Potter Potions

Just as I am forced to conclude Potter is once again absent, he schleps in, as unkempt as ever and twice as sulky. I nearly smirk at his pathetic attempt to ignore me. He has a Weasley flanking one side and a walking dictionary on the other. I wonder if there will ever come a time when they cease living vicariously through him. He plays with his food and occasionally pretends to scan the hall, most deliberately not looking in my direction. He will cease to have that luxury during double Potions. I find myself rather looking forward to it for once. And since I am getting rather sick of having to see past those two bodyguards every time I wish to look at him, perhaps a change in the seating plan would prove satisfactory.

Draco decided to skip breakfast this morning and return to Slytherin whilst the others are here, under my watchful eye. Zabini is still in the infirmary, and as Head of House, I must visit him later. I cannot say I am relishing the prospect. I shall have to reprimand him for the attack, but without being seen to condone Potter’s retaliation, or having sympathy with Draco. What I would much prefer to do is hex him myself and then have him expelled.

I had a cloak-and-dagger meeting with Albus at dawn. As usual it was peppered with his customary mannerisms. Benign smiles, twinkling eyes, lemon drops, offers of tea. Really, the man is a walking cliché. Nevertheless, he is ridiculously pleased that Draco has renounced the Dark Lord and the Marking ritual. He has agreed the boy will remain under the full protection of the school and its wards until it is no longer necessary. He did not have to say ‘until Potter is triumphant,’ but that is unquestionably what he meant. Draco also has permission to move immediately into one of the private chambers. I expect this will go some way towards relieving his melancholy. What to do about Potter’s, though? Let us see if we cannot cheer him up with an impromptu Potions test today.

***

“Do not sit at your usual benches. Mr Malfoy, you will sit next to Mr Potter. Mr Weasley, you will come down here next to Mr Longbottom. Miss Granger, please join Miss Parkinson. Mr Crabbe, Mr Goyle, front bench. You three there, move back to fourth row. Everyone else, as you were.”

Well.

Clearly the modest adjustment is highly objectionable. Potter, who had spent the first ten seconds upon entering scowling at the floor (and not in the direction of my feet) is now scowling even harder. Draco gives a most unbecoming sigh and throws his books down next to him. A few deducted house-points later, and they have stopped bemoaning their fate long enough for me to announce the test.

“You will work in pairs, let us call it a team-building exercise. You have one hour starting—now.”

Parkinson is still looking dejected over being separated from Draco but intermittently smug at having Granger for a test partner. No small wonder really, since the girl’s nose is scraping the desk and the quill a blur as she races through the questions.

Draco snatches the quill from Potter who had been mid-answer. Potter, it appears, is in no mood to be antagonized and promptly wrestles it back.

“What seems to be the problem?”

Potter looks a hair’s breadth from spontaneously combusting as I reach their bench. It suddenly occurs to me that until recently, his frustration would have been a source of amusement.

“Well?” I say tersely, when neither of them deign to answer.

“There’s no problem, sir,” Draco mutters.

“Potter?”

“No problem, sir.” Surely his foul disposition cannot be entirely attributed to my offhand comment last night? Perhaps there is some other cause. I make a mental note to ask him this evening.

“Good. I would abhor having to award further detentions.” Like hell I would.

Perhaps seating them together was a step too far. It had not been my intention to cause them discomfort, merely an opportunity to strengthen the tentative truce in public. I should have realised it was too much to suppose they could behave with civility towards each other. There is—

Oh no.

My mark flares. I can feel the skin crawling away.

He is calling.

I had been expecting it, of course I had, but it is still a nasty surprise each time it occurs.

“Mr Malfoy!”

His white-blond head jerks up. Merlin, how my arms stings.

“Come here.”

I take him into my office and then Floo the Headmaster.

“I must go, Albus.”

He does not need to ask why.

“Severus—“

“I have not the time to spare for pleasantries. Draco, the headmaster has arranged for you to move into private quarters directly after your lessons conclude today.”

His eyes are wide and his majestic hands flutter restlessly by his sides. “Sir? Where are you going?”

Should I lie? Would it make any difference?

“Your arm, sir, your Mark? Is it him?” he presses.

Only then do I notice I have been rubbing it subconsciously through the fabric of my robes. A thousand lancing needles. “Yes.”

“Oh God,” he moans, scrubbing his face. “What will happen to you? This is about me, isn’t it?”

“Do I look like Professor Trelawney, Draco? I teach Potions, not Divination. I do not know why he is summoning me.”

I know precisely why. Word has got back to him that Draco has no intention of joining his ranks and he wants to know what I intend to do about it.

“Don’t go, professor, you don’t have to go.”

