Rivaling Affections

Authors Note: A million thanks to Shannon for her beta work on this chapter!

Chapter 14 Desperate Times Call For

In the tiny flower covered cottage, nestled in the back of Harry’s well-tended garden, three women plotted once again to try and steer the fates of their two favorite boys in the same direction. The tea was warm, the biscuits were a rich chocolate but the conversation was gloom ridden.

“We’ve really bollixed it up this time haven’t we?” Minerva chastised herself and the other two women gathered in Andromeda’s sitting room.

“I just don’t know what went wrong. I mean, clearly we all know what went wrong, between the bungled up dinner and the fiasco afterward, but what I don’t understand is why it’s taking so much work in the first place to get these boy’s to see what is directly in front of their noses,” Narcissa huffed.

“It seems we’ve underestimated their tendency to lean toward blindness, perhaps they need something more… drastic to open their eyes?” Andromeda suggested.

“Something that will preferably not blow up in our faces this time,” her sister warned.

“Fair enough, but what? These boy’s are unpredictably daft when it comes to each other,” Andromeda mused.

“Harry needs someone to take care of, someone to save. Perhaps we could do something that would trigger his innate savior complex and somehow indebt Draco to him,” Minerva presented and the other women nodded thoughtfully.

“Grief usually brings people together,” Andromeda offered. “I could always fake my death.”

Minerva rolled her eyes and shook her head curtly. “No, there is no shortage of grief for either of them. That might just send one or both over the edge.”

“Maybe just an illness then?” she suggested.

“But one of us falling ill wouldn’t be enough,” Narcissa noted with a wicked smile.

“Are you volunteering someone?” Andromeda asked, looking more and more curious.

“I think you know my meaning exactly,” she replied, a fierce glint in her pale blue eyes and the three women began to cackle once more.

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Harry paced up and down the narrow expanse of his Hogwarts office in a funk. He’d been trying to balance work and living with a man he had immense feelings for and attempting to make things work.

He was failing miserably.

Last time he had made up his mind to place his feelings for Draco on a shelf he simply avoided the man. With both of them as professors in the same school and sleeping across the hall form one another made that difficult, especially when Minerva kept finding tasks for them that would throw him and Draco together. So instead of avoidance, he was trying to simply remind himself of all the reasons he had hated Draco as a child and all the reasons why he was a bad match.

That didn’t work as well as he had hoped however, and by the end of the experiment he had reminded himself of more good than bad. If he tried to think about Draco’s abhorrent use of the word ‘mudblood’ as a teenager, he was quickly reminded of the fact that as a professor, Draco gave detention to no less than a dozen students for using the word and made them write a three meter long parchment on why it was inappropriate and ignorant to speak that way.

With that idea going so poorly he decided to attempt to think of things about the Draco he knew now that made him all wrong for a relationship. All he could think of was the carefree smile that erupted on the man’s face when they flew or watched a muggle film or the way he doted on Teddy.

At last he realized that it wasn’t a matter of whether Draco was right, it was all up to what Draco thought about him as a potential match and clearly his colleague didn’t see him in the same light. He just had to accept the fact and move on, perhaps find someone else to distract him until Draco moved out.

Though avoidance was out of the question, Harry did start limiting what time he did spend around Draco. They would leave the house and the office together, but the evenings and weekends often found Harry in his room or meandering around Hogsmeade alone.

The whole situation left Harry feeling unwell and generally trapped. He couldn’t seem to get Draco out of his head even though he knew he needed to get over him. Things would get better, he knew, when Draco’s own house was finished. His guest had tried on a couple occasions to try and get him to practice his magic, but Harry didn’t want to obligate Draco to stay any longer than he needed and prolong both their torture.

He could sense Draco was having just as much trouble trying to maintain a balance between them and it would just be easier if the only times they saw one another was at work, where they were both adept at keeping a professional front.

They would only have to keep up the charade for three weeks, three miserably long weeks, and then Harry would be free to mope around his home without an audience.

At least that was what he had thought when he woke up that morning.

His plans for solitude were quickly dashed however when he got to the Great Hall that day for lunch. He was trying to ignore the fact that Draco had yet to arrive and attempting to swallow a bite of the stew he had been served when the tardy professor finally arrived. He strode purposefully up to where he always sat and pulled the chair out, creating a horrid scrapping noise against the floorboard, and sat, seemingly out of breath.

