suki_blue | Fic: Potion Palaver - 1/1 - Harry/Draco

Title: Potion Palaver

Fandom: HP

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Rating: R for sexual references.

Summary: It's a day like any other, which is unfortunate, Harry thinks, when the cauldron he’s been sharing with Malfoy blows up in their faces and coats them both with sticky pink stuff that smells vaguely of peppermint Tic Tacs.

Genre: Comedy, Crack

Beta'd by

amejisuto

It's a day like any other, which is unfortunate, Harry thinks, when the cauldron he’s been sharing with Malfoy blows up in their faces and coats them both with sticky pink stuff that smells vaguely of peppermint Tic Tacs.

A dark shadow looms at the outskirts of Harry’s awareness and he takes a special moment to exchange a heartfelt glare with Malfoy before facing the bollocking he knows is coming his way.

“Potter.” Snape rarely needs to say anything else when something goes terribly wrong within the walls of his Potions class.

“Sorry, sir.” In his head, Harry is poking his tongue out – and cutting Snape’s out. He’s also gutting Malfoy and, just because it’s fun, prodding Nott with a hot poker and injuring Crabbe with the wrong end of a Firebolt. It’s a busy world in Harry’s head.

“Explain what happened,” Snape demands, and Harry wonders how one can sound furious and so very bored at exactly the same time.

“The cauldron blew up, sir.”

A pale set of spindly fingers creep out from the darkness of Snape’s cloak to prod a shrivelled piece of what was once a perfectly good standard issue cauldron. “How very observant. And this happened,” He glances slowly from Malfoy back to Harry, “how exactly?”

Harry shifts uncomfortably. His annoyance is fading but it’s being quickly replaced with a tingling sensation that feels suspiciously like embarrassment combined with the urge to grab something. His robes are too hot and there’s pink fluid dripping down his glasses.

“We weren’t paying attention, sir.”

“Thanks very much!” Malfoy hisses, and the back of his hand swipes at Harry’s arm. There’s static when it connects and they both jump more than they did when the entire cauldron went tits up and down the hill.

They look at each other and Harry feels another urge. Nevertheless, he mentally side-steps the need for chocolate cup cakes because he’s suddenly got a Malfoy on his face and it doesn’t just stop there. There’s a Malfoy in his mouth and a Malfoy on his skin and oh dear, oh dear, oh dear there’s a hard Malfoy pressing against his trousers that may or may not actually be a wand. He hopes if it is a wand, Malfoy has it under control lest Harry ends up with a pair of shrunken tricycles.

There are shocked gasps, giggles and a wolf whistle but it’s the declaration from Seamus of “How hot is that?!” that makes Harry realise what he’s doing. So he does it more because it feels good and because Malfoy tastes like a butterscotch tart.

“Stop that at once!”

It’s Snape, but Malfoy is pulling him desperately closer, moaning and deepening their never-ending kiss, so Harry elects to ignore his stupid professor and instead runs his fingers through Malfoy’s silky soft hair.

“Harry, yes!” Malfoy hisses against his lips and Harry decides to yank his head back by that lovely hair and attack his neck.

Malfoy appears to be in agreement with this manoeuvre but Snape definitely isn’t.

“Potter!”

Someone cheers, “Love potion, score!”

Someone else cheers, “Go on, Harry, give it to him!”

There is a cry of, “Slytherin slut!”

And a yell of, “Gryffindor gay boy!”

“Oh, good grief.” That voice is Snape, but Malfoy has grabbed Harry’s hips and attacked his mouth again, so Harry only vaguely registers Snape’s twelve and a quarter inches pointing directly at them.

“AVIS!”

A small flock of starlings and a goose are conjured between them and, much to Harry’s irritation, he and Malfoy are forced apart.

Malfoy flaps at the birds, which is sort of ironic, and Snape takes the opportunity to scruff them both by the backs of their robes, and manhandle them into his office. He places them at opposite sides of the room, jinxes them with Jelly-Legs and returns to the classroom to bark orders that Harry doesn’t hear because his legs are all wobbly and his heart is thumping like a bongo. Also, Malfoy has a bedraggled, bed-head thing going on and it’s even more distracting than a fart in an exam.

“Which one of you is responsible? Potter?” Harry’s not sure when his professor returned because even with the Jelly-Legs, he’s managed to wobble halfway to meet Malfoy and now Harry isn’t sure when he became cloakless.

