The Price of Success

Winter Hogsmeade Trip

Draco licked his, or rather Blaise’s, lips. He wasn’t participating in some bizarre Slytherin love ritual, he just happened to have backed Blaise into an uncomfortable corner and forced him to drink Polyjuice and take his Transfiguration detention. Not that Zabini suspected anything; he probably thought Draco was being petty about detentions.

Draco really didn’t care what Zabini thought, though. He was too busy trying to make his plan work.

It was a long shot, he knew, but he couldn’t really care less. The Vanishing Cabinet wasn’t working, so while on an impromptu visit to Borgin & Burkes, he’d picked up a cursed necklace, just for the heck of it. There was the rare chance that it would reach Dumbledore, and that Dumbledore would be curious. Draco could picture him leaning over the package, prodding it. Maybe he wouldn’t be overly cautious and a finger would brush against the necklace.

Maybe the old codger would want to try it on. For all Draco knew, Dumbledore could be quite the…er, effeminate dresser. He sure did wear a lot of flamboyant robes.

Impatient, Draco leaned Blaise’s frame against the pillar. He needed to be seen. Well, more accurately, he needed Blaise to be seen. Cool, nonchalant and friendless as ever. Blaise Zabini really was his perfect double solely because he was so unsuspected.

Five minutes passed, then ten.

He watched the other students flit by. Enjoying sweets, throwing snowballs. They all looked so happy and carefree. Draco ground his teeth. Oh, how he envied them, he would never admit it, but right now he would happily denounce his family and wealth and responsibilities just to enjoy a moment of childlike freedom.

Fifteen minutes. Now should be as good a time as ever to pass on the necklace. He slipped a hand into his robe pockets to squeeze the coin inside. He concentrated on the dark Imperius curse that connected him to Rosmerta through the coin.

Walk to the bathroom…that’s right, open the door…no, no, the ladies’room…

He silently coached her into the furthest stall, where he had stuffed the necklace behind the toilet. Carefully wrapped, of course. He couldn’t have his prime operator dying on him. Through the Imperius, he could see hazy images that must be Rosmerta’s surroundings. Patiently, both waited for some unsuspecting girl to enter.

Light flowed into the loo as the door swung open. Rosmerta had her wand ready. Imperius-ing someone through the Imperius was immensely difficult; Draco couldn’t help but slip down on his support pillar. A faint film of sweat covered his brow.

Give her the necklace…TAKE IT TO DUMBLEDORE…don’t tell anyone who it’s for…don’t answer any questions, just TAKE IT TO DUMBLEDORE…

Breathing heavily now, he saw that whomever now held the necklace had left the pub. He followed at a distance, behind Potter’s trio. For once, Potter didn’t give him a backwards glance, Draco felt intensely relieved. Potter’s scrutiny always galled him. It was unnerving how disconcerted and snappy he could get under that unwavering gaze.

Granger and Weasley were repulsive, but Potter…Potter was something else. Draco didn’t know what it was, but in some backwards way he was obsessed with him. First through fifth year, he had followed his every movement and done all he could to bring Potter down. To wipe that buoyant look from his eyes, to make him feel as depreciated and depressed as Draco currently did. Draco wanted Potter to suffer, he had never been able to explain why, but his family never asked questions. They detested Potter as well, just not on as personal and incomprehensible a level as Draco.

He tore his eyes away from the back of Potter’s head to discern who the two girls ahead of the trio were. The pair had just reached the Hogwarts Grounds entrance. One of them he recognized from the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Katie Bell. She was the one holding the necklace. Draco felt his stomach tighten in anxiety as he realized that her friend was giving her a hard time about it. He concentrated again on his Imperius curse.

DON’T TELL ANYONE ANYTHING ABOUT IT…TAKE IT TO DUMBLEDORE…

His stern order appeared to have an effect on Katie. She jerked away from her friend and began walking faster. Her friend accosted her, tried to reach for the package. Draco attempted to get Bell to avoid it, but it was too late.

The girls struggled for the package, suddenly, the bundle ripped open and despite her gloved hand, Katie touched an opal. Draco watched in horror as the curse began to manifest itself on her. How she gracefully, and disturbingly, rose into the air. He tried to block her tortured screams from his ears, but to no avail.

Fortunately it didn’t last long. But it was enough to shake Draco up. Hagrid appeared and took her away. Draco observed the whole scene, hidden behind the Hogwarts gate. He saw the Golden trio converse. He watched as Potter touched Weasley and stooped to pick up the cursed necklace.

