She's back
Title: Oh Bugger
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Author: Buttercup
Contact: Buttercupgaud@aol.com
Rating: PG-13. Mentions of mildish violence.
Warnings: Not really.
Concrit: Bring it.
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, they belong to J.K Rowling.
Summery: Just a little ficlet. Draco comes over all funny in potions.
Draco’s hands moved with ease, the knife in his hand felt familiar and warm. He began to slice the toad on the board in front of him into thin strips. As he was looking down, his head swam violently. Everything seemed to distort as though a heat-wave had developed between him and the desk. His head swam again and he blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. Then he was staring at the knife in his hand. It was a family heirloom. Nothing special really, everything he owned seemed to be. Sort of like one of the Weasels. Just a more expensive hand-me-down. It was silver, of course, inlaid with emeralds, naturally, and charmed to never go blunt, usefully. The torch-light caught the knife as he lifted it up and it shone hurting his eyes. Everything had slowed, it felt unreal, almost dream-like. The necklace his father had so casually handed to him on station suddenly burnt white-hot. He hissed in pain pulled at it through his robe, trying to get it away from his skin. Then, just like that, everything was back to normal. But, no, it wasn’t. The class was staring at him, the corners of his vision were blurred but after a few seconds a couple of the girls screamed. He looked down. There was blood spilled on the floor, pooling neatly under his desk. Little rivers of it were running away in the space between the flag-stones. He blinked, wondered why people were still staring at him. Then he realised that the blood was probably his. Everything went black just as he saw Potter running towards him.
Draco blinked. Everything was hurting. His stomach felt like there was a hippogriff sitting on it, and the rest of him felt like it had been hit by the Night Bus. His head was throbbing dimly and his stomach was churning ominously. “Bugger,” he muttered.
“Quite,” the voice sounded both annoyed and relieved.
Draco tried to open his eyes. The light was blinding, so he shut them again. He tried to breathe in but his stomach sent sharp tendrils of pain throughout his body in protest. “Bugger,” he muttered forcefully.
“Quite.” That was actually fairly annoying. Draco opened his eyes, the light was still painfully bright. Had they brought him to the surface of the sun or something? His mind fritted around a few of the possible incredibly bright places he could be before the frankly terrifying figure of an annoyed Snape loomed over him. The only good thing about this, being that he blocked out some of the light. “And how are we feeling after out little episode?”
‘Our little episode’? That didn’t sound good. He tried to sit up, but absolutely every single part of him had something rather forceful to say about that. He sank back down to the pillow and screwed his eyes shut, willing everything to stop spinning and the pain to stop. “Pain relief potion?” he managed to croak.
“That wouldn’t be wise, under the circumstances,” Snape said, he had sat back down beside the bed. His fingers were steepled under his chin, and he was looking at Draco intently. “What do you remember?”
“Nothing,” Draco replied, he’d have pouted if he could have mustered the energy. He hurt, and his head felt like it might be full of cotton wool. Why was Snape bothering him with stupid questions?
“Try harder,” Snape said. He didn’t raise his voice, but there was a cold edge to it. It was the voice hat had been terrifying first years for years. Draco felt oddly compelled to answer.
“Just…” he strained, trying to get his mind to focus through the cotton wool. “My knife, I was looking at it. My necklace hurt. That’s it. And there being blood everywhere. It was mine, I think it was mine… was it?”
Snape was quiet for a moment, just watching him. He nodded slowly as he answered, “You stabbed yourself.”
“I tried to kill myself? In the middle of Potions? In front of everyone?” And him, a Malfoy. The family would never live it down. “Why?”
“I was rather hoping you’d be able to answer that.” Snape paused to give him another intent look. Like that would make Draco suddenly remember everything. Was it possible that Snape had always been this annoying and Draco had simply never noticed before? “But, no,” Snape continued before Draco could reach any definitive conclusion, “I don’t believe that you did attempt to kill yourself. You very neatly managed to miss everything vital. Lots of blood, a good mess, but nothing life-threatening once we managed to get you to the infirmary.”
Draco lay still for a few moments trying to process this. It still didn’t make any sense on his third run through. “I don’t understand,” he said, “I was cutting up a toad and then everything went… sort of… I don’t know, like a dream.”
