the consequences should he fail.

When Draco reached the hospital wing, he hovered just outside the door, trying to eavesdrop and discover what had happened to Weasel. Snippets floated out to him, but nothing he could make sense of. Mostly it was frantic, concerned whispers. Professor Snape and Dumbledore seemed to be inside, but they weren't saying anything useful.

"Come to gloat?" a voice asked hoarsely from behind him.

Draco spun, coming face-to-face with Granger. She looked awful. Swollen, red-rimmed eyes and face blotchy from crying. Why wasn't she inside with her little boyfriend?

Oh. Right. Weasel was trying to devour the Brown chit at every opportunity all over the school. He actually felt a bit bad for Granger. The two had obviously been mooning over each other for years - disgusting, really - then the idiot went and got with someone else. That had to be a blow to her.

Not that he really cared. Of course not. He had other things to worry about. Far more important, and pressing concerns.

"What happened, Granger?" he asked, attempting to keep his voice level. He didn't want her to know how much the answer meant to him, or offend her by thinking he was trying to use this against them as he had so many times in the past.

"Why do you even care?" she asked suspiciously, eyeing him critically.

Sometimes he hated how intelligent she was. Always, she saw far more than she should. Luckily for him, she was rather dismissive of him on a whole or she'd have put together what he was up to long before.

"Please, just tell me...It's important," he said carefully, almost beseechingly. Hopefully she'd spill before thinking about it any more closely.

The answer came from the hospital wing doors behind him. "He was poisoned," Weaselette said flatly, drawing his attention back to the door he'd been spying on. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she looked very much like he imagined a distraught Lily would look.

"How?" he asked impatiently. Was it really so difficult for people to give complete and thorough answers the first time?

"Slughorn gave him a glass of mead. We aren't sure how someone poisoned it," Weaselette explained, studying him as closely as Granger had moments earlier. He felt like a butterfly on display. It was unsettling, though not nearly as much as the knowledge that he was responsible for Lily's uncle's near death experience. "But you know, don't you?"

Draco ignored her, running through the facts in his mind. The Dark Lord had prepared the poison himself. It was possible Weasel could still die from ingesting it. If he'd not had an antidote quick enough.

"Will he live?" Draco demanded quietly, afraid to hear the answer.

"Yes," Granger replied firmly.

"What was he doing with Slughorn in the first place?" Draco mused wonderingly.

"He got into some candies spiked with Love Potion meant for Harry," Weaselette explained, still watching him closely. "They went to him for help."

Of all the luck. There was no way Draco could have predicted this happening. Or that Slughorn would have kept the bloody bottle, then gone and shared it with students!

Draco turned to go, having all the information he'd sought. What would Lily say when she found out? Could she ever forgive him?

"Malfoy! What are you playing at?" Potter called, having appeared beside the Weaselette.

He suspected that they'd been secretly seeing each other all year, trying to go unnoticed given the target on his back. And judging by the proximity with which he stood beside her, and his hand at her hip, they were, in fact, a couple. Good. That meant they'd eventually have Lily.

It was so strange to consider. Draco had always despised Potter. But now, knowing he was responsible for Lily, Draco found himself feeling a sort of gratitude towards the spectacled wizard who had always been his rival.

"Wouldn't you like to know, Potter," Draco muttered absently, his emotions too all over the place to come up with a better retort. He simply didn't have it in him to exchange barbs right then.

Draco had barely gone three steps when Potter startled him by grabbing his robes and shoving him roughly into the wall. Draco knocked against Potter's balled fists, but the wizard didn't budge.

"What are you up to?" Potter demanded harshly, shoving him again.

Potter scanned Draco's face, searching for some hint of a devious plot Draco was involved in. He almost snorted. As if Potter had any hope of figuring out the truth. The git was clueless.

Uncertainty flashed across Potter's face, and he seemed to be reassessing him. Draco knew he looked awful. His attempts to fix the cabinet were not going well, and often meant he went without sleep as he tried spell after spell to repair it. He was starting to feel rather desperate, and it was beginning to show.