It was only when Potter had safely wrapped it in his scarf before holding the damned object, when he had stopped touching Weasley, that Draco became aware that his heartbeat had been racing.

It might be better if he didn’t witness his next murder attempt.

o o o o o o o

Slughorn’s Christmas Party

Draco felt like a poser amid all the frolicking people. This year he was becoming increasingly detached from the real world. Consumed by the melancholy and desperation of his situation, he had developed insomnia and wore dark circles under his eyes.

Carefully he squeezed past a Neanderthal-McLaggen and slipped into Slughorn’s office. It wasn’t hard to find the stash of mead. In fact, the cache was in plain sight. Removing the specially doctored bottle from his robes, Draco placed the Christmas present to the forefront of the mead. The blue ribbon seemed rather tacky, so he ripped it off, leaving only the tag.

To: Albus

From: Horace

Knowing Slughorn, he was sure to see the bottle within the next few days. Draco could only hope he would deliver it at an opportune moment, such as when the receiver was feeling particularly thirsty.

His work now done, he retreated out of Slughorn’s office. Worming through the throng again, he had almost left when he spotted some bottle green dress robes out of the corner of his eye. Of course Potter would get invited to one of Sluggy’s parties. Draco could feel the nasty smirk emerge on his face. He was with Lovegood, the nutter.

Draco watched Potter laugh at something Loony said. He saw him pat her on the shoulder, an intense fury building inside of him. What right had Potter to be so merry? He, Draco, was suffering acutely while Potter knocked back Butterbeers and avoided some of the more gregarious guests.

Potter moved his arm to drape over Luna’s shoulder. It was too much for Draco, he snarled angrily, turned on his heel and left the room.

o o o o o o o

Christmas came and went. Dumbledore showed no signs of dropping dead, so Draco could safely assume that the mead had either not been delivered, or stored away for a later time. He felt slightly ill, imagining the poisoned bottle floating around somewhere, out there.

His behaviour had done a complete one-eighty. His old, preening, simpering self replaced by a haggard, snappy, taciturn grouch. Where he had once sought Potter out and relished in confrontation, he now avoided him.

The more he evaded Potter, the less he could stay away from him. Potter’s eyes seem to fix upon him in class. More than once he overheard Granger or Weasley telling Potter to let the topic of him rest. (Weasley had developed an annoying habit of touching Potter on either the shoulder or the knee that irritated Draco to no end.)

Then one day in Febuary, he heard the news. His poisoned mead had worked, but not to the desired effect.

Weasley was dead.

o o o o o o o

He didn’t hear about the incident until a day later. Surprising because normally gossip coursed through the school at a rapid pace. Apparently Weasley, drugged up on some love potion or other, had been escorted by Potter to Slughorn. He’d been cured, and then, in honor of some celebration (the rumors varied as to what) Slughorn had poured each of the boys a glass of mead.

Draco could picture the scene, they’d be merrily toasting to one another, perhaps teasing Weasley. Weasley would blush furiously and, to distract himself, gulp some mead. Chuckling, eyes twinkling, Potter and Slughorn would raise their own glasses.

The glasses would never reach their lips because at that moment, Ron would have started choking. Confused, they would ask him what was wrong. Obviously he wouldn’t be able to answer. In a panic, Potter would run around the room, searching for something to help. He’d find the bezoar stone. He’d race back to Ron, but oops! A book would trip him up.

The bezoar would roll out of his hands and as he scrambled to collect it, Ron would die right under Slughorn’s shocked gaze.

And Potter, he’d be devasted. Probably try to still shove the recovered bezoar down his friend’s stone cold throat. He would rage and howl in despair. Curse anyone who tried to pry him away. Oh yes, Draco could picture the scene very well indeed.

o o o o o o o

One month later

Draco was beginning to panic, he was no closer to killing Dumbledore than he had ever been. Weasley was dead, but the Dark Lord had considered that incompetence. Not that Voldemort cared whether or not a Weasley lived or died, only that the Weasley death alerted the school to an unnatural danger.

Somehow, Draco had made it through the first month despite the heavy suspicion. He still had no idea how to make his Vanishing Cabinet work though. He could feel tears of frustration well up in his eyes and ineffectively cursed them away. Maybe it was the lack of sleep making his eyes sore, but Draco had become most embarrassingly prone to fits of crying over the school year.

