Round 1 - Crime - Team A - "To Poison a Weasel"
Title: To Poison a Weasel
Author: totallyjem
Team: Draco
Prompt: Crime
Rating: R
Warnings: Set during HBP
Length: 1,063 words
Summary:
Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.
To Poison a Weasel
His first attempt had failed. He'd nearly killed another student, though if that stupid girl hadn't interfered he might have succeeded. He was better than this. Smarter than this.
He didn't want to do this.
He couldn't take it. How could he be expected to kill Dumbledore when the Dark Lord couldn't even pull it off himself? But he knew. He knew he was meant to fail, because his father failed. And when he failed, he'd be killed. Punishment for his father's failure. That's what he had to look forward to. Failure...and death.
His second attempt didn't seem to be successful, either. Thanks to his control over Rosemerta, he'd knows Slughorn was getting Dumbledore a bottle of Oak-Matured Mead for Christmas. Nothing. Had Dumbledore detected the poison? He had no way to know. He couldn't eat or sleep. While continuing his work on the Vanishing Cabinet, he kept an eye on Dumbledore for signs of poisoning.
Nothing. Days, then weeks, and finally months passed without incident. Then came the news that made his blood run cold: the Weasel had fallen victim to a poisoned bottle of mead. Damn it! Apparently Slughorn had kept the bottle for himself. Damn that fat bastard! Damn him to hell. He'd found his way to his usual bathroom to splash his face and hide his frightened tears.
Draco had a reason he was so horrible to the Weasel. A reason he pushed the redhead's buttons and riled him up. Not to piss off Potter, oh no. That was just an added bonus. His reason was personal. It had taken him a long time to even be able to admit it to himself, and he wasn't about to admit it to anyone else. Not even the miserable ghost girl who consoled him during most of his tearful bathroom visits.
Draco could do nothing now. He'd gone back to the Room of Requirement to continue working on the Vanishing Cabinet until night had settled over the castle. Slipping out, he'd left the Room and made his way to the hospital wing, thankful that he hadn't passed anyone on the way. He'd paused quietly outside of the doors, listening for any voices or activity. Nothing. Relieved, Draco quietly eased a door open, pausing once more to listen carefully in case Madam Pomfrey should be up.
Luck was on his side once more. Ron was the only patient in the Hospital Wing that night, and only one bed was obscured by a curtain. That bed is where Draco headed. There he found Ron still unconscious and rather pale. Draco moved to the bedside, watching the faint rises and falls of Ron's chest as the boy breathed.
“You lot get into bloody everything, don't you?” Draco muttered under his breath in annoyance. His hand rose to brush across Ron's forehead, slender fingers caressing up into Ron's red hair briefly to brush it back from Ron's freckled face. Ron's hair was rather soft, and Draco couldn't help noticing the nice contrast that red hair had to his slender, pale fingers.
“I don't want to kill anyone,” Draco continued quietly, still talking to himself, really. He knew-or at least, he really hoped-Ron couldn't hear him. “But I have to try, or the Dark Lord will kill me...or my parents.” Merlin, was he really just standing here, talking to the Weasel, who couldn't even hear him? And likely wouldn't even care. He felt rather pathetic.
Draco moved his hand down, brushing his fingertips over Ron's cheek gently, sliding his thumb across Ron's lips. “I envy you,” he found himself saying quietly. “Your family actually cares, you have friends who's give everything for you. You're more rich than I am and you don't even bloody realize it,” the bitterness seeped into his voice, and he was glad no one else was around, glad Ron was unconscious. Perhaps that's why he felt safe admitting such things.
“I have no friends, only pawns. If I were to die, no one would care. Oh, they'd prattle about and pretend...especially Pansy...” he made a scoffing sound, shaking his head. “But really, they'd be glad to see the end of me. Potter would probably throw a party. And you'd be right there with him, wouldn't you?”
Draco rested his hand on Ron's chest, sighing and shaking his head. Why the hell was he here admitting all this? But he knew. He wouldn't get the chance otherwise, and he was too afraid to do it face to face. “You'll never know I fancy you like a bloody fool, of all people...”
Ron jerked suddenly, letting out a loud snore and groaning. Draco nearly fell on his ass as he scrambled back away from the bed. His heart was pounding in his chest, eyes wide as he watched Ron, but the redhead didn't seem to be waking. Draco cautiously moved closer, nearly jumping back again when Ron mumbled in his sleep, “Wa...er...”
Draco paused, listening again before glancing to the water pitcher and glass on the bedside table. It had been filled should Ron wake up in the course of the night and be thirsty, and Draco could tell it was still quite cold due to the moisture on the outside of the pitcher.
“Now I'm a bloody nurse,” he sighed softly to himself, pouring a glass of water carefully. He moved back to the bed with the glass in hand, carefully sliding his other arm under Ron's neck and gently sitting the boy up. Draco's heart was pounding in his chest. This was risky. Too risky. What if Ron woke? But he couldn't stop himself.
Draco brought the glass of water to Ron's lips, watching as Ron instinctively drank from the glass. Draco couldn't help but notice the way Ron's throat moved as he swallowed, or how Ron's tongue darted over his lips when he was done. Bloody hell. He lay the redhead back carefully, setting the glass back on the bedside table. He'd pushed his luck enough for one night, he knew. Any minute now Ron could wake up and catch him. That would be...awkward. With one last brush of Ron's hair, Draco turned and left.
Just before Draco reached the door, Ron's eyes had opened, watching Draco's blurry figure slip out the door before drifting closed again. Draco never knew, and Ron believed it had all been a dream.
