Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Ancient and Noble Houses	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 29877 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

Chapter List
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Chapter Twenty-Six—A Crystal Drowning
            Draco paused and looked around. He was standing in front of the door to the Slytherin common room, and someone had made a soft sound nearby. Draco knew that there were some people in the school who would like nothing more than to ambush him. He put his hand on his wand.
            The sound repeated itself, a gagging, choking noise. Draco narrowed his eyes. Had a plan to trap him, or some other Slytherin, gone wrong? That would be something worth seeing, if a Gryffindor was caught in their own trap.
            Of course, it might be Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws instead of Gryffindors. They had seen the way the wind was blowing after the war, and had allied themselves with the Gryffindors as if they’d been there, that way, all along. But Draco thought it was still likely to be the House that had the worst rivalry with his.
            He edged towards the choking noises, down a corridor that had a lot of recently-broken and singed spiderwebs hanging around. He snorted. It was like a Gryffindor to leave that many obvious traces of what he was trying to do, even when he thought he was being sneaky and subtle.
            The corridor bent around a corner, and flooded suddenly with light. Draco blinked. He saw a table beneath an empty portrait frame, a cauldron on it, and an empty vial of dripping, clear potion beside it.
            And on the floor, Potter, choking.
            Draco would have banged his head into a wall if there was time. Of course walking away from Potter didn’t mean he was really free. Of course he was always going to be dragged straight back into the mess, because that was the way Potter worked in the world.
            Now, though, he didn’t have time. He sprang over Potter to look at the potion, and swore under his breath. He couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but he thought he knew the main component. Only undissolved crystal gave a potion that glinting edge. Anyone who knew anything about potions would wait until the little gritty pieces had faded.
            Potter didn’t know, though. Draco turned around and knelt next to him, trying to ignore the way his face was turning grey and his eyes rolling. The spell he needed to cast wasn’t difficult, but it had to be precise. Worry distracting him—and worry over why he was worried—wouldn’t help.
            He swirled his wand above Potter’s chest, creating a spiral. His mind was focused on the memory of Professor Snape’s hands when he had taught Draco to counteract this kind of poison. Because it wasn’t a property of the potion itself, but came from something going wrong with the brewing process, you could cure it with a spell and not an antidote. Draco hissed the words that leaked around his teeth like steam, a little impressed that he remembered them.
            The spell formed a blue, smoky hook that promptly stabbed Potter in the nostrils. He let his head roll back, and he choked again, his tongue dangling out of his mouth. Draco tensed. If something went wrong, there were plenty of people who would be eager to blame him for Potter’s death.
            His own name was first on the list, honestly.
            But Potter sagged back against the floor, and when he choked this time, it brought up a flood of pink-tinged crystalline liquid. Draco wrinkled his nose and moved out of the way, then hesitated when he raised his wand to cast a Cleaning Charm. Maybe someone would need that liquid for evidence of what potion Potter had actually swallowed, assuming he didn’t regain consciousness soon and tell them.
            And why had he been able to cast that antidote spell? Granted, maybe it wasn’t bound to a specific year at Hogwarts and so it counted as a fourth-year spell or lower under the restrictions on his wand, but Draco still thought it was more complicated than the Ministry’s restrictions should have allowed him.
            Potter gasped, and opened his eyes. Draco shook his head. He would worry about it later. He bent over Potter. “What potion did you drink?” he asked. He wondered who had made it, and convinced Potter to swallow it, but the name of the potion was more important.
            “The Clear Heart Potion,” Potter whispered. “He—he said that I had to drink it quickly, and that it would free me from the influence of the Black house.”
            Draco frowned. As far as he knew, the Clear Heart Potion shouldn’t have an effect like this, but it was also impossible for it to have the effect that Potter was claiming. It was meant to soothe grief and guilt over something that couldn’t be changed. If anything, Potter was likely to slip back under the house’s hold as his conscience quieted. “Who said that?”
            “Snape,” Potter said, and when Draco wondered if he had gone mad and was imagining dead people, Potter added, “In the portrait.”
            Draco glanced back, narrow-eyed, at the portrait. It was empty, but he had to admit, the books on the shelves in the background, and the general dark color, looked like the kind that Professor Snape would have chosen.
            What was less clear was why he would have wanted to kill Potter.
            “You drank it too soon,” he told Potter briskly. “There were still undissolved bits of crystal in it. They began to poison you. You need to wait for longer than that.”
            “Good to know,” Potter said faintly, and shut his eyes again. Draco sighed and cast the spell that would wake him up. Potter yelped and opened his eyes. Draco nodded to him.
            “You need to remain awake until we can get to the hospital wing,” he said. “You need to tell Madam Pomfrey what happened to you, and you need to tell her it wasn’t me.” That was important. The last thing he was going to do was be caught up in the stupidity of being blamed for Potter’s condition just when he’d got free from being caught up in Potter’s madness.
            “No one who knows you would ever think you could do something like that,” Potter muttered faintly. “You’re not a killer.”
            Draco scowled horribly and wondered if there was a way to kill people with fourth-year spells that wasn’t immediately traceable. He shook the thought off, though, and hauled Potter to his feet with a twist of his hand. “Come on, then. We’re going to the hospital wing.”
            He did turn around and cast a Stasis Charm on the vial and the cauldron, then Nox to darken the torches Potter had lit here and a Shield Charm over the corridor. It wasn’t a great disguise, but it should serve to keep the area undisturbed until Potter or Draco could come back and collect the evidence. Not many people ever went down here.
            Which makes me wonder who hung the portrait on the wall.
            But Draco shook that thought off and moved on his way, Potter draped over his shoulder and flopping until Draco shifted him so his head wouldn’t move so freely. “Come on,” he muttered. “I think I made you choke up the potion, but Madam Pomfrey needs to look at you and make sure it’s not still affecting you.”
            Potter didn’t respond. Draco rolled his eyes. He really did have to do everything around here.
*
            He saved me.
            Madam Pomfrey had immediately tucked Harry into bed and made distressed noises over him, then turned to Draco and made him go back to fetch the potion Harry had brewed. She had been a little inclined to blame Draco at first, but Harry had done a combination of glaring and logic—why would Draco bring him to the hospital wing if he was the one who’d hurt Harry?—that finally made her break down and admit Draco had been very helpful.
            And more than helpful.
            It was true that Draco had probably just paid back one of the life-debts he owed Harry, rather than done anything separate and new, but Harry found that his brain couldn’t let go of the idea. And it was his brain, not the dark presence that lived in him since the Kneazle had marked him. He found that he could bear the inevitable visit from Ron and Hermione without a lot of wincing, but his mind was still with Draco.
            Instead of just walking away—and no one could have proven that he had anything to do with it or blamed him—he had saved Harry’s life.
            Harry closed his eyes. After I foolishly put it in danger. I’m an idiot. I was an idiot to trust Snape’s portrait, anyway.
            The image of Draco was in his mind, though, shining more crystalline than the potion. Harry found that he couldn’t forget it so easily. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to taint Draco or crush him, either. If he’d been in the room, Harry thought, he would have watched him, but he might not have dared to touch him.
            He was well out of this. Harry would tell him so, the next time he saw him.
            He wanted Draco, but he wanted him free even more.
            He saved me. He didn’t have to. He’s a much better person than he thinks he is.
            Or than I deserve.
*
            delia cerrano: That portrait is not really Snape.
            ChaosLady: Draco is wondering the same thing.
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Ancient and Noble Houses