“I need a favor,” he told Harry right off, not looking at him and instead choosing to stir his own bowl of steaming soup.

Harry rolled his eyes and waved for Draco to continue, but the other man hesitated. Finally when Harry was about to demand he just spit it out, Draco dropped the bomb.

“They won’t be finished with my house for another month,” he muttered.

Breathing eluded him and Harry started to feel every muscle in his body begin to tense. Seven weeks? He didn’t thin he could stand seven more weeks of walking on eggshells and trying to pretend that everything was okay.

“I told you that you were welcome as long as you wanted,” Harry replied sullenly. It was true, he had said those words, and Harry never went back on his word. Though he was as near to making an exception to that rule than he had ever been before.

Even when he had promised Hermione that he would be there when she delivered her first baby, and then when he arrived she was in the middle of labor and he almost lost his lunch, he stuck it out and stayed to help. He felt less like backing down in that moment with Hermione than he did just then with a much simpler request from Draco.

Draco however just took a deep breath and nodded. “Thanks, Harry. You’re a good friend.”

Harry wanted to shove something sharp into his eye socket at those words. “Right. Friend,” he muttered and ignored Draco when the Slytherin professor asked him to repeat himself.

All of this led to Harry pacing his office and resisting the urge to rip every book from the shelves and hurl them across the room.

When Draco walked in Harry barely even noticed until the blonde professor shoved an opened scroll in front of him and shook it slightly.

“Do you recognize this language?” he asked petulantly and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Are you joking?” Harry replied, batting the document away.

“No,” Draco muttered. “I was trained in dozens of languages and dialects but I’ve been looking over this off and on for days and can’t make heads or tails of it,” he admitted reluctantly.

“It’s English, you prat,” Harry replied, not understanding why Draco would orchestrate such nonsense.

Draco narrowed his eyes and shoved the parchment in front of Harry’s face again. “I’m not daft. This is not English; it’s something else entirely. It seems like I can read it for a second and then it all blurs out and becomes gibberish again.

Harry sighed and began reciting directly from the scroll, his voice letting Draco know how ridiculous he thought this all was. “In order to brew a proper adulation banish potion, one must know the reason and source intimately. It’s impossible to break one persons infatuation with another without understanding fully the reasons for it, thus selecting the proper ingredients for the potions catalyst. For example, wormwood should be used if the person in question has evil intentions surrounding their feelings, versus the use of catnip if one merely wants to more fully sever the ties after a failed relationship.”

Draco’s eyes had gone glossy and it appeared as though he wasn’t even paying attention to Harry, except that his steely gray eyes were locked onto his lips. “Are you even listening to a word I said?” Harry demanded.

“I was listening, but I wasn’t so much hearing,” Draco admitted. “Though it does explain a good deal,” he added with a goofy grin that Harry had never seen on the man before.

“What does it explain exactly?” Harry asked, looking over the text again and not liking what he saw.

“Those directions are in Parseltongue, or at least that was what you just slipped into just then,” Draco informed him. “It’s funny how you don’t see any difference between that language and your own,” he mused.

“I didn’t realize,” Harry muttered.

“Clearly,” Draco replied. “Now do you mind telling me what the parchment says in proper English?”

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re trying to read it in the first place,” Harry demanded. “Am I really such a lovesick dolt that you feel the need to medicate me with potions? Are my affections really so burdensome to you?”

“What? No, Harry you’re getting the wrong idea,” he replied looking worried.

“It seems pretty clear what this is about,” Harry whispered, unable to understand why Draco was putting him through this, why he didn’t just find lodging at the Three Broomsticks, money certainly wasn’t an issue for the Malfoy heir and even if it were, Harry would gladly pay for it himself at this point.

“Let me just save you the trouble and tell you though,” he continued. “You’ll need to use lemongrass in the potion, because obviously my feelings for you are irrational and unfounded,” Harry shouted, tossing the parchment to the floor and stalking over to the fireplace.

He didn’t spare Draco even one last look before he threw a handful of powder into the fire and left in the center of a bright green flame, leaving Draco staring after him with barely contained grief.