"And still you think it's a game," Draco huffed, pushing Potter as hard as he could. He stumbled back, and Draco jerked free of his hold. "Shove off, Potter, and leave me be."

The blank page stared up at him. Same as it had for the last hour. Draco had no idea where to begin. How to explain. It was an honest accident. He'd figured the bottle was chucked out when no news came of Dumbledor's passing, someone - not the useless squib Filch, of course, but someone else having detected the poison after all.

The longer he stared, the more he heard the faint echoes of his screams while the Dark Lord tortured him. At least it had been him and not his mother.

Small mercy.

But who would suffer for this latest failure if the Dark Lord learned of it?

Draco was not a fan of pain and suffering. Why had his father put him in this position? Why would he ever follow someone that deployed such tactics on those loyal to him? It was barbaric and insane. But he didn't wish to die or cause his mother's death either. There was no escape for either of them.

Those screaming echoes were a reminder of why he'd done the despicable deed in the first place. But how to explain? How to make her understand?

Lily,

I didn't mean to hurt your uncle. Please believe me.

Yours,

Draco

It was all he could come up with. No excuses or explanations. Just a simple apology. Or at least the closest he was capable of producing.

A week later, he had her response. The time it took to receive the letter had been agonizing. It was the longest they'd gone in months between letters. He'd feared she'd finally written him off. Finally believed he'd never be that better person she'd once said she believed he could become.

When he read what she had to say, he realized the delay was because she was wrestling with as much guilt as he was. Possibly more - considering the identity of the unintended victim.

Draco,

I didn't warn anyone of the mead either, so I suppose I am just as much at fault.

Yours,

Lily

He'd not thought of it like that. It relieved some of the pressure from his shoulders, but at her expense. Which honestly wasn't any better. He didn't want her to suffer. She was so untouched by the current events. He wanted to keep her that way. A radiant beam of sunlight and happiness, untarnished by the cruelty and devastation he was embroiled in.

Lily represented hope. A better future. A shining star, and a beckoning dream.

Somehow, he doubted that it would be possible to preserve her if he kept up as he was. Especially if she remained as tied to him as she currently was.

Just before Easter Hols, Draco ran into Dumbledore in the hallway, quite literally as it were.

"Sir," Draco said politely, averting his eyes as he did. He couldn't bear to look into the face of the man he was trying to kill.

Instead, he focused on the man's blackened hand. It looked dead, withered as it was. What could have happened to cause it? Why was it not healed yet? His hand had been injured all year. Surely, if he was so powerful, he'd have been able to fix it by now.

How could Draco trust Dumbledore would be able to help if he couldn't even look after himself?

Dumbledore, for his part, seemed unaffected by both their run in and by Draco's unabashed curiosity. He shifted slightly when Draco made to move around him, so he waited, assuming so sort of lecture would be forthcoming. Dumbledore was always looking for excuses to punish the Slytherins. Or perhaps some strange, inane comment. That seemed the sort of thing the crackpot was prone to doing. Barking mad, he was.

"Are you in need of help, Mr. Malfoy?" the Headmaster asked quietly, voice ringing with sincerity.

Draco's head shot up to gape at the man. Dumbledore was smiling kindly, silently encouraging Draco to confide in him. It threw him. How could he say everything he longed to?

"What do you think?" he settled for snapping angrily instead, hoping it would either annoy the man into leaving him alone, or get him to confess what he already knew of Draco's plans.

Though he honestly had no idea what he'd do in the case of the latter happening. Merlin, would Dumbledore help him knowing he was trying to kill the man? There was no way anyone was that understanding. Simply no way.

"I think… Miss Potter is very like her father," Dumbledore said slowly, carefully. Draco opened his mouth, preparing to demand an explanation. How had he known about them? But Dumbledore continued, "In that she is an excellent judge of character."

"I'm not so sure about that," Draco muttered, hating himself and the position his father had put him in all over again. Bitter resentment welled up inside him.

