Strange Brew

Chapter Seven – Strange Brew

Draco was calmer than he’d felt in days. Potions always had a soothing effect on him. He added the last of the poppy seeds, stirred the mixture twice counter-clockwise, and spelled away the heat. The result was perfection, of course. He ladled the contents of his cauldron into a glass vial and casually flicked a stray seed into Blaise’s brew and watched amusedly as his best friend dived dramatically for cover under Pansy’s desk, only to emerge rather red-faced a moment later, having realised poppy seeds were harmless when added to restorative potions.

Draco accomplished all this whilst successfully resisting the urge to look at Potter; sometimes he astounded even himself with his multitasking abilities.

Unfortunately Draco was so intent on ignoring Potter that he didn’t see the Gryffindor walk over to his workstation, didn’t notice him till he was barely a foot away.

“May I talk with you?” Potter whispered urgently.

Draco merely whistled his favourite show-tune off-key and pretended that Potter was a potion-fume induced delusion.

But Potter wouldn’t be ignored. He coughed politely, and Draco’s reluctant gaze rested on Potter’s worry-bitten lips. Sweet Circe, had the git never heard of Farafina Blag’s every flavour lip balms? Honestly! He regarded the lips with a raised eyebrow and wondered vaguely if Potter would prefer chocolate flavoured or vanilla. Regrettably, Potter mistook Draco’s raised eyebrow for inquiry.

“I said, may I talk with you?”

Draco forced his eyes back to the potion and away from the messy-haired miscreant, intent on disturbing his pleasant mood. “I can hardly stop you, can I?” he grumbled, tongue poking out studiously as he negotiated the tricky cork into the vial.

Potter stepped closer, close enough to whisper in his ear, and Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He spun round and rapped Potter twice on the nose with his wet ladle, leaving a smidge of healing draught on the Gryffindor’s nose, which made the boy look sickeningly cute and mightily perturbed.

Strangely, something about Potter was beginning to make Draco feel awfully playful. Maybe it was the boy’s beseeching demeanour; he was practically begging to be teased. He fought back the urge to mock the brunette about the mournful looks he’d been bestowing upon him all morning and instead brandished his ladle in what he hoped was a threatening manner.

“Stay back, Potty. Lest you forget your inability to keep your hands to yourself when in the presence of my awesome gorgeousness,” he hissed, desperately trying to keep the smug smirk from his lips. “Show some decorum.”

Potter looked properly chastised and quickly clasped his hands behind his back. “I won’t be distracted, not this time,” he murmured, looking down at Draco with determined eyes. “I need to talk to you about the Quibbler.”

Draco shot a sideways glance at Snape hoping for intervention, but his godfather had been slaving over a huge cauldron full of blue liquid all lesson and was completely absorbed in his work.

He looked back at Potter, who was self-consciously rubbing his nose clean with the sleeve of his robe, and noted that, what ever his intention, the Gryffindor was still standing closer than was properly decent. Close enough that Draco had to tilt his head up in order to look into his earnest, handsome face. Close enough to enable Draco to smell his standard issue Gryffindor soap, which by rights should have been offending his nostrils, not enticing him to get closer to the scent.

“So no distractions this time, Malfoy. Every time I try to talk to you about the article I get side-tracked. Well not this time.”

“We’ve never talked about the article,” Draco pointed out.

“And that’s because I get side-tracked.”

“And that’s because I’m impossibly hot,” Draco retorted with a playful smile, and Potter’s eyes instantly dropped to his mouth.

Draco was actually beginning to enjoy himself.

He leant back against his desk, and looked up at Potter through his lashes - the way he knew made him look indecently pretty - and felt a flash of triumph when Potter’s pupils dilated.

“Damn it, Draco,” he whispered thickly.

The obvious desire in the other boy’s voice caused Draco’s stomach to flutter, and to his complete embarrassment, he felt his nipples harden against his robes. Draco quickly decided that he was in over his head.

“Don’t call me that,” he said weakly. “If you have questions, ask your friends.” He sidestepped, effectively using his cauldron as a shield, and continued to eye Potter warily. This really wasn’t like flirting with girls at all; he’d never felt such a dangerous lack of control over his own body. “In case it’s escaped your notice, I’m not your friend and I’m not in the business of making life easy for you, scarhead.”

Potter leaned over the cauldron, and once again, Draco had to look up at the taller boy, making him aware of the height difference, the size difference, making him far too aware of their bodies in general.

“They won’t help me. No one will. Hermione keeps scaring everyone away when I try to mention the Quibbler. She’s really starting to annoy me.”

“Finally coming round to my way of thinking, Potter? Took you long enough.”

“Whatever, Malfoy. I know Hermione. If she’s keeping something from me, it’s because she’s trying to protect me,” he said defensively, stepping around the cauldron. Draco ran around the other side, and Potter made chase until they were both circling the cauldron foolishly.

“Tell it to someone who cares, pot-head.”

“Stay still and talk to me, you little git.”

“No,” Draco snapped, and because he was feeling particularly reckless, stuck his tongue out.

Potter growled and stopped abruptly, causing the blond to smack into his back. Then he twisted and lunged, grabbing Draco’s arm. Draco tried to slap the hand away but halted his pathetic attempt at resistance when he saw the murderous look on Potter’s face.

“You’re a bloody tease, ferret,” he yelled, dragging Draco forcibly towards him. “All I want is a copy of the Quibbler, but you just have to fuck me about, don’t you?”

Draco’s bottom lip wobbled. “But, Potter,” he cried urgently, trembling in the vice-like grip. “You’re missing the real issue. It’s not the Quibbler you should be worried about, it’s the pumpk…” But Potter cut him off rather effectively by pinching one of his already sensitive nipples harshly between his thumb and index finger. Draco was sure Potter had meant to cause discomfort, but his body decided to process the stimulus in a different way.

