Strange Brew

Disclaimer: JKR’s not mine *sniff*
Beta: Thanks to noesnifunifa – who as now been nick-named the evil delete…er of comma’s

Chapter 2

“Potter.”

The name was ground out through clenched teeth.

Harry grinned. He was being subjected to a fully loaded Malfoy death glare which would have most people running for the hills and screaming like a banshee. Harry, however, could have danced his happy dance and would have if he weren’t such an appalling dancer.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since he had reluctantly vacated the infirmary bed, but honestly, Madam Pomfrey had left him little choice. He would definitely be having a word with the Headmaster about her overzealousness for slow and intimate bed baths. The wrist restraints had been the final insult, and he had let Poppy know in no uncertain terms that she should not be doing ‘that thing’ with her wand to patients. Pomfrey, most unrepentant, had just patted him on the head with an affectionate smile.

Twenty-four hours back amongst the students and already it was clear that Pomfrey wasn’t the only person behaving strangely. Harry hadn’t realised that defeating the Dark Lord would turn everyone into refugees from lunatic-ville.

Not Malfoy though, bless his little black heart.

Finally, someone was behaving normally. It was an added bonus that Malfoy wasn’t trying to snog him, take his photograph, hump his leg or give him a sponge bath.

So in this unpredictable climate, Harry was prepared to cling to Malfoy’s unwavering hatred like a Red Cap to a violent crime scene.

It was familiar.

Harry’s grin widened, and the small blond boy, who was now watching him suspiciously, started to edge backwards nervously. He had his wand in one hand and a well-thumbed copy of the Quibbler in the other. Oddly enough, it was the magazine that he clutched in a death grip and not his wand, which was dangling loosely from long, graceful fingers.

Okay, maybe Malfoy wasn’t behaving totally as he should.

“Malfoy, what are you doing in here?”

“That’s no concern of yours, coma boy,” Malfoy bit out, his delicate chin raised defensively.

‘Ah, insults,’ thought Harry. ‘This I can deal with’. What he couldn’t deal with right now was the heat. The exertion of running had left him hot and sweaty, and the cramped confines of what appeared to be a storeroom were not helping. Harry dragged a hand through the tangled mess of jet-black hair which was damp and plastered to his forehead in little tufts. For some reason, this action made Malfoy scowl.


‘Wow, everything I do annoys him, right down to the smallest gesture,’ thought Harry gleefully, shrugging off his outer robes.

“What are you doing?” Malfoy squeaked.

Harry look up in astonishment, and Malfoy looked mortified at the obvious shrillness of his own voice.

“I’m hot, so I’m taking my robes off,” Harry said frowning.

The blond looked about ready to explode with suppressed anger.

“Find your own storeroom, you sweaty peasant; this one is occupied,” Malfoy ground out, addressing the floor, not Harry. However, not looking at him didn’t prevent Malfoy from delivering a very accurate kick to Harry’s left shin.

“Ouch!” Harry winced, glaring down at the slight blond. Malfoy merely gazed up at him sneakily. Channelling his anger through physical violence seemed to have calmed him somewhat.

“There’ll be a bruise there tomorrow, you git, and anyway I always hide in here,” bluffed Harry who had never in his entire life set foot in this particular storeroom. What, The Boy Who Lived couldn’t lie?

“You do not,” said Malfoy and delivered another swift kick, this time to the right shin.

Harry’s eyes crossed. He breathed in deeply in an effort to suppress the cry of pain that threatened to force its way out of his mouth. Taking into account Malfoy’s glazed eyes and flushed cheeks, it was clear that ‘Harry in pain’ was pleasing him greatly.

He couldn’t work out what was more disturbing; Malfoy getting his jollies from hurting him or the worrying thought that he looked absolutely adorable whilst getting said jollies.

“Well, you obviously hide in here all the time, Malfoy,” Harry shot out quickly to dispel his confusing thoughts.

“Malfoy’s do not hide, and if we did, it wouldn’t be in a foul old storeroom!” yelled Malfoy, bristling with indignation.

“Er, beg to differ.”

“Prove it,” his nemesis ground out, the inflection in the two words a perfect imitation of his father’s voice.

“Oh, come on ferret, I’m not blind. You’ve got quite the little set up here,” Harry gestured to a makeshift table set up in the corner of the room. There was a packet of Chocolate Frogs and a bottle of Butter Beer sitting next to something that looked suspiciously like a nail file.

“Just what exactly are you doing in here?”

Malfoy stepped in front of the table and glared.

“Minding my own business. I suggest you do the same.”

“Ferret.”

“Scar Head.”

“Pyromaniac.”

“Heard about, that did you, Potter? Well, why don’t you fuck off out of my face before I set fire to you.”

“So, it was you. I knew it! Cho’s eyebrows never did grow back properly,” he said, looking at Malfoy slyly.

“Silly bitch should have watched her mouth,” Malfoy snarled venomously.

Harry was curious but hid it. He never did discover what happened between Malfoy and Cho Chang in sixth year, but if gossip was to be believed, it was a torrid affair of Hollywood proportions which ended with an all out duel involving half of Slytherin House and a fair amount of Ravenclaw, too. He knew better than to ask Malfoy directly. All the Slytherins had been sworn to secrecy and the Ravenclaws terrified into silence, leaving the curious Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors completely in the dark.