“I believe you were cursed.” This seemed so blindingly obvious that Draco didn’t feel Snape in anyway deserved the self-satisfied look he had on his face. “A curse that was set to trigger at a certain point. I was hoping that you might be able to tell me what might have changed.” Okay, that was a slightly more sophisticated hypothesis than Draco had first thought. “I’ve ruled out a potion, and Professor Flitwick is analysing your necklace and knife. I, however, believe that they are somehow jointly cursed to work in unison upon activation. The necklace, I believe to be cursed to harness your mind to another’s will and the knife, your body. I am simply unable to conclusively guess at their trigger. Which is where I require your input.”
Draco considered telling Snape that no one liked a smart-arse but he suspected that the Professor already knew this, and liked it that way, too. “I… haven’t the foggest.” Draco sighed and closed his eyes.
“This was an attempt on your life, Draco, I think you should take it at least a little seriously.” The use of his first name made Draco start a little. Snape seemed annoyed again, but he thought he might also be able to detect the smallest amount of concern too. “This was a warning. If you really do not know about what, then there is every chance you may trigger it again. You may not be so lucky next time.”
Draco was feeling sick again. “I really don’t know.” He sighed, and tried to think.
Potions had been as easy as ever. They’d been making antidotes again. Crabbe had been next to him, taking it in turns to curse and ask Draco for help. He remembered looking up and finding that Weasel had been doing the exact same thing with Granger. He’d smiled at that. He’d considered pointing out to Crabbe that was behaving just like the blood-traitor in front of him. That was until he saw that Granger was moaning at Weasel but then helping him anyway, which was precisely what he’d been doing. The idea of being anything like that little mud-blood had put him off the idea. He’d immediately leant over and dumped the rest of his rose-thorns into Crabbe’s potion making it hiss and turn to a think, cement-like mixture. Crabbe didn’t have it in him to do anything more than glower at him. Draco had smirked back and turned back to his own thorns. He was about to move onto his toad when something had made him look up. Potter was laughing. There wasn’t any sunlight in the dungeons, so it must have been the flickering of the torches. The light had caught Potter’s hair and suddenly Draco had felt something. It was a stirring, something like butterflies in his stomach. He’d shaken it off, tried to carry on with his potion, but his eyes kept being pulled up towards the boy in front of him.
But, there really wasn’t anything there could have triggered such a reaction. So, when he glanced over at Potter the previous night in the changing rooms flashed into his mind. Potter pressing against him in the otherwise deserted showers. That didn’t mean anything. Even if the night after that when they’d met in the little broom-closest near the kitchens was playing over and over in his head, as tried to concentrate on the toad. Draco could have hexed Potter into oblivion on either of those occasions, and he’d wanted to. That was obvious; it’s what he’d wanted to do since the first year. It was as a reliable feeling as the sun being hot. The kissing and stuff could be really seen as part of the plan; lure him somewhere privet then have his wicked way with him. It was just that the kissing had been a little…distracting. But, if that hadn’t caused him to go postal stab himself with the family silver, why did him just looking in potions? Okay, the last couple of times they’d gotten together they’d been more talking than he would normally prefer. To be sure, he’d come to the conclusion of late that Voldemort was completely barmy and not worth following to the local chip shop, let alone into a revolution. Although, now he thought about it, this was hardly a new thought. If it weren’t for his father Draco would have nothing to with the old fool. Voldemort and Dumbledore were pretty much interchangeable as far as Draco could see. Both ready to get other people killed over nothing. Over politics.
Draco could have killed Harry any time in last month; sure he’d chosen to stick his tongue down his throat instead, but that was part of his plan. A sense of security was essential. There was nothing different in the look he’d given the other boy in potions. The butterflies, they were just a variation on the squirming, seething hatred he’d always felt. It wasn’t as though he felt any different about Harry now… Alright, that was another thing. He had started referring to Potter as Harry when he wasn’t thinking about it. But, that was only because the prat liked it better that way and got huffy and Draco was always one for a quiet grope… There was really nothing different about the look. So what, if he was casually thinking that maybe fighting on the side of good didn’t seem quite so much like the moral equivalent to eating dung-beetles as it usually did if Harry were doing it beside him? And that the dark mark would pretty much ruin the whole ivory-God look he had going anyway. It wasn’t like he was in love or… or… “Oh bugger.”
