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Chapter 1 : A Potion Made For A Malfoy
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“What was that?” the boy asks.
Her eyes spread wide, and she weasels her way out of the room. I flatten myself to the opposite wall, stroked by the silky embrace of the surrounding shadows.
“Are you sure?” By the sound of his voice, he's scared.
“Everything is perfect, Emoz,” she whispers, still darting looks in case, “Come on. Be a man, and show me your tattoos.”
I can't bear it any longer. I take a step forward, then stop. No. Why should I run in there, in a stereotypical frenzy? Revenge is a dish that's best served cold, or so the saying goes. I smile, frown, glower in their direction, and run back to the common room. I have a lot of planning, and no time to waste. Stuffing my wand back into the pocket of my jeans, I'm racing down the corridor, raising portraits from their sleep, glancing back in case the cheaters saw me. Nope. I'm safe. Anger burns, flaming my insides, and incensing them with a hungry spirit. Ginny is going to pay for what she did. They both are. It won't be violent or anything like that, but it will be remembered. Strange as it is, I know exactly what to do. It's going to be weird, and someone isn't going to like it, (including me) but hopefully it will stir things up a lot and stirring things up a lot is exactly what I want. They deserve it, slinking around me, making me feel as if everything is perfect, when it was far from it. Emoz was a friend of mine. I took pity on him because nobody else did, and a relationship grew. Now though? We're finished.
Luckily, (for what I have in mind), it's potions next. I smile knowingly, restraining, and taming my pentup anger. I play back what I saw in my mind, fingers flexing with furious intent. I want to kill them, kill them both. Trying not to get angry isn't working.
Ron shoulders me as he walks in the common room, accidentally knocking my textbook to the floor. “Sorry mate. Don't wanna be late for Snape!”
I give a nod of understanding, and follow almost with a casual, non caring air. I don't care if I am late for his class. Nothing will shock me after what I saw. When I do arrive, everyone's in their seats, except for someone I have just seen strolling in. A certain someone who (unbenknowst to my plotting thoughts) is going to be the main driver in my plan. My target is a blonde haired boy, with silver eyes and a slanting sneer. He enters the room with an arrogant swagger, trailing his look over Pansy Parkinson's ink sheen hair.
I exchange a glance with Hermione, who stares back in suspicion. Shrugging, I get out my books, place my quill on the table, and wait. All I am going to need is time. The potions cupboard gleams invitingly in the light from a candle, and I watch, as the door swings back and forth, caught in a dusty breeze. Snape isn't here yet. Why hasn't he come? It doesn't matter though. I need as much distraction as possible, and Gryffindors and Slytherins fighting over what cauldrons to take is just enough. Crouching down to the ground, I sneak quietly up to the cupboard, dash behind one of the doors, and glance in. I know I have to be quick, but everyone's too preoccupied in whatever it is they're doing. Unless the potions teacher doesn't spot me, I'm fine. Scanning the shelves, my eyes trace the outline of a small, bright blue bottle. Yes! Just the concotion! Hermione is giving me a very unclean look this time, as I duck down, stuff the vial into my robes, and sit back onto my seat innocently as though I've done nothing but blink.
Snape sweeps in then, his long, heavy cloak trailing the floor like a giant bat. As usual, his shrew black eyes hone on me. “Potter. Good of you to join us.” His smile elasticises. “Although it is a pity that you could not be bothered to collect your cauldron, like everyone else. Is it too early in the morning?” He bears his teeth. “Just because you are a celebrity to the rest of the world, does not mean I have the same views. To me, you are like all of my other students,” he pauses, “although of course, contradicted by the immortal difference of they actually care what grades they achieve, and by so doing, shall be awarded with the highest of them.”
Inside, I'm screaming. I am really really tempted to tell him where to stuff it, but instead, I do nothing. “Of course, sir. You're always right.” My voice is oozing with contemptible sarcasm. Do I care? Not in the least.
However, from the way Snape's looking at me, it's clear he does. “Perhaps we should purchase you a throne, Mr. Potter?” he sneers, striding to the front of the classroom, “After all, you do consider yourself loyalty. Do you not?” There's a murmur of guffaws from the Slytherins, and I sigh. It's the same every time. Hermione tuts under her breath, and Ron lets out a large yawn from the other side of the desk.
Snape disregards the commotion, and picks up a white chunk of chalk. “Now,” he says smoothly, “Who can tell me the exact ingredients of a Flutterby Mix?”
Hermione's hand shoots into the air. I smile, getting ready for her answer. Some things never change.
