Title: The Quandary's Hope

Author: Intrepid Aarcher

Summary: Harry's Potions skills have been well hidden until an accident occurs involving a deadly concoction. Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his arch-nemesis, but why does he care? And where does a surly Potions master fit into the equation? HPDM

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money out of this foray into the world of fan fiction. I just like to borrow the characters.

Warnings: eventual Harry/Draco slash. So that's male/male duh. A bit of abuse here and there, and some pretty dark themes.

"Parseltongue"

"normal speech"

Harry's thoughts

CHAPTER ONE

Lucky Boy

A dark figure sat hunched in his workspace, hissing encouraging words to the potion that was nearing completion. The workspace wasn't much and also served as his living and eating quarters. Dim and cramped, the only light came filtering through the cobwebs from his wand tucked behind one ear. Suddenly he reached out a recently mangled hand clutching awkwardly at a sprig of what appeared to be dried herbs and threw in the ingredient. With the movement, the cauldron tipped precariously, only to be set upright again by the brewer's quick reflexes. Harry Potter was used to working in his cupboard by now.

Ever since the Dursleys had heard of Sirius' death after his fifth year, they were quick to revert back to their former treatment of him, and had therefore graciously given him his old living arrangements back. The beatings had never actually stopped during his summers, and now they had taken a vicious turn, as Vernon was no longer wary of causing visible damage.

During a brief respite in the less than amorous attentions from his family, Harry had decided to restock his personal potions supply. The number of vials he kept secret in his trunk was extensive and the variety of the contents were not limited to mere Healing and Headache Potions, indeed many would be shocked to see the extent of his poisons inventory. Unbeknownst to those who thought they knew him, even the manipulative Dumbledore, Harry excelled in Potions amongst other things, and had kept his more suspicious talents quiet.

By the end of first year he had reached O.W.L. level knowledge in each of his subjects, studying on the quiet as his housemates slept. His lust for knowledge did not stop as he returned to Privet Drive for the summer, it merely provided new challenges to overcome and Harry discovered wandless magic. While the magic detectors monitored by the Ministry were extremely sensitive, he had learned that tiny amounts of wandless magic went unnoticed, and were perfect for the completion of complex potions that required the brewer's magical influence. So during his first summer out of Hogwarts, due to extensive research and experimentation, Harry had developed a Sleepless Potion which only required him to visit the land of nod once a fortnight. After this his research was taken to another level, as he threw himself into study to distract him from his grief over Sirius, and brought him to where he was now, the summer before his sixth year at Hogwarts.

The poison he was currently working on was a particularly nasty concoction and was called Yerasimos' Quandary after the Middle Eastern wizard who first ingested it. It was an extremely slow acting fluid that caused excruciating pain as it burned its way through the victim's bloodstream. Eventually after months of torture, the poison would attack the cell membranes of the vital organs, and the victim would effectively bleed to death internally. The Ministry had seized and destroyed all documents containing the slightest hint as to the procedure or ingredients required over 200 years ago, yet the legend of the poison had been passed down through each generation by Potions masters.

Harry, having caught a brief mention of the poison and its effects in one of the hundreds of ancient potions tomes he devoured, was curious. It had taken him three years to reach this point, and after extensive research and experimentation, he had finally hit on the correct combination of ingredients and was adding the final touches to the poison he had been brewing for the past three weeks.

Reaching behind him and feeling around the equipment he had set up on his cot, he came across a sleek silver dagger, sharpened so finely it could cut through steel with only the slightest pressure. The handle had a beautiful figurine of an elongated woman clutching at the blade whilst a snake wrapped around her in suffocation.

Harry liked this part of the process; the blood letting. He gasped as he sank the point of the blade deep into the tip of his index finger, relishing the sharp sensation that clawed its way up his arm. He knew it was wrong, this kind of sick pleasure in order to feel alive. He also knew the only reason he enjoyed it was because he was choosing to do it, like a small glimpse of freedom no one had ever let him experience. The Dursleys took his blood by force when they beat him, and the years of virtual slavery they subjected him to encouraged him to take what scraps of freedom he could. Voldemort too had taken his blood, and to top it off he was slowly being moulded into Dumbledore's puppet. Although he liked this ritual, he knew his blood was too valuable to waste for recreational purposes and only did so when required for potions.

"Finished!" Harry hissed triumphantly as the potion suddenly cooled and turned a slightly pale shade of mercury. "My favourite colour…"

Just then he heard the front door slam open and what sounded like a herd of elephants stumbling into the hall and without thinking hid his wand. "Great." Dudley and his gang had just returned and judging by the way they were struggling to take the lock off the cupboard door in their drunken state, they were up for some of their favourite sport; Harry Bashing.

The door to Harry's hovel was suddenly wrenched clean off its hinges. Harry moved to hide what he'd been up to, but not before the three hulking figures caught sight of the cauldron. Hesitating only momentarily, Dudley reached in and grabbed Harry by the front of his overlarge t-shirt and threw him against the opposite wall. With all three of the gang helping, Harry's struggle was futile as they dragged him up to Dudley's second bedroom and shut the door behind them. Once again Harry's skull was slammed against a wall.

"Hallo Dud, did they kick you out of the pub because your ugly face was scaring the customers away?" Harry said cheerily.

"What were you up to you pathetic little freak?" Dudley growled into his face. Piers Polkiss and another boy Harry recognized glowered menacingly over their leader's shoulders.

"I'll happily tell you if you say the magic word." At this Dudley's fat face turned red and swelled up even further. Before Harry knew what hit him, Dudley's enormous fist crashed into his skull. Before he could hit the ground, Piers was holding his arms firmly behind his back while Dudley pounded his pudgy fists into his stomach and face. The other boy was still, but if Harry was reassured by the thought he had someone on his side, this was quickly stomped on when he caught a glimpse of the boy's face.

