113Written for: The Christmas Collection Competition on the HPFC forum
Prompt: #58 (location) Christmas Party
Pairing: fem!Harry/Draco
December 20th, 1996
Friday
Draco stands outside the room where Slughorn's Christmas party is going on, his conscience weighing him down. What if Slughorn has already opened the poisoned mead and served it to a student?
Somehow, the thought of Potter lying on the ground, her mouth spewing frothy blood as the poison corrodes her stomach and intestines, makes him feel sicker than ever.
Draco nearly jumps out of his skin when his godfather catches him by the scruff of his neck. What's more surprising is that Uncle Severus actually turns him in to Slughorn, not bothering to listen to Draco's weak protests.
Thankfully, luck is on his side, because the stupid Potions professor just grins and tells Draco to join the fun.
Draco tries not to smirk at Sev. It's so funny to see his usually put-together godfather scowl at Slughorn's retreating form.
The scowl suddenly turns into a malicious glare. Draco turns around to notice that it's Potter.
And then Severus is gone, his cloak billowing behind him.
But Draco doesn't care.
Because Harriet Potter is walking towards him, wearing a dress of deep red. It highlights the curve of her hips perfectly. And the neck is revealing, but not too much, showing just enough creamy skin to entice any straight male (and lesbian female) in the room.
Draco's mouth goes dry.
"Hey," she says, smiling when she's close enough. Her lips are painted red, blood red, and she's holding a glass of what looks like mead in her hand.
Draco can't breathe.
"Malfoy?" she asks, her eyebrows furrowing in concern.
Draco knows that he probably looks terrible. What if she's about to drink the poisoned mead? What if she dies, right here, a few inches from him? What then?
"What are you drinking?" he croaks out at last.
"A Butterbeer-honey mocktail with a touch of lemon and a sprig of mint. Why?" she asks, raising one eyebrow.
"N-No mead?" he stutters.
"'Course not, Sluggy is pretty lax about rules, but even he won't serve alcohol at a school party," she says, smiling a little, even though the confusion doesn't quite leave her face.
"Are you doing better?" she asks.
Draco tries to memorise how she green her eyes are, and how her eyelashes are naturally long.
He tries to memorise how she smells, like roses and Quidditch polish.
He tries to memorise how her hand feels on his arm, as she tries to comfort him, he supposes.
He can't do this.
There's no alcohol at this party, that's all he needs to know anyhow.
The guilt. The hatred. The frustration.
It's all killing him.
He turns around and strides out of the room, nearly knocking down his old house-elf in his hurry.
~o~
There's a tap leaking somewhere, disturbing the eerie quietness of the place.
Moaning Myrtle is nowhere to be seen. Draco guesses that she's probably at the prefect's bathroom, harassing some other poor sod instead.
He's sitting on the cold floor, his head in his arms, his knees to his chest, as he tries not to think of his mother being punished. The Dark Lord will torture and kill her first, in front of Draco, most likely, before killing him slowly and painfully, when he fails his task.
His mother doesn't deserve this.
Draco knows he's going to fail his task; he can't kill another person. He was set up for failure from the start.
The door opens, and Draco's hand is on his wand.
He yells out a Stupefy before he can even realise who it is.
Potter looks at him levelly, having just dodged his curse, and drops her wand, letting it clatter loudly on the tiled floor.
"I'm not here to hurt you, Malfoy. I want to help," she says, walking slowly towards him, her arms raised halfway in a gesture of surrender.
Draco lowers his wand, though he doesn't let go of it.
Can she see that he's been crying?
Moving slowly, as if he is an injured wild animal, she drops down to the floor a little away from him, before crawling gently to come to his side. He stretches out his legs, so that he looks bigger.
She never loses eye contact.
"What do you want?" he asks her. His voice sounds hollow to himself.
Slowly, oh-so-slowly, she raises a hand and grips his chin. Draco tries not to flinch.
"You look pale and tired. I don't think you've eaten anything in a while. When is the last time you even slept properly? I look like you've lost ten pounds just this last week. I'm worried."
"Why do you care?"
"I-I don't know," she falters, dropping her hand.
His chin feels cold without her nimble fingers holding it.
And then both her hands are on his cheeks, wiping away the tears that have remained, before she pulls him into a hug, moving to almost straddle him. She pushes his head onto her chest and rocks him, like he's a child.
"You'll get through this, I promise. You'll get through this," she repeats over and over again, as he tightens his grip on her.
Draco closes his eyes and lets the soothing movements and her voice calm him down, before he speaks, not moving away from her. He likes how warm she is.
"I'm going to die," he says despondently. She stops rocking him.
"You're not, I promise you," she says, drawing back to look him in the eyes.
"How do you know?" he asks, trying not to let his voice break.
He can't let her know that he's weak, right? But that is the truth. He is weak.
"You're going to have to trust me," she says, shifting her weight so that she's sitting on his thighs.
There's something about the sincerity in her voice and determination in her eyes that makes him hope for the first time in weeks, if not months.
And so, he takes a deep breath and puts his faith in the Chosen One.
Word Count: 994
AN:
If you like this story, please do give the one-shot I've written, Inevitable, a read. It's a Draco/fem!Harry story, and it's a work that I'm very proud of. I hope you'll like it as much as I liked writing it.
As always, reviews are love, so please do review. :)