Trudging up the stairs, I think back to the lesson. I am so glad it has passed. I don't think I could have taken another digging jibe from Snape. Feeling the vial in my robes, I hurry the pace. Knowing it's the right potion is one thing, but wondering what to do with it is another. How am I going to give this to him, without Malfoy knowing? Nearly Headless Nick floats past, and I'm at the top of the corridor. Glancing back, I make sure that nobody can see, and lift out the bottle, staring at it with a mixture of puzzlement and wonder. Is this really going to work? Are the ingredients already stirred in? Checking the label, my suspicions are calmed. Yes. They're all here. Wearing the biggest grin I have worn in ages, I carry on up to the Fat Lady.
“Hello dear,” she announces, “Password?”
“R . . . .”
“Red Newts,” a bossy voice continues, stopping my sentence. Hermione. The portrait swings open. We scuttle through, and straight away, she snatches my arm. “What did you steal from Snape's potion cupboard?” Automatically, both hands fly to her hips. “ . . . . and don't even think to lie. I saw you. The guilt was written all over your face. As soon as you sat at the desk, you stuffed it away.” She frowns. “Well?”
“Listen, I, I'm not going to lie to you, but,” I say, sinking into the cosy armchair by the fire, “I just need to do this. I saw something today, something that will change my perspective on life forever.” To my surprise, tiny tears start moistening the corners of my eyes, and I cough, quickly banishing them from existence. Why the hell am I being so immature? Ginny cheated on me, so what? I'm going to get her back. The orange crackling of the flames almost comfort, as I watch each flicker and sparkle like exploding sequin bombs. Hermione comes over to sit by me. I pretend not to notice. If she picks up that I'm upset, she'll start asking for more, and I really am not in the mood for explaining that I saw Ginny cheat on me with another man. The anger is stabbing again, but I bite it back.
“Harry, what happened?” The eternal question, the ironic response.
Hermione purses her lips. “Look, I understand if you don't want to tell me, but equally, I hate seeing you like this.” “Is there anything I can do?” Squirming with the guilt, I turn my face away. “Whatever it is, whatever has happened, everything's going to be alright, ok? It can't be that bad.” Her expression brightens. “I know. Why don't we go and see Ginny? She'll cheer you up, and then maybe you two can have a moonlit dinner or something?”
I shake my head, the mention of that girl a spike in my heart. “No, I'm tired. Besides, she doesn't know I'm in a mood. I wouldn't want to bring her down too.” Ow, it hurt to say that. Hermione is observing me again, picking up, and putting down a book, unsure of how I'll react. I've had enough. Bed will be a good escape away from the pain. Smiling softly, I get up from the chair, and walk towards the door.
“Oh, goodnight Harry,” she says, with a wave.
“Night. Look, please don't worry about me, ok? I can look after myself. Well,” I add, with a knowing snigger, “just about.” She giggles, and flicks to page one. Once outside in the dark corridor, I decide where I'm to go. The boys dormitory does sound appealing, and the cuddliness of a warm, fresh pillow sends me into a relapse. I'm about to head up the steps when the sound of students swearing catches my attention. Straining my ears, I make out the owners of the voices, and then I realise it's only one. Malfoy.
“Shit,” he shouts, “Potions club, now. Crabbe, Goyle, meet me outside the Great Hall in twenty minutes.” Footsteps sound, and I can hear him running into the downstairs corridor.
The Great Hall? Surely they'll be serving a meal there? The Feast was long gone, and Malfoy hadn't been present, so . . . . eyeing the bottle in my clasped hand, a mist of an idea skids into my conscience. The potion, drop the potion into his drink . . . . but would it work? Wouldn't it be easier to wait until the morning? Flashes of Ginny's lips, the legs of Emoz, her stretched out moans . . . . and I'm already running; speeding as fast as the trimmest cheetah. Draco slips in through the doors, and I tense, just as he enters. Did he see me? No. Not possible. He was looking the other way, how could he have? Shame I don't have my Invisibility cloak. There must be another way of attending that club, just what? I assume Snape's leading it. Why would he possibly let me in? Racking my brains, I stay a metre away from the double oak doors, thinking. The only way I can get in there is if I go round the back of the Hall, and tiptoe in. Got it. Excitement roaring me forward, I race to the other entrance, make sure nonone's looking, and creak open the door. As before, everyone's too engulfed in their own activities and I'm not seen. Snape's pointing at a picture of some sort, and I spot my chance. Keeping to the floor, and crossing the Hall with timed perfection, I arrive on the mirror side of Malfoy's table. Luckily, noone is sitting opposite. His back is turned. I strike. Unscrewing the bottle cap, I raise my hand, tip the potion into his (what looks to be) pumpkin juice, and glance up, just to be sure that Snape can't see what I'm doing behind Malfoy's back. I'm in luck. Until . . . .
