Drarry - It Was All Just a Game (REWRITE - MATURE VERSION)

CHAPTER 39 - THE HUNT

TW: Graphic panic attack

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Draco chose the upcoming Wednesday evening because it was when the snow fell the hardest, forcing everyone to huddle in their common rooms and thus leave him with an empty trip. As a result, the castle was still; an eerie quiet made it worse on Draco because he felt open, vulnerable and visible as he carried a small vial of poison that fit in his pocket.

There was a numbness that filled Draco's veins. He couldn't quite feel himself walk, or even be aware of the steps he took. He wasn't sure if that was better than feeling the sharp, nauseous anxiety that he had the previous few days.

He had to rewrite his Charms essay twice because his fingers were shaking so hard, it wasn't even legible. The grade wasn't up to his standards, either. He'd missed an entire section, and his score suffered the consequences. But who cares about a stupid number on a piece of paper when he had to become a murderer?

Harry even took note of how pale he was on Tuesday. He sent a note asking him if he was okay. Draco wrote back that he thought he got food poisoning. To which Harry brought him a potion to help. Because he was such a damn good boyfriend.

Draco did his best to think of Harry for comfort as he made his way at Slughorn's storage closet, but then it also came with anxiety. Because what if Harry knew he was doing such a horrible thing? Such a dangerous and heartbreaking and evil thing?

It was difficult to make him fall in love with a murderer. At least before, he was pushing him in the right direction, away from him. Now... not so much.

When he arrived to Slughorn's storage closet (which was Snape's old one), he cast an Alohomora, and entered. It was a simple act, just opening it, putting a few drops in, and replacing the tag, which he did, trying not to let his eyes linger on the To Albus.

And for some reason, his body stopped protecting him. The numbness faded and the pure anxiety replaced it.

You're just adding in some liquid. Dumbledore is smart. He'll know it's tainted by the smell. He won't drink it. Pretend it doesn't have poison in it, do the deed, and leave.

Pretend it isn't poison, it's just water.

It was like there was a frog in his throat. He couldn't swallow, and breathing became a labored chore.

Draco checked it one last time before hiding the poison back in his pocket and rushing out of the closet.

As he shut the door carefully behind him, he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

Suddenly, Slughorn's door opened, and Draco froze. Rather than Slughorn stepping out, it was Harry.

Harry fucking Potter. Of all people.

Harry blinked. "What are you doing?"

Fuck! He was trying to get Harry to fall back in love with him. He wasn't trying to let Harry catch him on one of his murder missions!

"H-Hey you," Draco choked. He tried his best not to look guilty, but his entire body felt like ice. He wanted to scream out his confession. He wanted to collapse and quit and—why was breathing so hard?

"You look... pale." His eyes narrowed.

"You can't go in here," he panicked, grabbing Harry's hand and pulling him away from the closet. "I'm setting up for our anniversary."

"Already?"

"Yes. I'm a planner, remember? I make plans," his voice cracked. Draco led him down the hall until they were far enough away for him to get somewhat of a grip. And he thought that he made it, he thought he could keep it down. But there was a newer, stronger wave that came. It brought tears to Draco's eyes, it brought dizziness and weakness. His throat burned. His arm burned.