~ tbc ~
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Author: Buttercup
Contact: Buttercupgaud@aol.com
Rating: PG-13. Mentions of mildish violence.
Warnings: Not really.
Concrit: Bring it.
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, they belong to J.K Rowling.
Summery: Just a little ficlet. Draco comes over all funny in potions.
Draco’s hands moved with ease, the knife in his hand felt familiar and warm. He began to slice the toad on the board in front of him into thin strips. As he was looking down, his head swam violently. Everything seemed to distort as though a heat-wave had developed between him and the desk. His head swam again and he blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. Then he was staring at the knife in his hand. It was a family heirloom. Nothing special really, everything he owned seemed to be. Sort of like one of the Weasels. Just a more expensive hand-me-down. It was silver, of course, inlaid with emeralds, naturally, and charmed to never go blunt, usefully. The torch-light caught the knife as he lifted it up and it shone hurting his eyes. Everything had slowed, it felt unreal, almost dream-like. The necklace his father had so casually handed to him on station suddenly burnt white-hot. He hissed in pain pulled at it through his robe, trying to get it away from his skin. Then, just like that, everything was back to normal. But, no, it wasn’t. The class was staring at him, the corners of his vision were blurred but after a few seconds a couple of the girls screamed. He looked down. There was blood spilled on the floor, pooling neatly under his desk. Little rivers of it were running away in the space between the flag-stones. He blinked, wondered why people were still staring at him. Then he realised that the blood was probably his. Everything went black just as he saw Potter running towards him.
Draco blinked. Everything was hurting. His stomach felt like there was a hippogriff sitting on it, and the rest of him felt like it had been hit by the Night Bus. His head was throbbing dimly and his stomach was churning ominously. “Bugger,” he muttered.
“Quite,” the voice sounded both annoyed and relieved.
Draco tried to open his eyes. The light was blinding, so he shut them again. He tried to breathe in but his stomach sent sharp tendrils of pain throughout his body in protest. “Bugger,” he muttered forcefully.
“Quite.” That was actually fairly annoying. Draco opened his eyes, the light was still painfully bright. Had they brought him to the surface of the sun or something? His mind fritted around a few of the possible incredibly bright places he could be before the frankly terrifying figure of an annoyed Snape loomed over him. The only good thing about this, being that he blocked out some of the light. “And how are we feeling after out little episode?”
‘Our little episode’? That didn’t sound good. He tried to sit up, but absolutely every single part of him had something rather forceful to say about that. He sank back down to the pillow and screwed his eyes shut, willing everything to stop spinning and the pain to stop. “Pain relief potion?” he managed to croak.
“That wouldn’t be wise, under the circumstances,” Snape said, he had sat back down beside the bed. His fingers were steepled under his chin, and he was looking at Draco intently. “What do you remember?”
“Nothing,” Draco replied, he’d have pouted if he could have mustered the energy. He hurt, and his head felt like it might be full of cotton wool. Why was Snape bothering him with stupid questions?
“Try harder,” Snape said. He didn’t raise his voice, but there was a cold edge to it. It was the voice hat had been terrifying first years for years. Draco felt oddly compelled to answer.
“Just…” he strained, trying to get his mind to focus through the cotton wool. “My knife, I was looking at it. My necklace hurt. That’s it. And there being blood everywhere. It was mine, I think it was mine… was it?”
Snape was quiet for a moment, just watching him. He nodded slowly as he answered, “You stabbed yourself.”
“I tried to kill myself? In the middle of Potions? In front of everyone?” And him, a Malfoy. The family would never live it down. “Why?”
“I was rather hoping you’d be able to answer that.” Snape paused to give him another intent look. Like that would make Draco suddenly remember everything. Was it possible that Snape had always been this annoying and Draco had simply never noticed before? “But, no,” Snape continued before Draco could reach any definitive conclusion, “I don’t believe that you did attempt to kill yourself. You very neatly managed to miss everything vital. Lots of blood, a good mess, but nothing life-threatening once we managed to get you to the infirmary.”
Draco lay still for a few moments trying to process this. It still didn’t make any sense on his third run through. “I don’t understand,” he said, “I was cutting up a toad and then everything went… sort of… I don’t know, like a dream.”