All the glory of serving the Dark Lord was gone. Draco hated the damned mark on his arm. It was not the cushioned life he had imagined. He was hitting rock bottom, he knew. Ducking into bathrooms to bawl, not sleeping because of worry, estranging himself from friends and family alike. Hurting those he strove most to protect.

He had accepted the service far to early. He had not properly lived. His life was now forfeit to the Dark Lord’s whims, his soul an unfortunate inhabitant of another machine of Voldemort.

Angrily, in attempt to escape his train of thought, Draco rushed up the huge staircase from the dungeons all the way to the seventh floor. Out of breath by the time he reached the top, he slowed his pace. His heart was pounding in his ears and his breath was coming out so haggard and loud that he almost charged right into the hallway.

Fortunately he stubbed his toe on a suit of armor and hopped about in pain. Whilst hopping, he heard voices. He quickly hushed his moans to properly hear the conversation.

“Harry, you really need to talk to Slughorn!� a voice insisted. It sounded like Granger.

“Dumbledore can take his stupid hunt and go on without me!� Potter snarled. Draco felt his heart speed up again, blasted loud thing.

“Look, I’m sad Ron died too,� Granger appeared to be trying a different track. “He wouldn’t want you to skulk around like this, though.�

“I know, I know,� Potter growled. Draco risked a quick peek around the corner and saw Potter raking his hands through his hair in frustration. “You’re right, Hermione. I should go talk to Slughorn. It’s just that every time I see him, I remember how he just stood there and watched Ron die.�

“Oh, Harry!� Granger’s voice warbled and she threw her arms around Potter. He accepted her embrace in a decidedly platonic fashion.

“Here, Hermione, you go on,� Potter said at last. “I just need some time to think.�

Draco had quickly removed his head from view and so could only imagine what they were doing next. Granger probably nodded, tears running down her face. Potter would kindly wipe a few away, and then Granger would totter off to grieve over homework. He could hear footsteps receding and chanced another peek around the corner.

Potter had slid down the wall so that he was sitting on the floor. He wasn’t crying, just staring off emotionlessly at the tapestry of angry trolls in tutus.

Silently cursing that he wouldn’t be able to work tonight, Draco turned and began to retreat. A voice called him back.

“Malfoy? Is that you?�

Blast, Draco grumbled. Of course Potter would have spotted him. He still tried to run for it, but Potter chased him and caught him before he went down the stairwell.

“Get off me, Potter!� Draco snarled. Potter’s grip was quite firm, however, and he couldn’t quite wrench his elbow out. He had weakened quite a lot from loss of appetite coupled with no sleep.

“What were you doing?� Potter insisted.

“Going for a walk. Decided to give you some time to mourn in peace, would have thought you’d be grateful,� Draco retorted.

Suddenly, Potter had struck him across the cheek. Draco reeled back, shocked.

“Now that was quite uncalled for. I was merely letting you think about your cherished Weasel in peace. Quite the unfortunate way to go, it being his birthday and all.�

“You little, puny, insignificant snot!� Potter hollered at him. “What did you have to do with Ron’s death?�

Somewhat disoriented, Draco relied on his instinct. He’d been bred to perfect the art of lying and manipulating. “I had nothing to do with the death of Weasley. Much as I might regret—�

Potter punched him again. Draco felt his nose break, blood began to pour down his face. He staggered backwards, arms upraised to ward off Potter’s next attack. Gingerly he fingered his nose.

“Oh sure, Potter, take it out on me. You’re not angry with me, you’re angry with Ron. Leave me alone.�

“I am not angry with Ron,� Potter replied. “I loved Ron and you took him away from me.�

With that, Potter tried to set about him again. This time Draco was prepared. He grabbed Potter’s arms and raised his knee to kick him in the stomach. Potter backed off, doubled over, gasping in pain.

“So you loved Weasley, how touching.�

He was purposely pushing Potter’s buttons. Draco took vindictive pleasure seeing him suffer. It felt good to take out his frustration on someone else. He was temporarily relieving himself of the burden.

It didn’t even occur to him that Potter might be doing the same.

Potter threw himself at Draco once again. Both boys began punching each other. Their scuffle carried them down the hall. Draco could already feel bruises forming on his arms as he sank a fist into Potter’s stomach. There had been a time when even the slightest hint of pain would make him curl up and whine.