I already have the Floo powder in the palm of my hand, the one that is not clawed in spasm.
“Silence. You will attend lessons, move your things and keep calm. Consider yourself excused from detention tonight. Inform Potter his study session is also postponed.”

***

Water.
Refreshing, rehydrating water being pressed to my lips. Unmistakeably not a form of coercion I have ever known the Dark Lord to use.

“Severus? That’s good, small sips now.”

Poppy’s voice. I try to sit up but my body is petulantly ignoring my brain.

“No, don’t rush it. You’ll be fine, but you’ve been repeatedly subjected to any number of cruelties.”

Ah yes, so I have. As if encouraged by her diagnosis, the familiar after-pains of Cruciatus cleave my flesh. Poppy continues to coax my gritted teeth apart with the rim of the glass. A pathetic groan is all I can manage to illustrate my resentment.

She chuckles. Of course she chuckles; it must be highly amusing to witness me in such a state of distress.

“My dear boy, you must keep still and let Poppy take care of you.”

Oh. I had thought the pitch was somewhat erring on the side of baritone. It is the Headmaster.

“You were lucky, Severus. We found you quickly.”

Lucky. Yes, I’m feeling especially lucky at the moment. Insufferable old bastard. I try to silence him with a few well chosen profanities but my mouth gapes like a fish and Poppy pours more water in even as I gurgle the F-word.

“Now, now, there are adolescent ears in the vicinity. I’m afraid we were unable to dissuade two certain young men from a determined bedside vigil.”

Let the ground subside and devour me. Better still, let the Dark Lord return to finish what he started. Albus leans closer and I feel his wispy beard tickle my ear.

“I understand your affinity with Draco, Severus, but Harry? I hadn’t realised an attachment was forming and I must say it is excellent news, most excellent. He insisted on visiting you. Naturally, I did not feel I could refuse him.”

Naturally. Since when has anyone been able to resist kowtowing to Potter’s demands? The brat won’t know what has hit him when I get out of here. Assuming I regain the use of my legs. It is rather unnerving to be 99% immobile. The hinge of my jaw appears to be the only functioning part of my body.

There is the sound of a chair softly scraping the floor and quickened footsteps, both towards and away from the bed. A curtain is opened and then redrawn.

“Five minutes, boys. Professor Snape is still recovering.”

Why, oh why, has Albus allowed these two juvenile delinquents to visit me? It is highly inappropriate and were I in possession of a functioning voice box, they would damn well know about it.

“Sir? Are you alright?”

“I’ve seen him looking better.”

Bloody Potter.

“Shut up, Harry.” I silently thank Draco for speaking my mind. And then wonder how much of my life has passed by, because the last I was aware, Potter was plain old Potter.

“What? I was just joking.”

“You think this is funny?”

Wonderful. As if I do not frequently incur the delights of listening to them take verbal chunks out of each other, my rehabilitation is now impeded by it too.

“Of course not, I was just trying to lighten things up. Doesn’t help anyone to be miserable about it. He’s going to be okay, Draco, Madame Pomfrey already told us that.”

They each drag a chair closer to the bed. Settling in for the long haul. I can only hope Poppy keeps to her word and turfs them out very, very soon.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get to see you in my bed, Professor.”

For a panicky moment, I fear I may not be in the Infirmary after all. Perhaps by some hideous quirk of fate, the nearest bed to the discovery of my abused self was the Gryffindor tower. I almost manage to curl my hand into a fist despite the Body Bind Poppy has me in. I think he notices.

“Sorry, sir, I just meant you’re in the same bed I was after my accident.”

I want to snidely ask which particular period of incapacitation he is referring to, since there have been so many. I imagine he has graced most of the fourteen beds at one time or another. It is the warmth of sunlight on the back of my head that reminds me of the only time I visited him here. No doubt he felt obliged to return the gesture.

“I sent an owl to father.”

Really? Did he tap dance in delight? Somehow I imagine not.

“He disowned me, sir.”

I want to tell him how brave and strong he is. How proud I am of him, how proud I know his mother will be, deep down, where Lucius cannot see.

“It’ll be okay, Draco.”

“Oh for fuck's sake, Potter, what do you know about anything?”

Back to Potter then, and so soon.

“Hey, don’t take it out on me.”

I think I can make out the faint gristly popping sound of Draco chewing through his tongue.

“Come along now boys, I’m sure there are plenty of things you would rather be doing than sit in here on a Saturday.”

Oh good, it’s Poppy. Hang on, what does she mean by ‘plenty of things’? As if sitting here with me isn’t riveting? Saturday? How have I lost three days of my life?

“We’ll be back soon, don’t worry.”

I hadn’t been until he’d said that.

