Clean

The Miscalculation

Chapter 10: The Miscalculation

"Fuck," whispered Draco, to nobody in particular.

He'd slammed the door of the cabinet shut after seeing its contents, turning his back to it and sliding gracelessly onto the floor, collapsing all of his weight at its base. He shuddered, the swallow's mangled form punishingly vivid even as he forced his eyes shut.

He let his wand slip through his fingers, barely conscious of the sound it made as it clattered onto the hard marble floor.

"Fuck," he repeated, louder. "Fuck!"

He was shaking.

Draco scrubbed at his eyelids furiously, aggressively shoving a few straggling blond hairs away from his face. His breathing was loud, uneven; it was the least control he had felt in weeks, and that was saying something, considering the entropic downward spiral he'd been experiencing.

He reached out for his wand, picking it up and putting his weight on the cabinet to steady himself to his feet. He took one deep breath, then yanked open the door, flicking his wand soundlessly to remove the bird's broken form, eliminating the evidence of his failure. He stared gloomily into the now empty cabinet, gathering his thoughts.

So, evidently it was still broken.

He straightened, trying to be rational. Right, he thought, skimming his mental image of the notes he'd gotten from Borgin before he'd arrived at school. Back to the drawing board.

He brushed some non-existent dust off his immaculate trousers and adjusted his collar. He would have to leave now, if he wanted to join the others at Hogsmeade. He scowled, not particularly in the mood to socialize amidst the countless blithering idiots who would no doubt just be mindlessly indulging in sweets or overtly snogging. But with Potter so openly tailing him, he felt it was best to simply keep up appearances. He was sure he'd regret it if he let Potter realize he was keeping to the castle – particularly this part of the castle.

He walked to the door of the Room of Requirement, listening for any muted sounds on the other side; hearing nothing, he slipped out of the heavy door quickly, catching the eye of a small, redheaded first year.

Draco nodded to the polyjoice potion-influenced form of Gregory Goyle. "Later," he said curtly, turning in the opposite direction. He caught a glimpse of a small nod from the temporarily feminine form of Vincent Crabbe from afar, but didn't bother acknowledging it.

Crabbe and Goyle's part in the mechanics of Draco's plan was, at this point, more out of necessity for their fathers than out of loyalty to Draco, although he suspected they considered themselves favored because of his confidence. He had needed eyes on the outside while he was working, and for all their stupidity, they didn't ask questions, or at least, not ones he felt compelled to answer. Theo would have doubtlessly been more help, but this was to be Draco's failing, and his alone.

Draco subconsciously rubbed his inner left forearm, which seemed to always tingle with a phantom vibration.

He stepped hurriedly onto the stone path out of the castle, closing the gap between himself and the group of students as they made their way toward the village of Hogsmeade en masse.

"Theo," he said breathlessly, catching him.

He turned and nodded. "Draco," he said pleasantly. "Running a bit behind?"

"Overslept," Draco replied simply. Theo frowned.

"Really?" he said skeptically. "Because you look like you haven't slept in – "