The nerve endings in his nipple seemed to have a direct connection to his cock, which twitched in appreciation. The resulting sound of the assault left his mouth unwillingly and reverberated around the cavernous classroom; who knew damp rock had such marvellous acoustics? Draco was scandalized. Scandalized and whimpering continuously as Potter gentled his touch, playing his nipple like a finely tuned instrument.

He gasped, eyes wide, back arched as pleasure shot fire to the tips of his fingers and the ends of his toes. His heart couldn’t decide whether to jump out of his chest or to leap up his throat and choke him to death. His legs jellified, and if Potter hadn’t held him so tightly, he would have slid to the floor like a boneless idiot.

The Gryffindor lowered his head till their lips were a hair’s-breath away, his glasses almost pressing into Draco’s skin. His face softened, but there was a wild look in his vivid green eyes as he warned, “The gloves are off now, Malfoy.”

Fortunately or regrettably - Draco’s brain was too mushy to decide either way - Snape chose this moment to intervene.

“Mr Potter, you’re forgetting yourself,” his voice ground out sharply from the front of the classroom. “Kindly conduct your amorous exploits elsewhere. This is a potions classroom, not the back of a muggle chip-shop.”

Potters fingers released their tender captive, and Draco could no more prevent his cry of anguish at their loss than he could the feeling of abandonment that settled in his stomach like cheap firewhisky.

Potter seemed equally bereft. He also seemed to appreciate the woeful condition of Draco’s legs, so rather than letting Draco slip to the floor, he propped him up gently against his workstation. His consideration inspired both annoyance and gratitude in Draco. Both feelings waged war inside his small frame until all he could do was gargle at Potter incoherently.

Potter smiled down at him with affection, but the glint in his eyes made a terrifying promise.

Draco retaliated with a babbled string of nonsensical consonants and watched dazed as Potter make his unsteady way back to his own desk. He only became truly cognisant when he realised that every single person in the room was staring at him with open curiosity.

Draco sat down carefully and prayed for either the end of the lesson or a shame-induced death, whichever came first. He truly wasn’t too fussed.

Regrettably, neither seemed forthcoming. After five minutes of staring at his hands, he watched the rest of the class. Pansy was looking deeply amused, Blaise was fighting back sniggers and Crabbe and Goyle – ignorant as always – were busy tentatively tasting their ingredients, which they hadn’t even bothered to brew into a potion. Over at the Gryffindor side of the classroom, Finnigan was gazing at him with wounded eyes, Weasley and Granger were whispering softly to one another and Potter was playing an intriguing game of eyeball-chicken with Snape.

Draco observed their contest surreptitiously, curious to see who would back off first.

Five minutes later he was beginning to feel a little queasy. He watched appalled as (for the forth time) Snape leered suggestively at Potter. Potter responded by narrowing his eyes resolutely and licking his lips in a rather distracting manner before his eyes darted guiltily in Draco’s direction.

The looks they were sharing were positively indecent. Draco felt the apprehension from his encounter with Potter transform into something else, something completely alien to him. It hurt is stomach.

Was he jealous?

Was his godfather lusting after Potter?

Was he really sitting here asking himself stupid questions?

Draco sighed; everyone seemed to want Potter. Why should Snape be any different? But would Potter really reciprocate.

‘Maybe if he was intoxicated by behaviour altering substances’, said a nasty little voice in his head. ‘He’s been trying it on with you hasn’t he!’

‘Yes, but I’m heart-wrenchingly beautiful’, Draco retorted. ‘Severus is a…’ Draco paused and took a minute to look at his Head of House.

He was leaning back against his podium, watching Potter with lazy regard, arms crossed, a beautifully pale finger gently caressing the fabric of his sleeve. The cauldron simmering at his side cast a blue light over his pale skin, making it glow ethereally. And, Merlin-on-a-broomstick, was he wearing leather trousers under his robes? Draco tutted disapprovingly. Even Snape’s hair looked clean. In fact, over the last month, Snape had really been taking care of his appearance. He was still no oil painting, but he was also no longer oily. Draco decided there was something about the man, something domineering and powerful and dare he say, sexy.

‘Urgh, bad thoughts! Bad, naughty thoughts about your godfather, shame on you,’ the disgusted voice told him brusquely.

Mercifully for Draco, Snape finally ended the lesson.

Draco slowly cleared his desk, avoiding the inquisitive looks his housemates shot him as they trooped out of the room, but when he’d finished, Potter was still loitering near the door, obviously ready to tackle him again about the Quibbler. Draco stayed behind under the pretence of asking Snape a question about the potion he’d just brewed and was relieved when Snape told Potter, in no uncertain terms, to bugger off.

Potter pouted fetchingly and narrowed his eyes but eventually stomped away muttering under his breath; the sound of his angry footsteps bounced around the dungeons. Snape’s amused smirk had a touch of fondness about it that did nothing to calm Draco’s fears.

“Severus, what are you brewing?” he asked, unable to curb his curiosity even though he was inexplicably angry with his godfather.

Snape looked momentarily shifty before saying, “Nothing special. Did you want something else, Draco?”

Draco stalled long enough to note the colour, texture and smell of the potion. His curiosity doubled when he realised it was a potion he didn’t recognise, and therefore definitely not on the school syllabus.

“No sir, just avoiding Potter,” he answered, trying partial-truth on for size. It must have fit well because Snape’s expression was suddenly indulgent. Draco decided to quit while he was ahead and took his leave.

Tbc.