“A love potion,” Snape sneers. “How very…clichéd.”

“Feels more like lust, sir. And thank you.”

“Potter,” Malfoy says, looking him up and down like he’s a tasty custard cream, “you are so hot when you’re being belligerent.”

“Thank you, Malfoy.”

“Call me Draco.”

“I will. You can call me Harry because...” Harry has always thought that Draco had very cold eyes, but up this close they’re amazing, beautiful, fathomless and… Is Draco wearing contacts? “…that’s my name.”

“Be quiet!” Snape bellows.

“It’s a fabulous name,” Draco says, and he’s sidling even closer and before Harry can blink, Draco’s whispering in his ear. “It’s my favourite name.”

“STOP IT!”

By the time Snape forces them apart again – but not before they’ve both broken twelve school rules each and done their professor a nasty injury – Harry is out of his mind with lust. Professor McGonagall collects him and Harry is unceremoniously dragged away to the tune of Malfoy’s colourful album version of, “I want him! He’s mine! Give him to me, you imbecilic tossers!”

That night is literally a hard one. Harry has to sneak off to the bog on no less than four occasions to crack one off, whispering Draco’s name and wondering at the sound it makes as it falls from his lips.

He’s been told the effects of such a powerful love potion should wear off by morning at the latest. Draco’s been locked away in the far corners of the Slytherin dungeons and bearing in mind the fact that, on a normal day, the two of them have a perfect hatred for one another, the effects should be dwindling rapidly.

He’s sure they’re all wrong when, at three am, he’s thinking about naked Draco and all the special things Harry is sure Draco can do with a wand.

But when Ron shakes him awake at seven, Harry feels almost normal, and the only urge he has is to crawl back under the covers and stay there until Kate Bush once again tops the charts.

“How do you feel?” Hermione asks him when he has slowly and shamefully dragged himself down to the common room.

It’s late and everyone else has gone down to breakfast, so when he finally slumps into one of the chairs there’s only Herm, Ron and himself there. The portraits are pointing and whispering and Harry feels the urge to curl up in the foetal position.

“Humiliated,” he mutters.

Ron sits beside him and awkwardly pats his shoulder. It’s a manly pat and Harry is sure Ron has left a hand print.

“Don’t blame you, mate. I mean, Malfoy.”

Hermione looks thoughtful and Harry suddenly has a dreadful feeling of foreboding.

“It could have been worse, I suppose,” she says.

“Hardly!” Ron shudders. “I’d rather kiss a Hungarian Horntail.”

“Now that would be hot,” Harry jokes. He chuckles until he realises it isn’t funny and his friends are looking at him with both sympathy and worry. “Sorry.”

“I just meant,” Hermione continues as if no one else has spoken, “what if you’d been partnered with someone else, like Crabbe or Goyle.”

Both Ron and Harry wrinkle up their noses.

“Or what if you’d been paired up with me or Ron? That would have been very awkward.”

Ron winces and shoots Harry a sympathetic glance. “She’s got a point.”

“And besides, Malfoy isn’t bad looking. He’s quite handsome actually, if you take away the constipated expression. He’s got quite nice hair. Really, it’s a pity he’s such a …”

“Tosspot?” Ron supplies.

“I was going to say bully, but yes, succinctly put.”

Harry groans and sinks further down the chair. “My life is over. He’s going to make my life a misery, isn’t he? I’m as good as dead.”

More sympathy looks with accompanying head tilts and Hermione asks, “Would breakfast help?”

Harry is sure that marmalade is no one’s saviour and porridge never pulled anyone back from the brink of despair, but he agrees to let Ron and Hermione bring him back two slices of dry toast because bread really is the best thing since sliced death.

The day goes from bad to worse… Well, not really worse, but it certainly doesn’t get any better.

Professor McGonagall collars him after Charms, literally lynches him as he rounds the corner. She checks he’s okay and asks what went wrong with the potion. Harry tells her he doesn’t know and McGonagall lectures him on the dangers of love potions and the like.

By the time Harry makes it to Care of Magical Creatures he is ruffled, annoyed, uptight, aggravated and ten minutes late.

“Yer ten minutes late, Harry,” Hagrid helpfully points out. He’s got a large cloth covered cage standing next to him. It’s wiggling manically and alternately mewing and burping.