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Draco stared into the dissipating flame for so long that green clouded his vision every time he blinked for a full minute.

Yet again Harry had misunderstood his intentions, and yet again a thorough mess was made. Had Draco known the potion instructions were in Parseltongue he never would have brought it up to him for translation. He honestly didn’t think that Harry stood a chance of deciphering the text when even he couldn’t do so with his extensive background in ancient languages.

All he wanted was a reason to talk to Harry, and the raven-haired professor had made it clear that he would only discuss work related topics. It was sort of a last ditch effort, and he thought he should at least try to get Harry to talk to him. He even thought that he stood a chance at tricking the other man into a non-Hogwarts related subject for a change and perhaps even sneak in an apology.

He knew what the scroll was for of course and he had been trying, as he told Harry, to translate it for quite some time. It was not because he wished to douse Harry with the potion however; it was because he wanted to take it himself. The loneliness he felt all the time was just compounded by the fact that Harry refused to even speak to him and he was hoping to alleviate some of his pain with the affection banishment potion.

Unexpectedly, Draco found that he missed Harry dearly. The man was right there, sharing a workplace and sleeping across the hall, but he felt so much further than that, as if Harry were a continent away instead of right beside him. It was excruciating really to think that his once laughter filled evenings with his former school rival were now reduced to awkward silence and bitter resentment.

He could hardly blame Harry for wanting to keep his distance. It was his own stunted emotions that made Harry doubt himself in the first place. He just couldn’t seem to find a way to take it back, or to make it better. He had even tried bribing away the Time Turner from the Headmistress but she had merely clucked her tongue at him and told him that if he wanted to make it right, he needed to go about it honestly.

Honesty didn’t come easy to him, not since spending the better portion of his life under his father’s thumb and his constant encouragement to hide every emotion, good or bad, from the world. He tried to fight against some of it, but could hardly repair so many years of bad habits in a day.

At least he knew now what he wanted, and that was Harry. He wasn’t going to let his typical Malfoy traits stand in the way of that any longer he would just tackle the man and tell him he loved him if that was what it took.

Swiftly, Draco made his way to the fireplace and followed after his angry companion. The house was dark when he arrived, and the emptiness he felt immediately upon entering Harry’s study unsettled him greatly.

As he made his was down the rich wooden staircase, Draco stumbled on the final step and went sprawling head first toward the ground. Before he could reach the hard floorboards however, dainty arms were there to catch him, albeit awkwardly, and lifted him to his feet.

Draco’s eyes flicked up and recognized the intruder at once, even under the thick navy cowl. “Mother? What in Merlin’s name are you doing skulking around in the dark?” he asked. “Did you see where Harry went?”

“He’s in his room, dear. Nothing to worry over,” Narcissa cooed and pulled a vial from her robe pocket. “I need you to drink this,” she ordered. It was phrased as a polite request, but as her son, Draco knew the difference.

“Why?” he asked, looking at the thick green potion curiously.

“Do you want Harry Potter?” she asked knowingly, her eyes sparkling in the faint light that filtered in through the front windows.

“How did you-“ Draco began but was swiftly cut of by a hissed admonishment and a perfectly manicured finger over his lips.

“It doesn’t matter how I know, it only matter that if you want him, you need to take this,” she replied haughtily.

Draco reluctantly took the vial and upended it in an easy movement and grimaced at the taste. He recognized it at once though and clutched at his throat in a furious yet vain attempt to stop the potion from seeping into the rest of his body. “Mother, that was-“ he rasped but couldn’t finish the sentence before his tongue began feeling itchy and sore.

Narcissa took him by the elbow and steered him over to a nearby armchair where he collapsed at once, his eyes still wide with confusion and anger directed at her. “Poison,” she finished for him. “I know dear, but no worries, we have it all under control,” she cooed and felt his forehead with the back of her hand.

Draco wanted to scream at her, to protest and tell her she was mad, but sleep clawed at him like a lion ripping into a slow baby gazelle. Soon there was no way to resist and he had no choice but to yield to the jungle cat. His eyes drooped and his body went limp as his world went black and Harry’s name lingered as a half whisper on his lips.

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Authors Note: oh no! hehe. I'm void of anything clever to say, so I just hope you enjoyed the cliffhanger, I mean chapter....