Title: You Lost Me
Author: Quiridion ()
Source work: I Found You by Vinagrette
Rating: Pg-13
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: This fic is dedicated to the lovely Vinagrette--angst mistress extraordinaire, first class friend, and style icon of DOOM. Moo! I <3 you, doll!
Harry was an idiot. A right prick. And he would pay for it. One way or another, he would pay.
It had been several months since that autumn night atop the Astronomy Tower, and, thanks to Weasley and Potter, Draco was still the laughing stock of Hogwarts. The story of what had happened, as invented by Potter and embellished by Weasley, had spread through the school like a swarm of angry bees: voices buzzing in the corridor as he walked past, scornful glances stinging him. It was a painfully long, slow way to die and Potter couldn�t have planned it any better if he�d tried. But the fact was, it hadn�t been planned at all. Potter had panicked and acted on the spur of the moment--shoving Draco away and scorning him to convince Ron that he hadn�t been enjoying his kiss with Draco, that he hadn�t responded, that his tongue hadn�t searched out places in Draco�s mouth that would bend and melt and resist and give more, more, always more.
Draco sighed. He sat at the same wooden desk, in the same dormitory, hearing the same mocking laughter outside in the school grounds. Only the seasons had changed; snow fell from the clay-white sky producing a brightness that filtered through the window and flared off his parchment, blinding him and making homework impossible. He couldn�t concentrate; his thoughts were full of Potter. Harry Potter, how he hated him! He hated the pity that he saw in Harry�s eyes over dinner, in Potions class, in the corridors, on the Quidditch field. He hated the guilt that he read in Potter�s eyes and the fact that he did nothing about it. He hated the fact that Harry was the school hero, whereas he was now viewed as a desperate, pathetic sleaze. Even Crabbe and Goyle had lost respect for him, refusing to take orders from anyone who would �fancy Potter�. Yes, he could understand the fact that Potter had panicked and had lied, but he couldn�t understand why he continued to do so, why he continued to act as though he didn�t care, when every time their eyes met it was obvious that he did care. Harry Potter was a right prick and he would pay. Draco reached for his Potions text and looked in the index under �v�: �v� for veritaserum.
*****
Over the next few weeks, he collected ingredients: powdered unicorn horn, dragon�s blood, woad roots, exotic herbs. He used his contacts in Knockturn Alley and his allowance from his father to procure a small fortune in supplies. He ground things to a pulp using a marble pestle and mortar. He brewed things to steamy heights in the middle of the night. And all the while his hate simmered, bubbling below the surface, threatening to boil over and ruin everything. Then he would have to take a break and go and do something else to distract himself; he couldn�t afford to make mistakes.
This was a potion that was best served cold.
*****
Normally Draco took a great deal of care over his appearance. Choosing an outfit for the Yuleball was normally something that he enjoyed; actually, he usually planned it months in advance, just so he would look his best. This year, however, he couldn�t have cared less what he looked like. He threw on a pair of grey velvet robes and slipped a vial of veritaserum into one of the pockets, before going downstairs to join the party mid-swing.
Potter was at the bar with Weasley. Weasley had one arm draped around Potter�s shoulders and was ruffling his hair affectionately with the other hand, giggling at the disgruntled look on Harry�s face. Draco didn�t approach. He hid in the corner, in the shadows, waiting. He skirted the looks of disgust that he drew from his fellow students. He ignored them, concentrating instead on Potter. When Weasley left him to go and talk to some Hufflepuffs, Draco seized his chance. He walked up to the bar.
�May I buy you a drink?�
Harry nearly jumped. His eyes flicked quickly round the room before coming back to Draco�s face, and then he lowered them to stare at the bar counter. �Go away, Malfoy! Someone will see.�
�So what if someone sees? Who cares? I�m going to buy you a drink anyway.� He turned to Filch, who was acting as barman. �Two butterbeers, please.� He scattered a few coins onto the counter as Filch served up the drinks with a scowl. Draco glanced round at Harry, who was looking nervously over his shoulder to see who might have spotted him standing at the bar with Draco; however, the other students all seemed to be too busy dancing to notice. Draco slipped the veritaserum into Harry�s drink.