Harry told himself that he wasn’t jealous of Malfoy’s alleged relationship with Cho, having realised his true preferences at the beginning of sixth year, but whenever he thought of the two of them together he got a strange sinking feeling in his stomach, which was just weird.

“You’re just a textbook case, aren’t you, blondie?” Harry said, feeling a sudden need to be spiteful, “A psychiatrists wet dream.”

“I have no idea what you’re blathering on about, Potter but if I did, I promise you that my thoughts on the matter would be along the lines of: ‘By gods, Harry Potter really is a complete tosser, isn’t he?’”

“Shut it, Malfoy. You’re nothing but a walking cliché, with your bad boy image and your poncey hair.”

Harry watched Malfoy’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“You really have no shame. You publicly humiliate yourself and then see fit to waltz into my storeroom and question my actions.”

“What do you mean, ‘publicly humiliate myself’?” asked Harry, feeling anxious and not quite understanding why.

Malfoy sniggered. “Fine, play dumb,” he paused and seemed to consider his choice of words, “No wait, you are dumb so no play-acting necessary, right?”

“Shut your mouth, Malfoy.”

Something was very wrong with this conversation and Harry suspected that Malfoy knew something, no, correction, knew several things that he didn’t.

“Don’t tell me to shut up, Potter. You can’t even stand up to the skinny little scrote that’s been chasing you around the school grounds all day. Circe knows how you managed to defeat the Dark Lord.” Malfoy dropped the magazine he’d been clutching to his chest facedown onto the little table behind him but kept hold of his wand. He was looking very smug.

Harry sighed, “I did tell him to piss off once, but…”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows in derision as Harry mumbled something quietly.

“Pardon?”

“He started to cry.”

“Good lord, a weeping Gryffindor; I’d have paid good coinage to see that,” he managed to say between giggles and then, seeming to realise that giggling was not a particularly ‘Malfoy’ thing to do, stopped abruptly and glared.

Harry was momentarily startled at witnessing a Malfoy giggle and thought: ‘Wow he really is quite cute’. Then he realised that nestling within the sweet little giggle was an insult against a fellow Gryffindor.

It was, of course, his duty to defend said Gryffindor.

“It’s not funny, Malfoy. There was chin-wobbling and nose leakage; it was very moving.”

“You screaming Homo!” Malfoy yelled suddenly, which Harry thought was extremely uncalled for. He was rightfully outraged and more than a little startled.

“Who told you I was gay?” His eyes darted around the storeroom nervously.

“We’re alone, you freak. Besides, it’s hardly a secret now, is it?” Malfoy said with exaggerated meaning.

Harry sighed. Blimey, was nothing sacred in this school? Someone must have seen him with Michael Corner in the Astronomy Tower after all. Either that or the little minx had kissed and told!

There was a long awkward silence.

When the scuttling sound of feet sounded out from the corridor, Harry jerked away from the door and froze. Both boys eyed the door warily. Not until the sound receded into the distance did they relax.

‘Just another fucked up day in the life of Harry Potter,’ he thought bitterly and sighed, only to yelp in shock a moment later when Malfoy landed another kick, this time to the back of his right shin.

Harry spun around to face his nemesis. “Malfoy, you kick me again and I will batter you.”

Malfoy chuckled softly, making the hairs on Harry’s arms stand on end.

Evil fucker.

Only technically not that evil.

Apparently, and this was something Harry still had problems wrapping his brain around, Malfoy had defected from Voldemort’s side in sixth year.

It seemed that unbeknownst to all but Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape had been slowly initiating most of the upper year Slytherins into his own private DA group, the sneaky bugger. Come the final battle with Lord Voldemort - or ‘The Bony Old Snake Faced Fucker‘ as Harry begun to affectionately refer to him at the end of sixth year, much to Dumbledore’s dismay - most of the Slytherin sixth and seventh years lifted arms against the Dark Lord. It seemed that everyone had underestimated the popularity of the Potions Master. Harry still didn’t understand the thrall he seemed to hold over the Slytherin students, and how he managed to get Malfoy Sr. to renounce Voldemort was still a complete mystery to Harry.

Harry looked at the so-called ‘Prince of Slytherin’ and was startled to find the boy watching him surreptitiously from underneath thick blond lashes; he was giving him ‘a Look’. For some reason, ‘the Look’ made Harry nervous. He didn’t quite know how to categorise ‘the Look’. It was a knowing Look but also kind of curious, almost as if Malfoy was waiting for Harry to do something. It made him all the more nervous when he realised that there had been an element of that Look on Malfoy’s face from the moment he’d barged into the storeroom.

“Who are you hiding from?”

“Malfoy’s do not hide.”

“Malfoy’s don’t need rescuing either, do they?” Harry asked with a smirk, desperate to wipe ‘the Look’ off Malfoy’s face.

It worked.

“You didn’t save my life, Potter. I had a cunning yet subtle plan devised and ready for implementation when you strutted in with your fucking hero complex in tow.” Malfoy’s eyes were narrowed slits of fury.