He seemed familiar but Harry couldn't recall his name. The boy was handsome with dark hair that was cropped close to his head. His skin was golden and flawless, as if he spent his life on the shores of the Mediterranean. He was tall and lithe, and stood with careless grace, not caring to join in the beating as though he couldn't be bothered. But his eyes… his eyes were staring at Harry's face as he endured the blows, the intensity in those chocolate brown depths alight with something similar to lust, and for the first time in a long while, Harry was afraid.

Dudley's punches began to fall with less frequency and accuracy as the lump of a boy tired, and finally came to a halt.

"I'm hungry." He grunted and lurched towards the door. He turned towards Piers and the other boy. "You coming?"

Piers, always anxious to please his leader dropped Harry and followed instantly, while the other lingered for a moment. "Give me a moment would you?" he said smoothly. Dudley couldn't have cared less, and Harry was left alone in a heap on the floor with the strange dark character.

As Harry had been conditioned to endure beatings since he was young, he was very much aware of his surroundings even though his body was unable to move. He watched the boy stalk closer to his prone form with wary eyes.

He didn't know what to expect, and for someone who learned to survive by always anticipating his opponents next move, he was terrified. He reached inside himself to feel for the deep well of magic in case something should happen and he could no longer avoid using it, even at the risk of detection- but there was nothing. Harry groaned inwardly as he remembered he had used his vast reserves while brewing the potion over the past few weeks, and even as powerful as he was, he couldn't restore his magical energy without a decent meal and some sleep. He had had neither for weeks.

While these thoughts had been racing through his head, the stranger had moved even closer to Harry and was raking his eyes over his battered body. Moving to straddle him, he placed one hand almost tenderly on his face and forced Harry to look into his eyes.

"Harry," he breathed, "So green, so beautiful, so…powerless."

Harry was trembling now, and seeing this, the other boy chuckled harshly. "Are you afraid of me? Don't be. I want to show you how perfect you are, even in your current state." He frowned slightly at that, as though regretting how badly Harry had been beaten. "But no matter…" At that his hand left Harry's cheek and moved down along his neck to caress his collar bone. His other hand gripped Harry's shoulder, and seeing the slightly smaller boy was paralyzed with fear, he crushed their lips together. Forcing his mouth open, he plunged his tongue into Harry's mouth and began to ravage every spot he could find. It's not supposed to be like this! Harry's brain screamed. He knew he was attracted to boys after the disastrous experience with Cho, but he had been waiting for his first experience with another of his sex until he found someone he could trust - not only to keep his secret, but to take his feelings into consideration.

Pain exploded in Harry's mind as hands began their own exploration of his body, pressing against fresh bruises and cracked ribs. The brown eyed boy took his mangled hand and squeezed. Hard. Harry screamed in pain into the boy's mouth. The other boy was delighted at this and broke off the 'kiss' to grin wickedly at Harry. This humiliation was more painful than anything Dudley had ever done to him.

The boy moved off Harry and kneed him in his already battered stomach, and with a smirk and a soft caress to Harry's cheek, strode out of the room. Harry, his ordeal over at last, found he could move, restored his dignity as best he could and curled up on his side. Silent tears streamed down his disfigured face, and as he drifted off, he wished he had lost consciousness sooner.

Not ten minutes after he had been left alone, he was dragged back to awareness by being rolled down the stairs. Here we go again, he thought as he cracked one eye open and took in his surroundings. He was almost grateful when he could only spot Piers and Dudley, as they dumped him back on his cot under the stairs. As they did so, his movement disrupted the cloak he had used to cover his potions. He felt Dudley pause as he saw the cauldron for the second time.

"Piers, hold him down," he instructed as he reached for the cool cauldron. As weak as Harry was, he started to struggle violently as Piers wrenched his jaw open and blocked his nose, but he was no match for them in his state. Dudley held the cauldron over his face and slowly tipped it towards his mouth. Harry could only watch in horror as the silver liquid came ever closer to the brim, and finally, flowed over the edge to fill his mouth. Piers held him firmly as he tried to turn his head or spit it out. A small trickle escaped and ran down his chin, but there was a lot more in the cauldron. This continued for about a minute until at last he was forced to swallow, the freezing slow burn of the poison making its way down his throat.

Harry was thinking quickly. He could not die- the prophecy had seen to that, but he would be in indescribable pain for the rest of his life. Fortunately there was an antidote that he had read about called Yarasimos' Hope, which he had 48 hours to concoct and ingest before any irreversible damage was done. The reversal of the poison was also a slow and painful process, as the antidote forced all foreign substances from the body over a period of some months. The foul tasting substance had to be taken regularly, or else the poison would override it. The unfortunate thing was that due to the antidote forcing any other substance from his body, he could not take any healing potions, and anything he took now could affect the potion when he took it. Healing spells would also be rendered useless as the poison had strong magical properties that prevented any interference with its progress. The best he could do would be to cast Concealing Charms which worked externally to hide his true appearance.

As he slowly lost consciousness, he heard the voice of his snarky Potions master in his head, and hissed to himself, "Yes, yes I know, always brew the antidote before attempting the poison. I can just see your face if you knew saying 'I told you so.'" Not that he intended to let the git find out. He did, however, require some extremely rare potions ingredients that he knew Snape had in his private stores. Luckily for him, he was due on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow and would have just enough time to brew the antidote at school. Just. He was a lucky boy. A very lucky boy… was his last thought before he slipped into merciful darkness.

End chapter 1

A/N: I hope you liked it! Tell me if it was too dull or anything- it was my first ever piece of writing so sorry if it lost a few people along the way