“Righ’, who we waiting for now?” Hagrid asks. He’s wiggling manically too, so he’s either extra excited about the critters in the cage or he’s seriously in need of the toilet. Neither option bodes well for anyone.

“Draco isn’t here yet,” Pansy says.

Harry stiffens at that – in a manner of speaking – but by the time he’s composed himself, a shock of platinum hair appears in the distance. It looks as ruffled as his does and as Malfoy’s familiar face comes into focus, Harry realises he looks sort of different. He can’t quite place it and he’s feeling hot and bothered again.

“Yeh alrigh’, Harry?” Hagrid asks. “Yer lookin’ a mite peaky. Not coming down with a fever, are yeh?”

There’s giggling from the other students and someone says, “Yeah, Malfoy Fever.”

“Oh, do shut up,” Hermione counters and Harry just about misses the rest of the argument because Malfoy has pulled up short beside him, obviously distracted and looking distinctly dishevelled.

Malfoy is muttering rude things about Snape and all the places he can shove his lectures, and he only stops when he notices Harry is staring.

“What?” he asks with hesitation and the two of them stare at each other for goodness knows how long.

Malfoy licks his lips and Harry quickly shakes his head and thinks his tie is on too tight. Malfoy looks more and more flustered by the second and they both turn to glare at a gaggle of giggling girls. All Harry can see is row after row of shiny, happy, white teeth and he wonders why he never realised that girls are more perverted than boys. Lesson learned.

“Potter,” Malfoy manages to say quietly without moving his lips, “what the hell is going on?”

“I think…the love potion…”

“I thought it might still be in effect,” Malfoy informs him. “We should probably keep our distance until it…”

“It wares off completely?” Harry finishes.

“Yes.” Malfoy smooths down his robes and keeps his chin high. “That would make the most amount of sense, if we both ever want to hold our heads up in this place again.” He pauses for thought before carrying on. “Of course, there is an alternative I could suggest.”

“Would it involve snogging?” Harry asks.

Malfoy looks most unamused. His eyes narrow and his hands clench at his sides. “Yes. It would.”

They grab for each other with a great clash of lips and their audience gasps.

“Blinkin’ flip, Harry!” Hagrid calls from somewhere. “I don’t think Dumbledore would approve. I’d best go ask ‘im.”

“No, stop them!” Hermione shouts.

“No, leave them!” someone else shouts.

“Hagrid, do something!” Hermione is using her scary voice and Harry knows it’s only a matter of time before she gets her way so he holds tightly to Draco and grinds against him.

“Righ’, hold yer horses.” The ground tremors as Hagrid makes his way over and Harry’s lips feel lonely when Draco briefly pulls away to elbow Ron in the face.

“Ow! That bloody bastard!”

There’s a scuffle of some sort between Ron and Hermione and Hermione yells, “They’re not in their right minds!”

“That po-faced git is never in his right mind!”

“I want you,” Harry whispers into Draco’s lips.

“Yes, Harry. I must have you.”

“Tha’s enough of tha’, then,” Hagrid says, and for the second time in two days Harry finds himself being scruffed. “I’m takin’ yeh to Dumbledore.”

Draco is struggling like his life depends on it, but at least his language is a little less colourful this time. “Get off me, you great oaf! Just you wait until my father hears about this!”

Draco seems to think about this and Harry is amused to see him deflate at his own logic. Cute.

“What have you done to me, Potter?” Draco whines.

Harry shrugs as much as he can considering he’s hanging by his robes and his feet aren’t touching the floor.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You must have because I didn’t.”

“I didn’t!”

“Then explain why I want to suck your toes, Potter, because I don’t remember feeling that particular urge before. Oh Harry. Bugger this. Hagrid, let go of me this instant!”

“Not on yer nelly.”

Draco starts flailing again and it’s so hot that Harry makes another valiant effort to free himself from Hagrid’s solid grip so he can take that lovely body in his arms and kiss those warm, wet lips and squeeze that lovely bum, etc., etc.

The thrashing doesn’t stop until they reach Dumbledore’s office and that’s only because Hagrid has set them down and they’ve quickly become one writhing, moaning mass of person.

“Shall I get the shackles, Professor Dumbledore, sir?” Hagrid asks innocently.

