Hello readers!
Here I am again with a new chapter! I hope you like it as much as I do.
I want to thank my beta reader for helping me with this chapter. I would not have been able to do it without her!
Beta Readers:
- OxfordElise (link to her AO3 page: /users/OxfordElise/pseuds/OxfordElise), for helping me on this chapter as a beta reader. She is a fantastic writer and has an ongoing Dramione fanfic being posted on AO3 (link: /works/16995036/chapters/39951819 ) called "Better than Revenge" that I recommend you check out!
Otherwise, I also want to thank you all for reading and supporting my story!
And now, enjoy :)
Chapter 18 - Felix Felicis
The night draped itself heavily over Malfoy Manor, shrouding its walls in an ominous darkness that matched the turmoil within. Draco, weakened and trembling, descended the cold, stone staircase from his room, his mother, Narcissa, trailing closely behind him. The urgency to return to Hogwarts with the Potions professor gripping at him. They could not afford raising any suspicions with their prolonged absence from the school.
The weight of Draco's responsibilities hung over him like a leaden cloak, each step through the dimly lit corridors burdened by the gravity of his circumstances. As he reached the lower floor, the main entrance hall revealed a chilling assembly of Death Eaters. Among them stood the menacing figures of Antonin Dolohov and Fenrir Greyback, their presence casting a malevolent aura that crackled with tension.
Dolohov, with a twisted grin etched on his face, stepped forward, his sneer cutting through the heavy air. "If it isn't the one and only Draco Malfoy," he taunted. "I never got the chance to congratulate you on taking care of the mudblood. Quite the achievement, killing Potter's golden whore. I suppose I should be jealous. I always wanted to finish the job I started at the Department of Mysteries, or perhaps…have a bit of fun feeding her to Fenrir here."
The maniacal laughter of Dolohov reverberated across the marble walls, while Greyback displayed his fangs in a sinister smile, relishing the grotesque idea of devouring Hermione Granger. Narcissa, sensing her son's distress, placed a calming hand on his back. However, Draco, lost in the consuming darkness of the moment, barely registered the touch. His focus remained on the two looming figures before him.
Dolohov's taunts pierced Draco's ears, each word an arrow aimed at the core of his being. Anger surged through him, a fiery response to the venomous mockery. The desire to retaliate, to snap Dolohov's neck, simmered beneath the surface, but Draco held his composure, mindful of the dangerous ground he navigated.
Severus Snape, breaking the tense tableau, intervened with a voice like cold steel. "Draco, we must return to Hogwarts, at once." Snape's hand found its place on Draco's shoulder, offering both guidance and a stern reminder of the peril they faced. Draco, tearing his gaze away from the Death Eaters, nodded in acquiescence.
"Yes, Professor," Draco replied, his voice measured. Casting a last, lingering look at his mother, he walked out of the manor with Snape, his eyes fixed straight ahead. As they surpassed the wards, they apparate back to the castle, leaving Malfoy Manor behind, still shrouded in the darkness that clung to its every stone.
In the clandestine shadows beyond the outskirts of Hogwarts grounds, Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape materialized, their return unseen by the unsuspecting eyes of most. However, unbeknownst to them, keen observers lingered in the periphery. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, concealed beneath the cloak of invisibility, stood sentinel near the castle's entrance, vigilant and patient.
The Marauder's Map, a tool of both mischief and revelation, lay unfolded in Harry's hands. Its magical ink traced the movements of every soul within Hogwarts, and today, it had been their guiding compass. Harry and Ron, their gazes fixed on the unfolding drama, had tracked Draco's every step, their suspicions growing with each covert maneuver.
As the first light of dawn painted the sky, the duo watched with unwavering determination as Draco and Snape entered the castle. Their sense of urgency and secretive demeanor had not escaped the two friends' notice, the decision to unveil the truth becoming an unshakable resolve in Harry and Ron's minds.
"Malfoy and Snape leaving the castle in the dead of night and returning at daybreak is undeniable proof that they're up to no good," Harry declared, the gravity of the situation etched on his face. "If Malfoy is involved with the Death Eaters, we need to put an end to whatever he's planning."
Ron, mirroring Harry's resolve, nodded in agreement. "I always knew Malfoy was evil. If he had anything to do with Hermione's death, I'll kill the ferret myself."
"Snape, too, is showing his true colors. We can't waste any time; we need to talk to Dumbledore," Harry added, his face hardening.