The whole situation was so unfair. He'd wanted to be the best at everything when he started school. He'd tried, and tried. But it was never good enough. Someone was always better or favored more, and his father had been furious with him. For years he'd talked about how it would be different once the Dark Lord returned to power. But Draco felt even smaller and more inferior than ever before. And he hated it.

He hated the world and nearly everything in it. Including the old man standing in front of him pretending to care. Pretending, because his concern couldn't possibly be genuine. Not if he really did know the truth of it all.

"When you're ready then," Dumbledore sighed, sensing he'd get nothing more from Draco at this point in time.

Ready? For what? To ask for help, or believe he was decent enough to deserve it?

Because neither was as likely to happen as the other.

Draco slammed the bathroom door open. The satisfying crack when it hit the stone wall did nothing to alleviate his foul mood. His efforts to fix the cabinet had failed yet again. He'd been so sure this time that he'd succeed! He was down to a handful of weeks if he were to meet his deadline. Fourteen days to be precise.

He threw his bag, listening as it too smashed into the wall, the contents spilling out as it crashed down. That didn't help either, and now he'd have to sort everything back out. More wasted time when there was none to spare.

There'd been another letter from his Aunt Bella the day before. She'd been all too eager to remind him that time was running out. His eyes burned from the pressure of frustrated tears building up behind his eyes.

A noise had him hurrying into a stall. He did not want to have some pathetic first year seeming him cry. The last thing he needed was for rumors to start going around that he was weak and pitiful. That he'd been seen crying. He'd never live down the shame.

Irritated, Draco waited, listening to the person moving about as he recognized that he really was as pitiful as he feared others would believe him to be. He hated himself for it. But he was too terrified to do anything about it.

Every time he thought of trying to get out, his aunt would be there to remind him of the consequences should he fail. His mother. She was counting on him. He couldn't let anything else happen to her. Not after Greyback had permanently scarred her.

"What the bloody hell are these, Malfoy? Is this some sort of joke?" a hard voice yelled, demanding explanations.

Potter.

Angry and itching to have a go at someone, release some of the tension building in him, Draco shoved the stall door open and faced his long time nemesis.

He was ready to start hurling insults, but stopped abruptly when he saw that Potter was holding his letters from Lily. Draco had been afraid one of his dorm mates would find them in his room, so he always kept them close to keep her existence safe. In his bag and within easy reach if he needed to reread them when he was having a bad day. She never failed to lift his spirits.

"Why has my daughter written to you?" Potter hissed, waving the damning letters before him.

The handwriting probably as familiar to Harry as it was to Draco staring at them from the smooth, well-read pages. Draco felt irrational rage grip him at the sight of Potter touching his most treasured possessions.

"That's none of your business," Draco denied, watching the letters, worried Potter might damage them.

"Of course it is!" Potter hollered, irate.

"Give 'em back," he ordered darkly, glaring at the other wizard.

"No," Potter refused, meeting Draco's look with one equally frosty.

"Stupefy!" Draco yelled, planning to simply take them back from a stunned Potter.

"Protego!" Potter called, erecting a shield just in time to block Draco's spell.

Neither moved as the shield slowly dissipated. Each of them clutched their wands harder. Draco's palms turned slick with sweat, and he wondered if they were finally going to have it out. This fight had been coming on for six years now. Except, Draco found he was now at a disadvantage. He couldn't hurt Potter. Not without risking Lily.

It wasn't a fair fight.

The knowledge had Draco's lips curling up in a grimace as they continued to glare at one another. Draco, seething, silently dared Potter to try something. He wished the other wizard would. Draco knew he deserved whatever Potter did to him. For all the things he'd done, and to stop him from finishing the cabinet. Maybe it'd be his excuse for why he failed.

"Why is she writing to you? Have you threatened her?" Potter demanded, taking very deliberate breaths, as though trying to calm himself as he realized Draco wasn't planning to attack him.

That was the exact opposite of what Draco wanted to happen.

"And if I did? What would you do about it?" he taunted, trying to provoke Potter.

It worked. Potter looked enraged.

"Sectumsempra!" he screamed, aiming the unfamiliar spell directly at Draco's chest.