�There you go, Potter.� He shoved the butterbeer along the counter in front of Harry, who looked up and muttered a weak thank you before once again avoiding Draco�s gaze.
�So,� asked Draco, �why did you do it?�
Harry looked up then, guilt etched into his face. He hesitated, weighing up his words, searching for an excuse which never came. �Because�because it would never work. Because I�m Harry Potter and you�re�you�re Draco Malfoy.�
The words hung in the air, like a banner over Draco�s head, a label that he could never escape, which marked him out as something so anti-Potter that Harry couldn�t even bear to look at him now. He couldn�t bear to look at the boy he�d kissed who was so different and yet so similar to himself.
�You�re a coward, Potter,� Draco spat back. He could feel the full force of the hate rising in him now, mixed with something more�a hurt so real that he wanted Harry to feel it as well, to suffer as he suffered. �You�re a bloody coward and I deserve better.�
Harry glanced up again, a tear beading at the corner of one eye, never quite overflowing. �Yes, you do deserve better. You deserve so much better. You can handle this, Draco, better than I can. I�ll be okay if you�ll be okay. Promise me you�ll be okay?�
Draco didn�t feel like promising Harry anything. Still, he opened his mouth to speak but what came out was��Piss off, Weasley.�
Ron had approached the bar and had now wedged himself in between Harry and Draco. He looked mad as hell, his face turning red, his fists clenched. �Get lost, Malfoy, you pathetic little pervert!�
Draco would have argued, but he was tired, so tired. He smirked at Ron, before turning to go. Harry was gulping his drink down�anything to avoid looking at Draco.
�Fine, Weasley. I was just leaving. Harry was just saying how he�s looking forward to finally telling you the truth about that night.�
With that, he turned on his heel and left the Great Hall. He didn�t see Harry�s jaw go slack or his eyes glaze over. He didn�t hear the truth come spilling from his lips as Ron questioned him. And he definitely didn�t hear Harry say �Because I love him�. He didn�t see or hear any of these things; he could only imagine them.
*****
It was cold outside and his footsteps made crunchy indents in the cotton-candy snow. The night glittered like diamonds from the stars in the sky, reflecting off the snow and the great lake. Draco kept walking.
His eyes were blurring over now, hot tears stinging his cheeks. He could hear Harry�s voice in his head�Because I�m Harry Potter and you�re�you�re Draco Malfoy. It hurt. It mixed with the thawing on his cheeks and the throbbing in his temples, with the alcohol in his system, and the glittering all around him.
He reached the shore of the lake. The surface was completely still�all life dulled to the distant depths by the dark and cold of winter. He could see a face in the water�his own face, pale and fearful�and for a moment he dreamed he saw another figure appear to stand alongside his own. But he wiped his eyes and it was gone. You can handle this, Draco, better than I can.
He stepped forward. The icy water was like sharp needles stabbing him straight through. He nearly stumbled; the chill water numbed his muscles so that he could barely move. He kept walking though, the water reaching his knees, his thighs, his waist. I�ll be okay if you�ll be okay.
He looked up as he stumbled forward, the water reaching his chest, his chin. It was cold, so cold. The man on the moon barely deigned to look down on him�a boy in love, alone. Its ashen face looked into the distance to a place that Draco couldn�t see�somewhere where there were no tears, where it didn�t hurt anymore. Promise me you�ll be okay?
�I promise you nothing, Potter,� he mumbled, the cold water touching his lips and filling his lungs. He sank down. It was so cold and so dark. He struggled, but in slow motion, too cold to make much fuss. It wouldn�t be long now. The truth would out and it would be too late. Too late for him and too late for Potter. Cold and alone, he would know how it felt. I�ll be okay if you�ll be okay.
And so, on the night of the Yule Ball, Draco Malfoy took his revenge.