Dark Red

The Potion: Draught of Heart's Truth, a third level Emotions draft; upon consumption, grants the drinker the ability to see auras of varying colors around those in the vicinity for approximately half an hour. The color of the aura reflects the drinker's true feelings towards the person it surrounds. The potion is used by everyone from those experiencing simple emotional confusion to terminal amnesia patients. The advantage to using Heart's Truth over a spell of Revealing is that only the drinker will see the results.

The Assignment: Make, then consume the Draught of Heart's Truth. Using your notes, record the colors of the auras you see around at least ten members of the class and what those colors mean.

The Aftermath...

Harry looked around. The colored glow surrounding everyone in the room now made him feel as if he were sitting in a rainbow. Sighing, he turned to his parchment and set of notes. The draught had taken nearly the entire class period to make and if he didn't hand in the ten observations before the bell, it would be another zero his Potions grade didn't need.

First was Ron. Yellow...yellow means...steadfast friendship with and loyalty to the one whom this aura surrounds. Harry grinned. Hit the nail on the head. Number two: Hermione.

Green...friendship containing respect and potentially love, as one feels for a sibling, but no romantic element.

Who else...Dean...Seamus...Neville...

Harry realized that Snape would probably dock points for only choosing Gryffindors, so he looked across the room at the Slytherins. His eyes landed immediately on Draco Malfoy. Perfect.

The aura around Draco was a deep red, almost wine colored...He wondered what it meant.

Dark red, there it was...indicates deep rivalry and animosity...No surprise there, what's that last bit?...Oh God...Oh God...no...but these feelings disguise true attraction and longing.

Oh no...He couldn't write that down. He couldn't hand that in to Snape; there was no way. Maybe he had botched his potion...but then why were all the other results so accurate? No, it had to be right...but it wasn't...was it?

Draco had noticed him staring, smirked, shrugged, and turned to his notes. Harry continued to watch. Slowly, ever so painfully slowly, Draco looked back at Harry, his pale face drained of what little color it possessed. His lips parted and he mouthed silently, "Meet me when class is over."

"Where?" Harry mouthed back.

Draco thought a moment. "Astronomy Tower."

Harry remembered that the tower was famous for the romantic trysts it had played host to and the irony was not lost on him.

When Draco reached for his quill to return to the assignment, his hands were shaking.

***

"Did you see--"

"What color--"

"Let's start over, Potter. I assume you got the same...results...with the potion."

"Yes...you don't think we could have messed it up somehow? That we could have done something wrong?"

"Unlike you, Potter, I don't screw up everything Snape puts in front of us. Besides, if we'd messed it up, wouldn't all the results have been affected?"

"I'd thought of that...Do you suppose it's just a fluke, then? No truth behind it?"

"I don't know about you, Potter, but there was no truth behind it from my end."

"None from me, either. The potion just must be wrong, or Snape gave us the wrong notes."

"Now that you mention it...He had to know we'd get that color; bet the bastard slipped that last bit in there to mess with our heads."

"I thought you liked Snape."

"Respect, yes. Admire, yes. Like? Not particularly. It's a family thing, bad blood that traces back so far you wouldn't understand."

"Then how come he never picks on you in class?"

"Because my father could have his balls in an instant if he tried. Slipping this kind of thing into the notes is the perfect revenge for him. How can I argue it without making it look like..."

"...you're in love with me."

"See? A fine example of Slytherin plotting. Should write this down somewhere, it's terribly good. Maybe I could adapt it for Divination..."

"So...we agree, then. No truth to it. Just forget about the whole thing."

"Exactly. Not like I bothered to write it down as one of my examples."

"Neither did I. We'd better head down to dinner before anyone gets suspicious."

"Hold it, Potter. If we come out of this tower together, it'll make people more suspicious than if we had written down that damn color. You go first, I'll wait a few minutes before I leave. And Potter--"

"Hm?"

"This never happened."

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Now you're thinking like a Slytherin, Potter."

"Is than a compliment or an insult?"

***

He could feel it all through dinner, burning in his chest, burning like fire, spreading like a stain, wine-colored stain, dark red wine...

He didn't believe it. He didn't believe a word of it. Snape wouldn't have done anything to their notes. If their notes were wrong, everyone's notes were wrong and everyone's notes being wrong would reflect on their test scores and his teaching. He was petty and could hold quite the grudge, but he wouldn't dare let anything make it seem he was a poor teacher.