“I believe you were cursed.” This seemed so blindingly obvious that Draco didn’t feel Snape in anyway deserved the self-satisfied look he had on his face. “A curse that was set to trigger at a certain point. I was hoping that you might be able to tell me what might have changed.” Okay, that was a slightly more sophisticated hypothesis than Draco had first thought. “I’ve ruled out a potion, and Professor Flitwick is analysing your necklace and knife. I, however, believe that they are somehow jointly cursed to work in unison upon activation. The necklace, I believe to be cursed to harness your mind to another’s will and the knife, your body. I am simply unable to conclusively guess at their trigger. Which is where I require your input.”
Draco considered telling Snape that no one liked a smart-arse but he suspected that the Professor already knew this, and liked it that way, too. “I… haven’t the foggest.” Draco sighed and closed his eyes.
“This was an attempt on your life, Draco, I think you should take it at least a little seriously.” The use of his first name made Draco start a little. Snape seemed annoyed again, but he thought he might also be able to detect the smallest amount of concern too. “This was a warning. If you really do not know about what, then there is every chance you may trigger it again. You may not be so lucky next time.”
Draco was feeling sick again. “I really don’t know.” He sighed, and tried to think.
Potions had been as easy as ever. They’d been making antidotes again. Crabbe had been next to him, taking it in turns to curse and ask Draco for help. He remembered looking up and finding that Weasel had been doing the exact same thing with Granger. He’d smiled at that. He’d considered pointing out to Crabbe that was behaving just like the blood-traitor in front of him. That was until he saw that Granger was moaning at Weasel but then helping him anyway, which was precisely what he’d been doing. The idea of being anything like that little mud-blood had put him off the idea. He’d immediately leant over and dumped the rest of his rose-thorns into Crabbe’s potion making it hiss and turn to a think, cement-like mixture. Crabbe didn’t have it in him to do anything more than glower at him. Draco had smirked back and turned back to his own thorns. He was about to move onto his toad when something had made him look up. Potter was laughing. There wasn’t any sunlight in the dungeons, so it must have been the flickering of the torches. The light had caught Potter’s hair and suddenly Draco had felt something. It was a stirring, something like butterflies in his stomach. He’d shaken it off, tried to carry on with his potion, but his eyes kept being pulled up towards the boy in front of him.
But, there really wasn’t anything there could have triggered such a reaction. So, when he glanced over at Potter the previous night in the changing rooms flashed into his mind. Potter pressing against him in the otherwise deserted showers. That didn’t mean anything. Even if the night after that when they’d met in the little broom-closest near the kitchens was playing over and over in his head, as tried to concentrate on the toad. Draco could have hexed Potter into oblivion on either of those occasions, and he’d wanted to. That was obvious; it’s what he’d wanted to do since the first year. It was as a reliable feeling as the sun being hot. The kissing and stuff could be really seen as part of the plan; lure him somewhere privet then have his wicked way with him. It was just that the kissing had been a little…distracting. But, if that hadn’t caused him to go postal stab himself with the family silver, why did him just looking in potions? Okay, the last couple of times they’d gotten together they’d been more talking than he would normally prefer. To be sure, he’d come to the conclusion of late that Voldemort was completely barmy and not worth following to the local chip shop, let alone into a revolution. Although, now he thought about it, this was hardly a new thought. If it weren’t for his father Draco would have nothing to with the old fool. Voldemort and Dumbledore were pretty much interchangeable as far as Draco could see. Both ready to get other people killed over nothing. Over politics.
Draco could have killed Harry any time in last month; sure he’d chosen to stick his tongue down his throat instead, but that was part of his plan. A sense of security was essential. There was nothing different in the look he’d given the other boy in potions. The butterflies, they were just a variation on the squirming, seething hatred he’d always felt. It wasn’t as though he felt any different about Harry now… Alright, that was another thing. He had started referring to Potter as Harry when he wasn’t thinking about it. But, that was only because the prat liked it better that way and got huffy and Draco was always one for a quiet grope… There was really nothing different about the look. So what, if he was casually thinking that maybe fighting on the side of good didn’t seem quite so much like the moral equivalent to eating dung-beetles as it usually did if Harry were doing it beside him? And that the dark mark would pretty much ruin the whole ivory-God look he had going anyway. It wasn’t like he was in love or… or… “Oh bugger.”
~ tbc ~