The following day, Harry and Ron, armed with their suspicions, sought an audience with the Headmaster. The anticipation of revealing their discoveries simmered beneath their skin as they navigated the winding corridors leading to Dumbledore's office.
Upon reaching the gargoyle-guarded entrance, Harry spoke the password, and the spiral staircase revealed itself, carrying them to the chamber where Dumbledore awaited, seated at his desk, a warm smile on his face.
"Professor Dumbledore," Harry began, his voice edged with concern, "we've been watching Malfoy and Snape. Something's not right. They left the castle last night and returned this morning, and we think they might be up to something."
Ron, his jaw set with determination, added, "It's not just a hunch, Professor. Malfoy's been acting off for a long while now, disappearing to who knows where."
Dumbledore, his piercing blue eyes twinkling with wisdom, listened attentively. However, instead of the expected gravity in his response, a serene calmness enveloped him. Folding his hands on his desk, he regarded the young duo with a measured gaze.
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore began, his voice carrying an air of tranquility that belied the urgency of the situation, "I appreciate your vigilance and your concern for the well-being of our school. However, I assure you, there is nothing to worry about."
Harry, taken aback by Dumbledore's apparent dismissal, insisted, "But sir, Malfoy could be a death eater! Shouldn't there be an investigation at least?"
Dumbledore's expression remained unwavering. "Draco Malfoy is a troubled boy, but he is not a bad person. As for Severus Snape, my trust in him is absolute."
Ron, frustration etched on his face, interjected, "With all due respect, Professor, we can't just ignore this! Malfoy might be planning something terrible!"
Dumbledore, leaning back in his chair, fixed them with a gentle gaze. "I assure you, dear boys, I have taken measures to ensure the safety of Hogwarts. Sometimes, appearances may be deceiving. Young Mr. Malfoy has my permission to leave the castle while escorted by Professor Snape for personal reasons that I am not in liberty of sharing."
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, their concern deepening. Dumbledore's reassurance did little to alleviate the nagging feeling that they were missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. Determined to make their point, Harry pressed on, "But, Professor, what if Malfoy is involved in something dark? We can't just stand by and let it happen."
Dumbledore's eyes, though still gentle, held a steely resolve. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, I understand your concerns, and I commend you for your loyalty to your fellow students. However, I must insist that your worries are misplaced."
Ron, his frustration bubbling to the surface, blurted out, "But sir, we saw them! They were acting all mysterious, like they were plotting something. And Malfoy... he's probably involved in Hermione's death!"
Dumbledore's gaze softened at the mention of Hermione Granger, acknowledging the pain etched on Ron's face. "The tragic loss of Miss Granger is one that has gripped at the heart and conscience of us all. And while I sympathize with your anger and grief, Mr. Weasley, it does not justify you jumping to conclusions without concrete evidence."
Harry, feeling a sense of helplessness, implored, "Professor, we just want to protect the school and everyone in it. If Malfoy is up to something, we need to know."
Dumbledore rose from his chair, his demeanor kind yet unyielding. "Harry, Ron, the safety of Hogwarts is my utmost priority, I assure you. Trust in the choices I make for the well-being of this institution. Now, I must attend to other matters. If there is nothing else, you may return to your studies."
Disheartened but with no other recourse, Harry and Ron left Dumbledore's office, the stone gargoyle shifting back to close the entrance behind them. As they walked back into the corridor, uncertainty lingered in the air, and they couldn't shake the feeling that something ominous loomed on the horizon, despite the Headmaster's words.
Draco was thoroughly knackered, as if a herd of hippogriffs had stampeded over him during the night. With just a couple of hours of shuteye, the bustling activities of his Slytherin roommates yanked him from his slumber. It was morning, and he had a Potions class to attend.
He slowly and painfully extricated himself from the embrace of his bed, each movement sending waves of pain through his muscles. The effects of the Cruciatus curse still clung to his body, and he was aware that his hands would be trembling for at least another week. He reached for the pepper-up potions he had wisely laid out on his bedside table, downing its contents as if his very existence depended on it—which, in the context of maintaining functionality as a student, it undeniably did.
Once the potion kicked in, Draco got dressed and trudged towards the side of the dungeons where the Potions classroom awaited. Today's session was slated to be an irritating one, combining Slytherin and Gryffindor sixth years. While the prospect irked Draco, the effects of the Cruciatus Curse were still fresh, and he doubted his ability to engage in any skirmish. He could not say the same for the two-thirds of the Golden trio that will be present.
