Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Harry Potter, they are all J K Rowling's creations.

Summary: When Harry is given an unknown poison, a race against time begins to cure him and destroy Voldemort before Harry dies. Who poisoned Harry? And where does Draco fit in? H/D SLASH

A/N: Hey! Yes, another! I can't help but churn them out. I don't know why I keep getting random ideas for fics! I suppose it's a good thing in the end. Well, let me know how you like it please!

Ch. 1.

It was the twentieth of July, and Petunia Dursley was cleaning the kitchen. It was raining outside so instead of mowing the lawn, her nephew, Harry Potter, was dusting the living room. Mid way through wiping the sides, Petunia heard a gigantic crash and the sound of breaking china from the front room. Putting down her cloth, the bony woman stormed towards the sound.

"Boy! What have you done this ti-"

She stopped short at the sight in front her. The raven haired boy was sprawled unconscious on the floor, a broken ornament next to him.

Petunia wondered what to do. Vernon was at work, and Dudley was out with a friend. Neither of them would know if she called an ambulance. She could get her nephew checked out and make out that he'd just wandered off again. Normally, she wouldn't bother, but this looked serious, there was no reason for the boy to collapse. Vernon wouldn't approve, but Harry was her nephew, and though she thought him a freak, she had a responsibility to look after him. Picking up the phone, Petunia dialled 999.

"Hello? Ambulance please."


The doctors were very confused. A fifteen-year-old boy, slim and slightly underfed, but obviously in good physical shape had been brought into the hospital in a coma. But there was no head trauma, no reason for his sudden collapse. And the tests on his body's functions. The results were very odd. Again, there were unexplained problems.

"Something's caused his immune system to almost completely shut down," one of the doctors told Petunia. "From the looks of the tests we've been doing, in the next two years, his whole body will slowly stop functioning. We don't know why, or how to stop it. I'm sorry, Mrs. Dursley, your nephew is dying."

Petunia blinked, taken aback. Then,

"I need to go home and finish the cleaning before my husband comes home."

"Are you sure?" the doctor frowned. "Wouldn't you rather sit with Harry for a while?"

"No, thank you. I should be getting back," Petunia replied.

With that, she turned and strode out of the hospital, heading for the taxi rank and her ride home.


With the lasagne in the oven and the living room finished, Petunia decided to empty the bins, as the rubbish was to be collected the next morning. It wasn't until she emptied the bin in her bedroom that she found something odd. A large, dark bottle, wrapped in a tissue was stuffed amongst the rubbish. Reading the label, the horse-like woman frowned. There was only one word written on it, and it wasn't English. Taking the cork out, she peered inside. It was empty.


It wasn't until halfway through dinner that Harry's whereabouts were brought up in conversation.

"Where's the boy?" Vernon grunted as he shovelled food into his mouth.

"He's in hospital," Petunia answered evenly.

"What?" Dudley looked up.

"He collapsed this afternoon," Petunia explained. "I called an ambulance."

"You did what?" Vernon spluttered.

"I called an ambulance," Petunia repeated.

Vernon's moustache bristled.

"Why?" he asked.

"Those freaks at the train station warned us to look after him. I was worried that if I didn't take him to the hospital, they'd do something to us," Petunia snapped. "Besides, he's my nephew. It's my duty to care for him."

"Petunia," Vernon's eyes closed briefly. "We don't have to do what those freaks said. They can't possibly be watching him all the time. Besides, we have to show them that they don't scare us!"

"Vernon, it was my choice," a weary tone entered Petunia's voice. "Anyway, we won't have to worry about him for much longer. He's dying, and the doctors don't know why."

"He's dying?" there was a strange tone in Dudley's voice.

Vernon, on the other hand, looked quite pleased.


It wasn't until dessert that Petunia mentioned the bottle.

"Vernon, I found this in our bedroom bin," she pulled it out of her pocket. "I've never seen it before. What was it for?"

A callous smirk crossed her husband's face.

"I used it to take care of the boy," he answered proudly.

"What do you mean?" frowned Petunia.

"For fifteen years he's been infecting this house with his freakiness!" Vernon snarled maliciously. "And then at King's Cross! Those other weirdos telling us how to treat the boy! He stays in our house, we can treat him however we want! It's none of their business! So I decided to teach them and the boy a lesson."

"What did you do?" Petunia whispered in dread.