“Sir? I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

I’m not. But I appreciate the sentiment.

Merlin, this is frustrating! I cannot so much as twitch a muscle in my cheek, let alone assail them with acidic rejoinders. This has of course happened before, so besides the familiar discomfort, I am well aware that being kept immobile is for my own good. Cruciatus isn’t just about inflicting momentary pain; it lasts, and the body weakens each time it is imposed. The Dark Lord, munificent creature that he is, has seen fit to subject me to the curse on the many occasions I had managed to displease him. One might start to develop a complex if it wasn’t common knowledge that he is a sadistic, crazy bastard. To stop further tissue damage and muscle wastage, Poppy works on my frozen body rather than attempting to deal with the spasmodic jerks I cannot control in the days that follow.

Two sets of footsteps I fear are becoming all too recognizable, patter away. Finally alone, I can once again enjoy my enforced inertia in peace.

***

I am rudely awoken from a rather pleasant dream to the sounds of childish snickering and stifled chuckles. No vial of Felix Felicis for guessing who my uninvited guests are.

“Potter,” I rasp, realising after the fact that the ability to speak has been restored to me. Upon tentative testing, my eyesight has also been returned.

“Sir?” Potter covers his smile with his hand and leans forward; he is too close for comfort but I have no desire to waste precious oxygen on such inconsequential matters.

“Does my incapacitation amuse you?”

“Oh no, professor, he wasn’t laughing at you,” Draco supplies helpfully, as if I had requested his opinion. I am about to interrogate him when he adds, “He was laughing at your feet.”


Potter abruptly sits back in his chair and frowns at him, “I was not! Sir, I wasn’t, honest, I was laughing at—“

“Yes?”

He holds up his Potions journal and outstretches his arm until the book is a mere inch from my nose. Apparently my limbs are back in working order too. I knock it away and glare at him.

“Potter! How in Merlin’s name am I expected to focus at such short range?” Snatching it out of his wavering hand, I set it atop my stomach for closer inspection.

“Whose foot is that supposed to be?” I ask, and despite having mastered the art of showing absolutely no emotion whatsoever, I cannot help the mystified crease of my brow.

“Yours, professor,” he blushes. And with good reason too.

“Since when did I acquire a sixth toe?” Draco fails to hold in his amusement and rests his elbows on the bed, chest heaving with the exertion of so much contained laughter.

Potter pretends to be offended and punches his arm lightly, then joins in the merriment. Despite knowing that Draco’s life is unpredictable and turbulent at the moment, and that I should be pleased he is forming a bond of sorts with Potter, I am spiked with a rush of jealousy.

I throw the book at Potter’s head and forcefully kick Draco’s arms off of my bed. “Get out,” I hiss, taking a small measure of satisfaction from their shocked faces. Faces I am sick of the sight of. Faces that a certain part of me wants to crush between my hands and force my lips onto. Faces that I have unwittingly dreamt about for longer than I care to admit.

“GET OUT!”

They both scramble to their feet and I cannot bear to look at those faces; one contorted in confusion and hurt; the other twisted with arrogance and resentment.

Poppy comes bustling into the curtained cubicle, muttering words of chastisement that might or might not be intended for me; frankly I couldn’t give a shit.

“Poppy, I wish to see Albus. Right now.”

Those damnable brats are still hovering outside, labouring under the misconception that I have not noticed their legs in the few inches where the curtain does not quite reach the floor.

“And would you be so kind as to eject those two,” I say, pointing to one pair of scruffy trainers and one shiny black pair of heeled boots.

“Now, now, Severus, calm down,” she chides, forcing me to drink from the glass she presses to my lips, “you’ve made wonderful progress and getting stressed will only delay your recovery.”

In that case, she may as well move my belongings up here permanently. If there ever comes a day in my life that does not pass without some form of trauma, then I will likely be dead.

My throat is feeling rather sore after the impromptu outburst and the water is a welcome refreshment. I mumble my thanks and she smiles, slipping outside to shoo the deviants away.

As I wait for Albus, my mind drifts onto a well beaten path, continually circumnavigating first Potter, then Draco, then Potter and Draco.

Rather than keeping his distance from Potter, Draco seems to be spending more and more time in his company. I had wondered, after Potter’s blurted admission of sexuality, whether it would give him an excuse to resume his loathing and derision. I should feel ashamed of hoping that it would be the case; of course it is healthier that they are evolving a relationships of sorts; what concerns me is the nature of it. Particularly now that Draco is in possession of private quarters. Not that that has ever stopped students before. There are endless places in this castle for young lovers to meet for secret trysts.