As he entered the classroom, Draco couldn't help but notice the way Potter and Weasley's eyes were shooting daggers at him. He really did not have patience for this today.
"Draco! Come take the seat next to mine, we can be partners today." Pansy exclaimed, attempting to grab his attention.
He gave her a small smile and nodded, moving to her station to sit next to her, dropping his books on the table.
"Oi mate, I've barely seen you since Hogsmeade. Where have you been?" Blaise said, his eyes narrowing at him from the station behind theirs.
Draco turned around and gave him a shrug "Just been busy."
His friend rolled his eyes "At least tell me you'll be attending the Quidditch match on Friday. You've ditched your position this year, but at least come cheer us on!"
Draco's eyes darted to the stone floor, unable to meet Blaise's'. He knew the team had suffered since he had stopped playing as their seeker. A pang of guilt gripped his chest as he recalled how Theo and Blaise had stood up for him when his fellow Slytherins had confronted him in the common room after the team's first loss this season. He deserved to be blamed, but his best mates threatened to hex anyone who would say it. He wished he could tell Blaise that he would be there for the next match, knowing that it's the least he could do after being afforded such kindness by him, but that would be a lie.
Before he could answer his friend, Professor Horace Slughorn filled the room. "Settle down everyone. Settle down. Today I have a rather challenging exercise for you all. You will be attempting to brew the "Draught of the Living Dead!"
Whispers of annoyance erupted all around the classroom. The draught of the living dead was a notoriously difficult potion to brew for anyone who was not a proficient potioneer. While Draco was quite competent at Potions, some may even say he was outstanding, today he did not feel as confident as he normally would to attempt such a complex potion.
"Now, now…you have all the instructions on page ten in your textbook. And, to make matters more interesting, he or she who manages the best brew will be awarded a prize!" Slughorn shuffled towards a stand which held a small vial with a clear liquid inside "Can anyone tell me what this potion is?"
Draco knew what it was. He had seen his godfather make it before. It was 'liquid luck'. Normally he would have liked to flaunt his knowledge and attempt to respond before a certain Hermione Granger would. But Hermione was not here, and his arm was throbbing too much for him to attempt to raise it.
"No one?" The Professor looked around, hoping to find one student who could provide the correct answer, but none did. "Such a shame. It's a brilliant elixir called 'Felix Felicis', more commonly known as 'liquid luck'. Extremely difficult to make, catastrophic should you get it wrong. However, if successfully brewed, one sip is enough to lead you to success in any endeavor!" Slughorn's eyes shone as he continued "Whoever performs best today shall leave with this vial!"
Excited chatter filled the space as students rushed to their stations to begin preparation.
"Only once has a student prepared a draught of a quality acceptable enough to claim this prize. Nonetheless, good luck to you all. You may begin!" Slughorn announced with a smile, heading to sit behind his desk.
Draco, despite his physical exhaustion, felt a spark of determination flicker within him. The prospect of winning the vial of Felix Felicis appealed to him more than he would openly admit. In the turbulent times he found himself in, a little luck seemed like a welcome ally. As he meticulously gathered the ingredients, he couldn't help but glance sideways at the Golden Trio, particularly at Harry Potter, who was already engrossed in the brewing process.
The familiar cauldron bubbled before him, emitting a mesmerizing combination of scents that indicated the potion's progress. Draco focused on the intricate steps, his movements deliberate and precise. However, the tremor in his hands and the weariness that clung to him threatened to compromise his usual finesse.
Pansy, noticing Draco's silent struggle, whispered encouraging words. "You've got this, Draco. Don't let anyone outshine you." Her support, though appreciated, couldn't dispel the internal conflict Draco grappled with. He needed this victory, not really for the sake of winning, but to gain a semblance of assurance in what he considered a doomed endeavor.
Across the room, Harry Potter displayed a level of expertise that irked Draco. He watched as Potter effortlessly measured ingredients, stirred the potion, and conducted the complex incantations. The world felt askew—Potter excelling in Potions was a disconcerting aberration.
As the brewing continued, Draco couldn't shake the thought that the world had truly gone mad if Harry Potter was on the verge of winning the coveted vial. The potion's fragrance enveloped the room, mingling with the underlying tension. Students exchanged glances, aware that today's session bore higher stakes than the usual academic competition.
When the time came to present their finished concoctions, Draco cautiously awaited the professor to come inspect his cauldron, his eyes briefly meeting those of his fellow students. The moment of judgment loomed, and his pulse quickened. Slughorn, however, maintained an air of suspense as he inspected each station.