It’s enough to put both boys off and they slowly peel themselves apart and turn to face Dumbledore.

Dumbledore’s eyes are glittering vibrantly, twinkling merrily, sparkling brightly and glinting cheekily. Harry’s pretty sure it’s conjunctivitis and he wonders if anyone has bothered to point this out. Probably not. Communication isn’t the name of the game at Hogwarts.

“Harry,” Dumbledore greets. “Draco. How are you both this fine day?”

“Horny,” Draco says, and immediately slaps his hand over his mouth.

“What Draco meant to say is that we had an accident in potions yesterday and we still seem to be suffering the effects. Sir.”

Draco lowers his hand and waggles his finger. “Exactly. Professor, you have to do something. There is clearly foul play afoot. Either that or Potter is an idiot. Personally, I’m voting for both.”

“Why am I the idiot?” Harry argues. “It was just as likely you that fluffed up the potion.”

“Excuse me?!” Draco looks outraged and Harry thinks it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Which one of us is top of the class?” Draco continues. “And which one of us still can’t brew a simple Boil Cure potion?”

“Take that back!” Harry hollers, although his temper is running purely on habit. The rest of him is focusing heavily on Draco’s furrowed brow, flushed cheeks and bared teeth.

“Make me!” Draco spits. “Grab me, take me and make me!”

“Fine!”

Hagrid nods at him. “I don’ think yeh wanna be doin’ tha’, Harry.”

But Hagrid’s words are far too late.

Five minutes later, they’re separated again and being held apart by Hagrid. Draco’s a kicker, Harry discovers, and Hagrid is probably going to have a few bruises after this affair.

They are taken to their separate dorms with strict instructions to stay away from each other for the next week. There’s a new timetable in force for the both of them which involves separate lessons and private tuition from Snape. Joy, joy, joy.

“Must have been one hell of a potion you two concocted,” Ron says in the common room three nights later.

Harry’s still hot for it and he’s not looking forward to another night of tossing and turning.

“Yes, extremely strong,” Hermione agrees. “I really don’t understand how you both managed it. It’s a very specific potion and quite different from the one we were trying to brew.”

“We didn’t do it!” Harry insists for the fifth time that night.

“How do you know Malfoy didn’t do it?” Ron asks. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Why would he do that? It would be stupid to do it to himself!”

“He did start the potion before you arrived,” Hermione points out. “He didn’t have a partner before you turned up late. There were an odd number of students in the class, remember? And how often do you see Malfoy without a potions partner? I’m telling you, Harry, he’s responsible.”

“It does sound dodgy, mate.”

“Malfoy was trying to make a love potion until you showed up late and spoiled his fun,” Hermione concludes.

Harry shakes his head. “No, I don’t believe that. That’s not how it happened.”

“Then how did it happen?” Ron asks.

Harry explains:

“Late again, Potter,” Malfoy sneers.

“You Slytherins are so observant.”

“And you Gryffindors are so idiotic. Can’t even manage to brush your hair in the morning, can you?”

Harry opens his mouth to insult Malfoy’s hair but finds he hasn’t got the heart. The hair is too nice. Instead he glances at the potion on the board, grabs a phial of something blue, tosses it into the cauldron and says, “Hey, Malfoy, I hear your mum and dad are actually brother and sister.”

Malfoy grabs another phial and carefully tips one third of the bottle into the cauldron. He hands Harry a large spoon and gets right in his face. “Stir this while I go to the supply cupboard. And when I come back, you and I are going to have a little talk about manners, Potter.”

“Sure,” Harry says cheerfully. “Don’t trip on your way there. I hear webbed feet can be a real hindrance.”

Malfoy’s fists clench and his eyes flash with rage.

“Mr Malfoy,” Snape warns as he passes. “Now is not the time. I would rather not put you in detention. Potter on the other hand…”

Malfoy stalks away and when Snape’s back is turned, Harry turns around and catches Ron’s eye. They laugh quietly and Ron whispers, “Nice one, mate.”

It’s then that the table jerks like something has knocked into it and Harry glances back around to have another go at Malfoy. But Malfoy isn’t anywhere near the table; he’s on his way back from the cupboard, and there is no one else nearby.

“What are you looking at, four-eyes?!” Malfoy snaps.

“Did you see -?”

