Perfect Hell

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Chapter 1: Simple Actions

Minerva McGonagall looked out of her office window and watched the first years cross the lake. It's not fair on them. *God, what've I done*

She watched, unseeingly, as a memory from a time long passed but not forgotten engulfed her.

"C'mon, Minnie. Look what I found!"

"A book, Tom? You brought me all the way down here because of a book!"

"Read this," said Tom Riddle, ignoring her, "Instant Invisibility Charms, a Dimension Swapping spell ... this is better than anything we've found yet."

"What's that?" asked Minerva, reading over Tom's shoulder.

"An Immortality Potion. Wow!"

They had worked on the potion in secret for months. It was very complex, but they weren't the two best students in the school for nothing. On the 22^nd of December they finished.

"Ready, Min?"

"This is serious Dark magic, Tom. If we do this wrong we could die! If we do this right, we still don't know what it will do."

"Should I take that as a yes?"

"Of course."

Her eyes bright with determination, Minerva looked at the potion. Tentatively, she filled a glass and drank it. Tom followed in suit.

The pain was unbearable; the Cruciatus Curse paled in comparison. It felt like serpents of fire and poison were running through her veins to every cell in her body. Her wrists magically opened, pouring blood. She was drawn to Tom by an ancient force. Their wrists met each other. She could feel his blood pouring into her, and her blood into him. Pain and pleasure became one in that suspended time. It stopped suddenly. The two youths fell down, exhausted.

Hours later, Tom raised his head and looked at Minerva. "You look like hell, love."

A giggle escaped her throat, "you don't look much better."

"Want to test the potion?"

Still excited and powerful from the potion, Minerva met his eyes and silently accepted the challenge there.

"How about we start with something small," she asked, "like Avada Kedavra?"

His only answer was a smile. Worry rose in Minerva as she uttered the fateful words. The green light hit Tom and he collapsed.

"Oh my god!" Minerva screamed.

As she leant over Tom's still body, she felt two strong arms grasp her shoulders.

"Fooled you," Tom whispered, then took her mouth in an easy kiss.

"What have I done?" Minerva whispered to herself. The unforeseen effects of the potion had been to create an undefeatable Dark wizard and sentence two innocent boys to death.

That wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that even though he'd put a bounty on her head, even though he had killed thousands of people, even though he'd tried to kill her hero, Dumbledore, she still loved him. She loved Tom Riddle and the guilt was driving her mad. "And I'll only live for an eternity," she told herself, as she turned from the window.

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Harry lay down on his four-poster, waiting for the rest of the boys in his dorm to fall asleep. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd slept, maybe back in fifth year? It didn't matter anyway.

He never slept anymore. Occasionally he would catnap but usually he was too wound up to rest. Not even Quidditch could send him to sleep. Every night he would walk around the school, as silent as the night. At least he didn't have to take his invisibility cloak out, being a prefect gave him an excuse if Filch caught him, though he tried to avoid people. Harry was sick of their fake smiles, their silent taunting, and their looks of barely smothered hate.

His classmates had been attacked at Hogesmeade by a large group of Death Eaters last year. The Death Eaters had terrified them, tortured a few and gave them a severed head to give to Dumbledore. They all expected him to be the Gryffindor, be brave and fight the Death Eaters. All he did was stand there and stare at the Death Eaters like an idiot.

When the Daily Prophet found out, it was splashed over the front pages for at least a fortnight. The magical community's last hope turned out to be useless. He had received countless Howlers and rigged letters. He accepted them. He deserved them. After a while they didn't bother him anymore. Nothing bothered him anymore.

He pretended to care about Quidditch, to care about the House Cup, to care about failing or passing but he didn't care, he didn't care about anything anymore. That would have scared him if he could feel fear. All he wanted was to feel: to be happy, sad, angry - just something. Something other than this emptiness that filled his soul, leaving no room for anything else.

Harry sighed deeply as he rolled over. He looked over his arms in the moonlight. They were crisscrossed with scars. All created at different times with different knives. He had given them to himself since that day. He used to make them when he was depressed or suicidal. Now, well, feeling pain is better than feeling nothing. It let him know he was alive. Pain was the only thing he felt now.

His aunt and uncle had not been impressed with his new attitude over the summer and had tried to starve him out of it. It didn't matter. He only ate when someone reminded him to. His already slight build had become even skinnier.

Harry cocked his head to one side for a moment. Then he slipped out into the hallway once again.

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Draco was standing alone in front of the fire in the Potions classroom, trying to breathe warmth into his freezing hands.

Suddenly he turned and bent over the simmering cauldron. "Three drops of concentrated salamander flame and one dried Lyrabell, picked at midnight on All Hallow's Eve," Draco muttered, with unnatural concentration.

Draco then examined the potion with a bitter satisfaction. "Damn Voldemort. Damn Father." He had wanted to become a Death Eater. He had been proud of his father and had been happy to follow in his footsteps. This summer had changed all that.

Memories came rushing back to Draco like a tidal wave. Trying to escape their grasp, he stoked the fire once more and concentrated on the flames, wishing they could warm his cold heart.

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Harry walked through the narrow hallway, lost deep in thought, "I'll have to get Ginny to go over the Hawkeshead Formation with Colin and Cat. I hope Ron managed to spy on the Slytherin chasers. I don't like the idea of spying, but Slytherins never play fair and Ron is nervous enough of his first game against them, without having to deal with blocking new strategies."

Harry sighed. He hadn't wanted to be captain but he was the most experienced player and the team had refused to take no as an answer.