“Implementation! Please. I suppose you were just conserving your energy chained to that dungeon wall, mmmm? Two more minutes and you would have had all six armed Death Eaters begging for mercy.” Harry snorted. “Give me a break, Malfoy. Ten more minutes and you’d have been stripped, buggered and AK’d to Hell, and I do not strut!” he yelled.

Malfoy opened his mouth to deliver his no doubt cutting response, but voices outside of the storeroom killed it dead.

“Have you seen Harry?” said a high-pitched voice.

“No, have you seen Draco?” said a distinct Irish brogue.

Harry and Malfoy’s eyes widened fearfully.

There was a short period of quiet, and then the handle began to turn. Both boys watched in abject horror.

Thinking as one, they both raised their wands, casting two different spells simultaneously at the door.

“Evanesco!”

“Colloportus!”

The door disappeared with a hissing ‘pufft’.

“What did you do, Potter?”

“What did I do?” Harry shrieked, gawking in horror at the place where the door used to be. “What the hell did you do?”

“I strengthened your locking charm, you amateur; a first year could have opened it.”

“Well, I only banished the door handle, you half-wit. The two combined spells must have vanished the entire door.”

“Wow, nothing gets past you, does it, Potter?” Malfoy snarled sarcastically.

Harry shot Malfoy a nasty glare and placed his hand on the bare wall where the door had once been.

No noise could be heard from the other side of the wall.

“Fuck! This is all your fault, Potter. You led them here. I’ve been using this room to get away from that dickhead Finnigan for the last two weeks. No one comes down this corridor. No one. You’re out of a coma for two sodding days and you led them right to the fucking door.”

Harry tried to hold back, but soon his silent sniggers turned into a full-blown belly laugh.

“Seamus Finnigan,” Harry was holding his sides, his stomach cramping under the strain. “You’re hiding from Seamus Finnigan,” tears of mirth rolled down his face.

Malfoy just stared, a red blush staining his pale cheeks.

Harry managed to control himself, eventually, but it was a minute or two before he could actually form a coherent sentence.

“Why didn’t you just hex him? Isn’t that your normal reaction to just about everything that happens to you?”

“I did hex him, but Dumbledore gave us both detention and the little slut spent the whole two hours trying to force his hands under my robes.\"

Harry frowned, uncomfortably aware that he found the idea of Seamus pawing Malfoy rather repellent.

“And you didn’t hex him again?”

“Your precious Headmaster confiscated our wands; physical violence was unfortunately the only solution. Not that I didn’t enjoy beating the little freak into a bloody pulp, but Muggle duelling is so beneath me.”

Harry stared at Malfoy incredulously and rubbed one of his shins, which was still stinging from the kicks.

“Oh no, Potter,” Malfoy said with a evil smirk. “You’re an exception.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“I thought the little cretin had got the message, but…” Malfoy gestured vaguely at the wall. This seemed to remind him of their doorless situation.

There was another prolonged silence, during which Malfoy was subjecting him to ‘the Look’ again.

Harry glared back warily.

This time when Malfoy’s leg flexed in an explicit kicking movement, Harry was ready. He pushed the blond back into the table and thrust a leg between the other boy’s to stop the motion.

Pressed up against each other intimately, Harry noticed something rather interesting.

“Malfoy?”

Malfoy was looking perplexed and avoided Harry’s eyes. Cupid-bow lips pursed.

“Malfoy?”

“What, Potter?”

“Are you hard?”

“You just had to say it, didn’t you?” whispered the blond. “Look, just ignore it, ok? It’ll go down on its own… eventually, it always does.”

Harry eyed Malfoy in disbelief. He felt rather than saw the smaller boy tremble.

“Goes down?”

“Yes,” hissed Malfoy.

“Always?”

“Yes.”

“On its own?”

“Blimey, Potter, you’re not all there, are you? Just what is it about this very simple situation that you don’t understand?”

“I don’t know. Let me guess, Malfoy’s don’t wank?”

Malfoy blushed. Harry watched in amazement as the blush tinted the creamy bit of exposed neck and stained his cheeks. He looked fucking gorgeous, and Harry felt himself harden in response. Malfoy must have felt it, too, because his blush deepened, and he tried to wiggle away. Unfortunately this only inflamed both boys’ arousal.

“Fuck, you’re serious, aren’t you? You really don’t…” Harry made a hand gesture that made himself blush, never mind Malfoy.

“No, I’ve never felt inclined.”

“Never felt inclined?” Harry parroted shrilly.

“Potter, did it damage your brain when the Dark Lord’s minions blasted you into a coma?”

He was sure Malfoy had meant to sound sarcastic, but it came out in a breathless hush.

Both boys stared at each other intently....

Tbc

Note:

*Red Cap - Small, goblin-like/dwarf like creatures, Red Caps love bloodshed, and will attempt to beat to death Muggles lost in dungeons or on battlefields on dark nights. (As red caps can be repelled easily by charms and hexes, Muggles rather than adult wizarding folk face the most danger from them.
http://www.hp-lexicon.org/