“See what?” Malfoy interrupts. “You looking like the monster prat you are? I’m going to get you, Potter.”

Malfoy sprinkles powdered frog brains into the cauldron. “You haven’t even stirred this, have you?”

Which is when the cauldron explodes.

“That’s got to be it!” Harry cries, leaping from the chair and spilling his homework all over the floor.

“What?” Ron asks, obviously confused.

“There was someone else there! They knocked into the table!”

“But you just said there was no one else there,” Hermione logically points out.

“I said I couldn't see anybody, but that doesn’t mean… I have to talk to Draco.”

“Now?!” Hermione leaps from her chair, but she carefully holds on to her homework. “It’s eleven o’clock at night, Harry.”

“I don’t care. Someone did this to us on purpose. Who knows what they’ll do next?! I have to warn Draco.”

“Warn Malfoy?! Are you crazy?!” Ron also leaps from his chair. His homework pings into the air, scatters itself across a wide distance and he pokes himself in the eye with his quill.

Harry runs all the way to the Slytherin dungeons and he bangs loudly at the entrance. It’s Blaise Zabini that answers; he steps from the entrance and folds his arms over his chest.

“What do you want?”

“I need to see Draco.”

“What, so you can jump him again? I don’t think so. I have no idea what you did you him but-”

“I didn’t do anything. Someone did this to us, to both of us. You have to get him here, Zabini. I need to speak with him before anything else happens.”

Zabini looks dubious and he eyes Harry, Ron and Hermione with suspicion. Eventually, he disappears back into the dungeons and returns with a pyjama clad Draco.

They kiss before either of them registers what they’re doing and when Draco pulls back he shakes his head in resignation. “What do you want, Harry? You shouldn’t be here.”

Harry swallows slowly and is unable to deny himself a good long look at Draco in his jammies. He’s always thought Draco would be one for silk, and maybe he is, but tonight he’s dressed in the smoothest and softest looking cotton that Harry has ever seen. It’s the deepest green, almost black, and the simple t-shirt style looks understated but fabulous. Harry suddenly realises he’s said all that out loud, but Draco looks impressed – even though everyone else is looking him like he’s some sort of nutter.

They’re kissing again and Harry simply has to touch skin, so he slips his hands beneath Draco’s t-shirt and just feels.

Someone clears their throat – or possibly gags - and they pull apart again, resting their foreheads together.

“What do you remember about the cauldron exploding?” Harry asks breathlessly.

“Lots of pink gunk. And you. You were so hot.”

“Were?”

“Are,” Draco corrects. “Very, very hot.”

“Do you remember anyone else near our cauldron?” Harry continues after someone groans and someone else whispers something about a camera.

“No,” Draco says.

“Are you sure? Think about it, sweetheart.” Harry winces at the pet name but Draco doesn’t seem to have noticed, thank Merlin.

Draco closes his eyes and thinks. “I…don’t think-” His eyes flare open again and he gasps. “Wait! I saw… Oh bollocks, I can’t remember.”

“But you saw something?”

Draco nods. “Something. I was going to say something but then everything just exploded. But I can’t remember what it was.”

“Okay, this is good.”

“It is?” chorus Draco, Ron, Hermione, Zabini, and a cluster of Slytherin girls hoping to catch a free show.

Harry kisses Draco and takes his hand, pulling him back down the corridor. “Come on, we’re going to see Dumbledore. He can pull out your memories and we can look at them in his pensieve.”

“That’s a fabulous idea!” Hermione cries and she and Ron follow behind them.

“Are you winking at me, Weasley?” Draco asks and Ron rubs at his sore eye and curses – figurative speaking – Draco bloody under his breath.

Dumbledore is sitting behind his desk when they all pile into his office. He’s dressed in his pyjamas and drinking a cup of tea.

“Ah, my boys. Shouldn’t you all be in bed?”

“With who?” Ron asks suspiciously.

“Just in general,” Dumbledore answers, scraping back his chair and pushing himself up.

By this time, Harry and Draco have started snogging again. It’s all wet lips and tongue and Harry starts wondering how he could have lived for an entire sixteen years without experiencing this. A thought occurs to him and it makes him kiss Draco deeper. He holds tightly to him and notices that Draco is holding on just as tightly back.