Turning the corner, Harry noticed a muted light coming from behind one of the closed doors. Curious, Harry unlocked the door and peered in. Draco was standing in front of a simmering cauldron, a vial of some potion to his lips.

"Malfoy!" Harry said, reacting on instinct.

Draco spun around, shock and then elegant distaste registering on his face. "Potter. Is it a natural talent, or have you had to practice being where you're least wanted," Draco asked sarcastically.

Harry was about to reply when he saw the faint glittering of a vial being hidden by hands as pale as the snow. Using his seeker instincts, Harry grabbed it before Draco could react.

Draco's eyes blazed with rage. "Give me back the potion Potter!"

Harry was tempted to take a step back at the hate and pure menace in Draco's voice. However, curiousity gave him courage. He lifted the vial to his face. "Asphodel, balzair, myriad, lyrabell and ... something else. This is poison!"

"No, I didn't notice!" Draco remarked sarcastically. He paused, curious, "How do you know what's in it?"

"Two words: Snape and detention."

Draco laughed softly, "Figures."

"Why the fuck were you trying to kill yourself?" Harry asked softly.

"None of your business, Potter. What does it matter to you if I die?"

"Because I'll be the first suspect!"

"Bullshit! No one would believe you could make a potion as advanced as this. Besides you're not the only one who'd like to see me dead."

Harry paused for a moment. "Why do you want to commit suicide? I mean, of all the people I know, you would be the last I would think of doing something like that."

"You don't know me Potter."

"That's not an explanation."

"It's none of your business! Just give me back my poison and sod off!"

"No."

"Do you need me to repeat it in one-syllable words?"

"I'm not giving you the potion until you tell me why you want it!"

"NO!"

"Yes."

Draco sighed deeply. "During the summer Voldemort refused to let me become a Death Eater and my father is going to disown me. Happy now?"

Harry saw the flickering of pain cross Draco's face during the explanation. It was there for only an instant but Harry would recognise that expression immediately, it was one of soul-deep pain. Harry had seen it so many times in his own reflection. He knew that there was much more to Draco's story than the boy had reluctantly told. He was sure that the Slytherin, who always seemed so emotionless, was dying slowly inside.

"No."

The word seemed so strong in the silence that surrounded the young boys.

"I upheld my end of the bargain, now it's your turn."

Harry smiled and kept the vial out of Draco's reach.

"Don't go all Gryffindor on me. Why should you care, you hate me," Draco explained, as though to a dim-witted child.

"I don't hate you."

It was hard to tell who was more shocked by the simple admission: Draco or the tabby cat resting on a chair in the far corner of the room. She had come in at the start of the argument, but had not deemed it wise to reveal her presence.

"What?" Draco asked, his carefully constructed mask replaced with disbelief.

"I don't hate you. I used to, but I grew up. I don't like you, but I don't want you to die."

Draco was stunned. He was prepared for hate, for anger, for humiliation. Instead he found compassion, honest and simple, and from his enemy no less.

Draco looked at Harry, his usual sneer returning, "I didn't ask for your approval, Potter"

"I don't want another person's blood on my hands," explained Harry emotionlessly.

With that, he turned to leave. Draco attacked him from behind. Harry felt a pair of strong hands spin him around, and wrap themselves around his neck. Harry undid Draco's hands and pushed him onto the ground in one swift, smooth motion, leaving Draco lying on the cold stone floor. For a moment there was no sound except the heavy breathing of the two boys. Then Draco turned and looked at Harry quizzically. "How did you learn to fight like that?"

"The hard way."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning it was the easiest way to stop my uncle and cousin strangling me."

Draco searched Harry's gaze for boasting or deception but only found cruel truth. "I thought that stuff was just bullcrap from your fan club."

Harry winced at the words Â'fan club'. "I wish. Though, it's really not that bad, unless one of them get drunk. Having Sirius as my godfather usually makes them think twice otherwise."

"Sirius Black is your godfather?"

"Yeah."

"God, he always scared the shit out of me," confessed Draco before he could stop himself.

"Sirius scares you? God, this is priceless!"

"Sod off, Potter."

Harry was laughing to hard to reply to that. Suddenly, Draco turned grave.

"Give me the potion."

Harry became as serious as Draco, "sure."

Harry threw the vial over Draco's head and into the fire, where it caused a small explosion.

"You fucking dickhead! That took me weeks to do!"

"Your problem," Harry replied, his lips a grim line.

With a flick of his wand, Draco had the dungeon room clean. Then, with a hate-filled glare at Harry, Draco stormed out, his robes billowing dramatically behind him.

Harry looked around the desolate classroom. He turned and walked back to the Gryffindor tower, somehow knowing Draco wouldn't attempt suicide again tonight.

Silently, he slipped through the common room and into his dorm. For the first time in many, many long months, Harry slept peacefully, dreaming of Draco.

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In the Slytherin common room Draco stood in front of the fire, trying to warm his fingers, which had become painfully cold during the slow walk to his dorm. Cursing softly, Draco turned and, as quietly as the still night, crept into his dorm.

He snuggled underneath the green blankets, vowing that Potter would pay. He soon surrendered to his fatigue and slept deeply, despite the fact that a certain raven-haired Gryffindor kept invading his dreams.

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Stretching luxuriously, the tabby jumped down from the seat and walked out of the classroom with feline grace. Professor McGonagall reached a decision and stalked determinedly up to the Headmaster's quarters. Trying to put her disheveled appearance back into order, she whispered, "Honeycomb crunch."

A very curious but barely awake Dumbledore was sitting in front of the bright fire.

"Headmaster," Minerva composed herself before she could continue, "it is happening, The spell shall be fulfilled, and the two heirs will die."

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