Author: totallyjem
Team: Draco
Prompt: Crime
Rating: R
Warnings: Set during HBP
Length: 1,063 words
Summary:
Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.
To Poison a Weasel
His first attempt had failed. He'd nearly killed another student, though if that stupid girl hadn't interfered he might have succeeded. He was better than this. Smarter than this.
He didn't want to do this.
He couldn't take it. How could he be expected to kill Dumbledore when the Dark Lord couldn't even pull it off himself? But he knew. He knew he was meant to fail, because his father failed. And when he failed, he'd be killed. Punishment for his father's failure. That's what he had to look forward to. Failure...and death.
His second attempt didn't seem to be successful, either. Thanks to his control over Rosemerta, he'd knows Slughorn was getting Dumbledore a bottle of Oak-Matured Mead for Christmas. Nothing. Had Dumbledore detected the poison? He had no way to know. He couldn't eat or sleep. While continuing his work on the Vanishing Cabinet, he kept an eye on Dumbledore for signs of poisoning.
Nothing. Days, then weeks, and finally months passed without incident. Then came the news that made his blood run cold: the Weasel had fallen victim to a poisoned bottle of mead. Damn it! Apparently Slughorn had kept the bottle for himself. Damn that fat bastard! Damn him to hell. He'd found his way to his usual bathroom to splash his face and hide his frightened tears.
Draco had a reason he was so horrible to the Weasel. A reason he pushed the redhead's buttons and riled him up. Not to piss off Potter, oh no. That was just an added bonus. His reason was personal. It had taken him a long time to even be able to admit it to himself, and he wasn't about to admit it to anyone else. Not even the miserable ghost girl who consoled him during most of his tearful bathroom visits.
Draco could do nothing now. He'd gone back to the Room of Requirement to continue working on the Vanishing Cabinet until night had settled over the castle. Slipping out, he'd left the Room and made his way to the hospital wing, thankful that he hadn't passed anyone on the way. He'd paused quietly outside of the doors, listening for any voices or activity. Nothing. Relieved, Draco quietly eased a door open, pausing once more to listen carefully in case Madam Pomfrey should be up.
Luck was on his side once more. Ron was the only patient in the Hospital Wing that night, and only one bed was obscured by a curtain. That bed is where Draco headed. There he found Ron still unconscious and rather pale. Draco moved to the bedside, watching the faint rises and falls of Ron's chest as the boy breathed.
“You lot get into bloody everything, don't you?” Draco muttered under his breath in annoyance. His hand rose to brush across Ron's forehead, slender fingers caressing up into Ron's red hair briefly to brush it back from Ron's freckled face. Ron's hair was rather soft, and Draco couldn't help noticing the nice contrast that red hair had to his slender, pale fingers.
“I don't want to kill anyone,” Draco continued quietly, still talking to himself, really. He knew-or at least, he really hoped-Ron couldn't hear him. “But I have to try, or the Dark Lord will kill me...or my parents.” Merlin, was he really just standing here, talking to the Weasel, who couldn't even hear him? And likely wouldn't even care. He felt rather pathetic.
Draco moved his hand down, brushing his fingertips over Ron's cheek gently, sliding his thumb across Ron's lips. “I envy you,” he found himself saying quietly. “Your family actually cares, you have friends who's give everything for you. You're more rich than I am and you don't even bloody realize it,” the bitterness seeped into his voice, and he was glad no one else was around, glad Ron was unconscious. Perhaps that's why he felt safe admitting such things.
“I have no friends, only pawns. If I were to die, no one would care. Oh, they'd prattle about and pretend...especially Pansy...” he made a scoffing sound, shaking his head. “But really, they'd be glad to see the end of me. Potter would probably throw a party. And you'd be right there with him, wouldn't you?”
Draco rested his hand on Ron's chest, sighing and shaking his head. Why the hell was he here admitting all this? But he knew. He wouldn't get the chance otherwise, and he was too afraid to do it face to face. “You'll never know I fancy you like a bloody fool, of all people...”
Ron jerked suddenly, letting out a loud snore and groaning. Draco nearly fell on his ass as he scrambled back away from the bed. His heart was pounding in his chest, eyes wide as he watched Ron, but the redhead didn't seem to be waking. Draco cautiously moved closer, nearly jumping back again when Ron mumbled in his sleep, “Wa...er...”
Draco paused, listening again before glancing to the water pitcher and glass on the bedside table. It had been filled should Ron wake up in the course of the night and be thirsty, and Draco could tell it was still quite cold due to the moisture on the outside of the pitcher.
“Now I'm a bloody nurse,” he sighed softly to himself, pouring a glass of water carefully. He moved back to the bed with the glass in hand, carefully sliding his other arm under Ron's neck and gently sitting the boy up. Draco's heart was pounding in his chest. This was risky. Too risky. What if Ron woke? But he couldn't stop himself.
Draco brought the glass of water to Ron's lips, watching as Ron instinctively drank from the glass. Draco couldn't help but notice the way Ron's throat moved as he swallowed, or how Ron's tongue darted over his lips when he was done. Bloody hell. He lay the redhead back carefully, setting the glass back on the bedside table. He'd pushed his luck enough for one night, he knew. Any minute now Ron could wake up and catch him. That would be...awkward. With one last brush of Ron's hair, Draco turned and left.
Just before Draco reached the door, Ron's eyes had opened, watching Draco's blurry figure slip out the door before drifting closed again. Draco never knew, and Ron believed it had all been a dream.