“Sorry we're late, Professor,” comments Blaise Zabini, marching over to where Draco is sitting. Shit! I can't believe I'm going to do this, but there's no other option! I have to stay under the table! Curled up as small as a baby hedgehog, I return the vial back to my pocket, closing my eyes. Great. What a mess I've got myself into.
Blaise stretches his legs, luckily missing mine by an inch. “What's he been saying, Drakes?”
I start to laugh, then remember where I am. “Oh, all measure of things, Zabini; including how to poison someone with only the horns of a Greenback Lizard.”
“Wow,” Blaise utters. “That is pretty cool.”
“Indeed,” Draco replies, “I was hoping I could test it out on one of our pet peacocks, before moving on to much more exciting people.”
The two boys must have shared a look then, as all went silent, and Snape lectured them for rudeness. That's a first. Malfoy kicks out his shoes, and I move just in time. Prat. Then, the sound of chinking can be heard, and I realise that the sour faced Slytherin is going to drink the juice, the potion. Yes. I can hear him. He's gulping it down, swallowing it all. It might have been an incredibly risky venture this evening, but it looks as though it was worth it. Quietly celebrating, I wait until the club is over. Snape rounds off the session by explaining the method of how to hypnotise a shrunken head, and all the members exit the Hall. Draco and Blaise are the last, but eventually, they leave the table, laughing and sniggering. I wait until their shadows flood the corner, and . . . .
“Potter?” Snape's voice is light, and filled with a bitter sarcasm, “Why were you currently under the table, for the entire procession of a potions club, run by me?”
Shit. “I was looking for my wand, sir. I think I dropped it under here an hour ago.”
“I see, and why would you do so, underneath the Slytherin table?” He's loving this, and I know it.
“Because . . . . Nott took my wand, sir, and he never gave it back,” I lie, watching his reaction, “I tried to search for it earlier, but I was in class so I couldn't.”
“A likely story,” he snorts. “Get out of my sight. I will find out what you were doing, and when I do, it will be detention for you Potter, for a whole year. Perhaps then that will make you realise that unwanted eavesdropping is not permitted within these walls.” He turns, and quick steps out of the Hall. 'Oh well. At least Malfoy hadn't seen, and even if he had, well, it wouldn't matter . . . . not anymore.' Thinking of what the potion could be doing to him even now, I smile, returning to the common room.
“What are you looking so down in the dumps for?” Ron's question circles my mind, before I think of an answer.
“Oh, um, Quidditch. My team are doing so badly.”
Hermione gives me another one of those famous, 'You know, you shouldn't be lying to him' scowls, but draws her gaze down to her book again. Clearly, it's more interesting then what's going on with me at the minute. Privately, I agree. “Have you done your homework for tommorrow? The essay on the truth and lies of the future?” Oh great. Maybe not. She's making a point, but what can I do? Just jump in with, 'Oh yeah, by the way, Ron, what I just said to you then is not even correct. My favourite team have stopped playing Quidditch now! I'm down in the dumps because Ginny cheated on me. I know, funny right? Plus, get this, I snuck Malfoy some potion that will make him think he's gay, so that your sister will think I'm with him!'
Rehearsing it in my head sounded even more ridiculous then saying it aloud. How does Hermione even know that's why I'm unhappy? She just can't. I haven't told her. Placing the book down on the table, she sighs. “Right. I'm going to bed; busy day tommorrow.” Throwing me a quelling look, I roll my eyes. She has no right to be mad at me. I haven't even told her what's gone on, but maybe that's why. Ron can tell something's up too, but I just don't know if I can say.
Yet, they're my best friends . . . .
Ok, so this is a new story I'm starting. I am still on my little, what I like to call 'subconscious gap', but I found myself once again spinnning out another tale. 'Of Jealous Kisses and Dangerous Games' is a short story, (excitedly, my first ever one) and naturally, I would love to hear what you think. Please, don't be afraid to tell me what worked, didn't work, and I apologise now for the complete weird thing of Harry being stuck under the Slytherin table. It had to happen though, otherwise the story wouldn't have worked. (Well, ok, what I mean is, you wouldn't have had Snape's little threat at the end!) lol. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the story and any questions, feel free to owl post.
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