That was before he’d been tutored by his Aunt Bella and endured the Cruciatus for several days.

Potter threw him against a wall. No, it was a door now. He fell into what seemed to be a miniature-boxing ring. He stared at the room, disoriented. Potter, who had followed him inside, stopped as well. They both gazed at their surroundings in a bit of a daze. Draco slowly pulled himself up to his feet.

Potter was the first to wake from the stupor.

“This was stupid. I’m sorry, Malfoy,� he muttered as an afterthought and turned to leave the room.

A strange emotion overcame Draco. He didn’t want Potter to leave. If he walked out the door Draco would have only misery to comfort him. Desperately, he dove at Potter and pinned him down on the mat.

“I said no more!� Potter yelled. “What the fuck is wrong with you?�

Quite a bit, apparently, Draco would admit later. He only responded to Potter by kissing him.

Instinctively, Potter shoved him away. At first, Draco expected him to turn and run. Instead Potter pinned him back onto the floor and kissed him back violently.

Draco received the kiss with equal passion. It was not his typical response to the embraces Pansy showered him with. His mouth hungrily opened to suck Potter’s in. Their tongues crashed and undulated with fervor.

Almost as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Potter sat up, took one last look at him, and fled.

o o o o o o o

That Fateful Night

He had done it at last. Success was so close he could almost taste it. Dumbledore sat before him, wandless, beaten. Draco advanced with his own wand raised. After all this time, he was ready.

He had killed Weasley, that knowledge was enough to steel him. It gave him a sick sort of confidence. Reassurance that he was, indeed, capable of murder.

“You are not a killer, Draco,� Dumbledore croaked.

“Not the best choice for last words.� Draco attempted to pull off a smirk and failed. Face hardening, his hand remarkably straight, he opened his mouth, “Avada Kedavra!�

Limply, Dumbledore, who had been leaning against the wall, slid down to the floor. Lifeless eyes stared back at Draco. He was sure they would haunt him for the rest of his life. He suddenly felt weak, so much energy had gone into that one spell. He was still staring at Dumbledore when a bitter voice addressed him.

“You.�

The voice was full of hatred. Of loathing. There was an undertone of something else though. What was it? Betrayal.

Draco turned to face Potter. He had not properly looked him in the eyes since that night in March when Potter had left him in the Room of Requirement. Potter chucked aside his invisibility cloak, wand arm shaking as it pointed at him.

“You killed Ron.�

Helplessly, Draco watched Potter advance. He didn’t have enough energy to throw even a simple jinx at Potter. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to.

“You killed Dumbledore,� Potter continued.

Draco closed his eyes. He just wanted Potter to get it over with. Draco had nothing else left. Death would even be a sweet relief, no more struggling to keep his soul out of the Dark Lord’s grasp as his body obeyed Voldemort’s will.

“Why?�

The last question escaped Potter’s lips as though without his permission. Draco inhaled deeply.

“Because it was my orders,� he answered stonily.

Potter shook his head. Draco realized that he’d foolishly answered the wrong question.

“I don’t know,� he answered truthfully for the first time. “Though you shouldn’t hold your breath if you’re waiting for a confession of my love. I don’t love you.�

“I hated you,� Potter answered.

“I did. I don’t know anymore,� Draco shrugged.

“You’ve killed people I care about. You betrayed me.�

“Hard to betray when I never pledged allegiance in the first place.�

Potter closed his eyes. Draco could see the conflicting emotions. On one hand, Draco had killed Dumbledore, the man Potter looked to about all others. On the other hand, Potter was never one to kill. Draco doubted he could do it even now. With eyes still firmly shut, Potter hissed.

“Leave. I never want to see you again.�

Draco crossed to the brooms that Dumbledore had arrived with. He grabbed one, straddled it and jumped to the top of the tower wall. He turned around to see Potter one last time. His eyes were still firmly clamped shut, wand still pointing to where Draco had stood, where his heart had been.

Draco turned his head again, and jumped off, flying towards the horizon.

As he flew away, he heard the sound of rock splintering. The sound of a belated spell destroying the wall directly behind where he had been standing. A Killing Curse demolishing the spot he had last stood.

He knew with certainty that the next time he saw Potter one of them would die.

A/N: Okay. So that was a bit of a dark fic. I really don’t know where it came from, probably some banished recess of my imagination. I’m still feeling startled by it myself.