If the notes weren't wrong, and there were no flaws in his potion, then that meant...

He loved him. He really did love him.

How could he not have known? Surely he knew his own heart well enough that he would know if he fell in love with his greatest rival. Surely he didn't need some potion to tell him when he was in love. Surely...

He loved him.

It hurt.

At first, it was only an ache in the center of his chest, but then it became a stabbing pain, and then burst into flames. It licked its way through his heart, then consumed his lungs so he couldn't scream or beg or plead or confess.

His chest was empty and the fire turned inside it like a caged animal.

***

The pain had gotten worse.

The fire had moved through his limbs, chewing up his nerves until he couldn't feel, then rushing up his neck and swallowing his brain until all he could think about was him and the want and the need and the frustration and the knowledge that the answer was "no" and the absolute desperation for it to be "yes" and the pain behind his eyes like when he tried to hold off tears for too long, only he couldn't be trying not to cry, because why would you cry over a boy like that? Who would want a boy like that?

I would, he thought before the last of his brain dissolved into flakes of ash.

***

Without his brain, things began to get worse.

The fire had nothing left to eat but his soul, and it tore into it with claws and teeth and gently curving lips that planted fiery flowers with choking roots wherever they touched. His soul was shriveling and he knew that the next thing to go would be his skin and then they would throw back the curtains in the morning to find only a tiny pile of gray dust, for his bones would follow his skin as the fire's meal. They would shake their heads and say how it was such a shame, such a promising young boy, such a smart boy, but then what can you expect from falling in love with that, you have heard the story, haven't you? What? No? Well, you see, this promising boy, this smart boy, he fell in love with--

He reached under the bed and into his trunk, drawing out a small silver dagger. It was a present, a replacement for another he had lost. He smiled and ran his fingers over the blade that winked at him like a friend, like a lover, like him--

He pressed the tip of the dagger to the place where his heart had been and knew that everything would be just fine.

***

Draco Malfoy was found the next morning curled up in bed, hands still wrapped around the hilt of the dagger buried in his chest.

All classes were canceled until further notice.

Some claim they saw Harry Potter that day with a bottle of red wine and a glass he had stolen from the kitchens.

There was no physical evidence to indicate such a theft.

***

The morning after, Harry Potter's bed was empty.

His friends, assuming he had gone to breakfast early, thought nothing of it.

Harry was not at breakfast.

In fact, Harry did not seem to be anywhere.

***

A few hours later, Harry Potter was found at the foot of the Astronomy Tower. One hand clutched the front of his robes, over his heart. The other hand held the remains of a crystal glass, shattered on impact, a dark red stain still lightly coating the shards.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Again, don't ask me where this came from. I had the last few bits turning in my head for a few days, and tonight I just knew how to write this. God, I'm slipping into Pablo mode ("Tonight I can write the saddest lines..."; eerie how appropriate that is.)

My undying love for my reviewers: Lark57, Gwennie357, Cynic387, BrennaSH, Jive, her_xcelncy, and kdalemama. (If I missed anyone, I'm sorry!! I'll be sure to thank you next time I post.) You guys mean a lot to me, so do all your critiques and encouragement. Thank you.

Project updates: Haven't had a chance to work much on the "Shatter" sequel yet (tentative title: "Cover the Mirror," gacked from a line of an October Project song.), as have been busy and mostly working on H/D necromancer project (tentative title: "Dark Time," yet another title gacked from OP). Also have "Carrying Fire," a longer project I have great hopes for, but have to do some serious work on the beginning b/c...well, it just sucks right now. I have the middle and ending planned very well, but the beginning sucks ass. (And for the third and final time, the title comes from a line of an OP song.)

Check out my livejournal for updates: www.livejournal.com/~heridraconigena.

Please review; I live off of feedback.

Love you all,

Kat

"I should warn you. Things you're feeling, aren't normal now. Think you need me. It's not easy, let you go somehow. Now we're too far gone. Hope is such a waste...Please speak slowly. My heart is learning. Teach me heartache, stop this burning now. Wishful thinking, patience shrinking, bliss is far away..." - The All-American Rejects, "Too Far Gone"