Finally, the moment arrived. Slughorn, with a gleam in his eye, declared, "And the winner of today's challenge is none other than Harry Potter!" A collective murmur swept through the room, disbelief etched on the faces of Slytherins and Gryffindors alike.
Bloody hell. How in Merlin's name did Potter outdo me in Potions? Potter?!
The irony wasn't lost on him, and a mix of frustration and resignation settled in his chest. The elusive luck, represented by the vial of Felix Felicis, slipped through his fingers, leaving Draco to confront the harsh reality of a world where even his simplest expectations were upended.
As Slughorn presented the vial to Harry, who accepted it with an excited nod, Draco's gaze lingered on the liquid luck that could have been his. The fleeting sense of control he sought remained elusive, and the daunting uncertainties of the days ahead pressed upon him once again.
The chill of the night air wrapped around Draco like a cloak as he stood alone in the Astronomy Tower, his hands tightly clutching the cold metal railing. Moonlight bathed the darkened expanse, casting ethereal shadows that danced at his feet.
With a heavy heart, Draco retrieved a folded piece of parchment from his pocket, an ominous feeling sending shivers down his spine. It was a letter from his mother, delivered earlier via owl during dinner at the Great Hall. Dread gnawed at him as he hesitated to unfold it, knowing that whatever news it held would only add to his mounting troubles. But he couldn't delay the inevitable forever.
Taking a deep breath, Draco unfolded the parchment, revealing a blank page. His pulse quickened as he carefully pricked his finger with the tip of a quill, allowing a small droplet of blood to fall onto the paper. In an instant, the crimson liquid expanded and transformed into written ink, forming the words that bore the urgency of Narcissa's message.
Draco,
The Dark Lord grows increasingly impatient with your progress. He demands tangible results, evidence of your unwavering loyalty. If significant attempts are not shown soon, he plans to summon you again to answer for your tardiness, and this time, he says no mercy will be shown.
I fear for your safety, my son. The stakes are higher than ever, and we cannot afford any missteps. The cabinet remains our priority, but if progress stalls, you must find alternative ways to demonstrate your allegiance.
Stay strong, my dear boy, and be cautious.
With all my love,
Your mother.
The weight of his mother's words bore down on Draco like an avalanche, the realization that the Dark Lord's patience was wearing thin sending a surge of anger and desperation coursing through him. He had failed to make significant progress on the Vanishing Cabinet since his last audience with Voldemort, and now the threat of another summons hung over him like a dark cloud.
Frustration bubbled within him as he replayed the events of recent weeks in his mind. Snape's silence regarding Dumbledore's fate only added to his unease, leaving Draco feeling abandoned and alone in the treacherous landscape of his duties.
With a clenched jaw and a determined glint in his eyes, Draco made a silent vow to himself. He would not allow fear to paralyze him any longer. If Snape wouldn't provide the answers he sought, then he would have to act alone. It was time to take control of his destiny, to prove his worth to the Dark Lord and protect his family at all costs.
Suddenly, his thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Hermione Granger's face, her cheeks wet with tears, her warm brown eyes sparkling with empathy. A pang of guilt pierced his heart as he recalled their conversation during winter break, her earnest plea echoing in his ears.
"Draco," her voice resonated in his mind, soft yet resolute. "There has to be a way out of this. We can't let him force you into becoming a murderer."
The memory went through his core like lightning, his eyes shutting tightly against the onslaught of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He could feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he refused to let them fall.
Exasperation boiled like a cauldron reaching its boiling point. An angry cry escaped his lips, torn between his duty to his family and the yearning in his heart to heed Hermione's plea. He knew that by following through with the Dark Lord's orders, he was damning himself, risking not only her affection but, more importantly, her trust.
The realization hit him like a blow to the chest, the weight of his choice bearing down on him like a mountain threatening to crush him. He hated that he had to disappoint her, to prove her friends right in their belief that he was nothing more than a death eater, a monster in the making.
For a moment, Draco stood there, his chest heaving with the effort to contain the storm raging within him. But as the moon cast its silver light upon him, he knew that he had no choice but to forge ahead, to tread the path laid out before him, no matter how arduous it may be.
And there it is!
What did you think of this chapter? I would love to know, so please leave me your reviews!
Thank you all for your support, and many thanks once again to my wonderful beta reader!
Until next time!
Cleo26