But Potter confounds me. Did I wrongly interpret his asking for help? The covert glances that raked my bare flesh and Merlin help me, wrought havoc on my highly-strung nerves? It is my own fault. I encouraged this. No. Let them have fun together. It is unconscionable that I should even consider approaching either of them as anything other than their teacher. I will transfer Draco’s remaining detentions to Argus and tell Potter to find someone else to tutor him; both in Potions and sexuality. No doubt he and Draco have already made some headway in the latter. I know what you’re thinking; how can I be sure? Let me enlighten you: I have not spied successfully for the Order year after year without learning a thing or two about body language, even if their flirtations were subtle; which they were most assuredly not.

I am almost grateful when I hear Albus’ shuffling footsteps approach, anything to distract me from the taunting madness. It must be symptomatic of my surroundings. There is nothing to occupy me and I am bored. Intelligence can be a curse on occasion.

“Ah, Severus, good to see you in better health,” he exclaims, taking the chair that is probably still warm from Potter’s arse. Bugger. Now is definitely not a suitable moment to reflect on that.

“Thank you Albus. I would like to know the details of my discovery, if you would be so kind.” That he hasn’t already discussed it fills me with indeterminable dread. There must be something he does not wish for me to know.

“What do you remember?”

“Nothing. I have no memories between leaving Hogwarts and waking up here.” And it is true; though I must have displeased the Dark Lord somehow otherwise I would not be recovering from the overzealous use of Unforgivables.

“Oh dear, that is rather unfortunate,” he muses, stroking his beard, “we were rather hoping to glean some information on his whereabouts. Never mind, dear boy, it cannot be helped.”

“Forgive me Albus, next time I shall endeavour to draw a map whilst being subjected to unspeakable horrors.”


He has the audacity to chuckle, and were it not for the concern evident in his blue eyes, I might be tempted to throw something at him.

“You were found in Hogsmeade, Severus. The wooded area behind the Shrieking Shack, so Hagrid informs me.”

Merlin, how embarrassing. Being carried through the doors of Hogwarts by that blundering idiot. Albus evidently notices my disquiet because he adds, “It was late at night, quite devoid of any students,” as if that should make me feel better.

“And what was that overgrown dwarf doing in Hogsmeade at such an hour?” I demand. Not that it is any of my business, naturally, but my nerves are frayed.

“I imagine exchanging Galleons for dragon’s eggs, knowing Hagrid. It was certainly to your advantage that he frequents the local drinking establishments.”

Indeed. I make a mental note to pay homage to his liver when it finally gives up the ghost.

“Alas, dear boy, I must insist that you ignore any further summons. I am not prepared to endanger your life further.”

“This was merely punishment, Albus, I am certain of it. Had he planned to kill me I can assure you there would have been no body to recover or mend. It is critical that I continue to gain his trust, since we must find out his plans for Draco. I promised the boy protection and I will not let disappoint him.”

“And as noble as that sentiment is, we can still shelter him just as well from here. I fail to see how going back can reap benefits.”

“The benefits are glaringly obvious, I would have thought. The Dark Lord will undoubtedly have retribution in mind and if we are aware of his plans-“

“It might make things worse. I do not believe he trusts you any longer and if he gives false information you could be delivering Draco right into his hands. Then there is Harry to consider; Severus, what is the nature of their relationship? I fear we may have done more harm than good bringing them together.”

I snort then, I cannot help it. I had been thinking precisely the same thing, albeit for very different reasons. “I am not privy to that knowledge. They are undoubtedly more comfortable around each other, and though Draco would deny it with his last breath, I believe being shunned by his own house has driven him to seek kinship with Potter, particularly since the incident with-“

Merlin, I had forgotten all about-,”Zabini,” I snap, “where is he?”

“He has been suspended, Severus, and both Harry and Draco have given testimony to the board of governors but I am not hopeful that we will see him expelled. It was, after all no more than a schoolboy spat. Harry and Draco themselves have wrought worse on each other.”

“Headmaster, the boy is clearly acting on orders! Who knows what he will do if allowed to return?”

“I share your concern, Severus, but regrettably the situation is out of my hands.”

During the course of our conversation I have somehow shifted from reclining to sitting bolt upright. Realising this, I slump back defeatedly and cross my arms. Albus smiles apologetically.

“Poppy is willing to release you after a final check this evening, so you will be back in the comfort of your own quarters by tonight and you need not worry about your lessons either; you have the week off, on Poppy’s strict instruction of course.”

“I cannot-“

“Yes, you can and you will. Now, best that you get some more rest before our dear Mediwitch decides to change her mind.”

Yes, and knowing how stubborn and vindictive the woman can be, she likely would.

“Fine,” I grumble, waving him away before turning on my side.

***