"One of the men at work told me about this strange little shop he'd been to in London," explained Vernon, savagely. "I realised that it was a freak shop from his description. I decided to visit it, and fight freakiness with freakiness, so to speak."


Standing outside the dingy little shop tucked away in a back alley, Vernon Dursley took a deep, steadying breath. This shop held the key to getting rid of his nephew, but it was also owned by a freak. It was dangerous. Squaring his shoulder, Vernon walked inside.

He found himself in a deeply shadowed, small space filled with dusty shelves holding all manner of grimy bottles.

"May I help you sir?" came a voice, rusty from not being used. "A person such as yourself can only see my door if he has dark intentions in his heart. You must surely be in need of assistance."

Vernon turned to see a small, stooped man, with long, stringy hair and an unwashed face.

"Yes, you can help me," he replied. "I want something with which to kill my nephew."

A twisted smile showed the shopkeeper's yellow teeth.

"You've come to the right place, sir. I specialise in poisons," he said with glee. "What kind were you looking for? I have poisons that kill fast, ones for slow deaths, ones that are untraceable in the blood, ones that-"

"I want something that will kill him slowly," Vernon interrupted. "But not pleasantly. And preferably, I like for it not to be traced."

"I have just the thing," the shopkeeper nodded. "A poison of my own creation. Please, follow me, I keep my most potent potions in the back."

Vernon followed the foul man into a dimly lit back room, where the shopkeeper's knarled hands reached for a dark bottle alone on a shelf. Cradling it lovingly, he turned to his customer.

"This poison is to be ingested, and it cannot be traced once it enters the body," he explained. "It will linger in the body for a few days to familiarised itself with the victim's body, as it were. First, it will hit the body hard, almost completely destroying the natural defences. Then, slowly, it will begin to kill the body. Shutting it down, muscle by muscle, organ by organ, until there is nothing left. A most torturous death, I'm sure you'll agree. Especially as the victim will not feel ill at first. Knowing you are dying, but not feeling it is a terrible thing. Your nephew would be dead within two years. Even better, there is no cure."

It was perfect.

"How much?" Vernon asked.

"It is quite expensive," the shopkeeper admitted. "But well worth the cost. Five hundred pounds."

Vernon didn't bat an eyelid.

"I'll take it."


"I slipped it into the boy's soup on Saturday when you went to call him inside," Vernon concluded. "Isn't it excellent? In two years he'll be dead, and we can forget all about him!"

It was in that moment that Petunia realised that the man she'd fallen in love with, whom she'd married, and who had fathered her child, was gone. In his place was a madman who felt no remorse over what he'd done.

"You're a murderer Vernon!" she shrieked. "How could you do something this cruel? You've turned into a monster!"

"Me, a monster?" Vernon snarled. "The boy's a freak! How can you side wit him? You should be glad I've found a way to get rid of him!"

"He's my nephew, Vernon!" Petunia began to cry. "It took me a long time to realise it, but his magic is a gift, not an abnormality. It makes him special. Just like it made Lily special. Last year, when Harry said Voldemort was back, I realised that I still love her. I felt such a wave of grief as I realised that he's the only thing left of her. We were close as children, then she discovered magic and I became jealous. She didn't deserve to die, and neither does Harry. How could you do this after everything he's done?"

"What do you mean, 'what he's done'?" Vernon bellowed.

"He's helped a lot around the house," Dudley's voice was quiet. "And he saved my life last year. I would have lost my soul if it weren't for him. After everything I did to him, he saved me. If I were him, I would've left me behind, but he didn't. Mum's right, Harry doesn't deserve to die."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Vernon snarled.

"I want you to pack a bag. You are to be out of this house in half an hour and you are never to return to it," Petunia commanded firmly.

"What?" Vernon was shocked. "You can't throw me out of my own house!"

"Actually, my parents left the house to me. Your name isn't on any of the paperwork," Petunia informed him. "So I can throw you out."

With an inhuman growl, Vernon lunged across the table at his wife, but Dudley with his boxing, was stronger than his father. Grabbing the fat, purple faced man, he hauled him out of the kitchen, and threw him out of the front door, locking it behind him.

Vernon, once he had regained his footing, spent the next hour yelling at the door, demanding to be let back in. When he received no response, and had bellowed himself hoarse, he stomped down the street to find somewhere to stay.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Dudley comforted his sobbing mother.

A/N: Well? What did you all think? Please review! I'd really like your thoughts!