“The potion will eventually ware off,” Draco points out when there’s more gagging from behind them. “Or maybe it’ll get reversed. But whichever…”

“Yeah, I know. Soon we won’t feel like this.”

“You want to feel like this?!” Ron asks.

Harry shrugs. “Well, yeah. It’s… It’s a nice feeling.”

Draco nods and he looks sort of sad, so Harry immediately moves closer to comfort him. He kisses his cheek and strokes his hair, and in return Draco grins at him. “You are the soppiest Gryffindor ever.”

If Draco hadn’t given him the most tender kiss he’d ever imagined, Harry would have thought he was being insulted. He’s suddenly not really bothered about who did what to whom, but Hermione pokes him in the back and Harry realises he really should sort things out.

He explains to Dumbledore what they need and what he suspects and within a few moments, Dumbledore has extracted Draco’s memories and they’re all standing back in potions class on the day of the explosion.

Malfoy is annoyed. He’s fiddling around inside the cupboard looking for the powdered frog brains. Of course, they’re not where they should be so Malfoy huffs loudly and searches further back.

Ron and Harry are sniggering in the background and it’s obvious from Malfoy’s icy glare that he’s heard. Finally snagging the small sachet he’s looking for, Malfoy slams the cupboard door shut and turns back.

“I am going to rip off your ears, Potter,” he mutters to himself as he stares at his nemesis. “Let’s see how your ridiculous glasses fit then.” He seems to ponder that image for a moment and then he hears: “Nice one, mate.”

He opens his mouth to fling some verbal abuse at Weasley but then something catches his eye as a familiar looking house-elf reaches around the back of the cauldron, tips in a phial of something pink and tries to make a quick getaway; unfortunately, he runs straight into one of the table legs and stuns himself. Another house elf pops up next to the first one and they Disapparate together.

“You saw the whole thing?!” Hermione exclaims. “Why on earth didn’t you say something?”

“Honestly, it just completely went out of my head. I started walking back, intent on saying something to Snape, but then Harry was looking at me weirdly and I just forgot.”

“Why would that make you forget?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know, Potter! It just did!”

“Alright, calm down,” Harry soothes, rubbing gently at Draco’s back. Draco calms down immediately and Harry makes a mental note to remember that trick.

“This still doesn’t explain why a stupid little house-elf did this to us.”

Hermione raises an eyebrow and shakes her head. “I expect it was payback for all the years your family tortured him.”

“I’m sorry?” Draco asks, looking serious, put out and devastatingly handsome all at once.

“That doesn’t explain why he did it to me,” Harry points out.

“Perhaps we should find out,” Dumbledore suggests.

So Harry takes a deep breath and calls, “DOBBY!”

With a pop, Dobby appears before them. His eyes widen when he takes in his audience. “Hello, Harry Potter.”

“Dobby, what did you do?”

Dobby walks over to Dumbledore’s desk and bashes his head against it; everybody winces at the loud crack. “Dobby doesn’t know what Harry Potter means.”

“Dobby, we know it was you. We saw it in Draco’s memories.”

Dobby’s eyes widen further and his bottom lip begins to quiver. He’s looking fearfully at Draco and backing away.

“Dobby meant no harm to Harry Potter or to Draco Malfoy. You must believe me, sirs. Dobby would rather cut off his left leg than hurt Harry Potter.”

“I’ll be the one to cut off your leg, you little monster!”

Dobby eeps and hides behind the desk.

“Draco!” Harry scolds. He walks over to the desk and around it. Unfortunately, Dobby is walking around it in the opposite direction, so they both cautiously move around and around the desk until Draco rolls his eyes and steps into Dobby’s path. He crosses his arms and looks at Dobby with a severe expression.

“Explain what happened,” he demands, and Harry is reminded of Snape and he’s thinking that maybe Draco would make a great teacher one day. Well, a teacher like Snape anyway.

“Come on, Dobby,” Harry encourages. “Tell us. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Draco opens his mouth.

“Not even Draco,” Harry quickly finishes.

“There were discussions in the kitchen about Harry Potter. Many said Harry Potter did and many said Harry Potter didn’t and some said Harry Potter was and some said Harry Potter wasn’t. Dobby said Harry Potter might but not with such an awful boy as Draco Malfoy.”

Dobby’s eyes widen to the size of serving plates. He trembles and repeatedly punches himself in the side of the head “Bad! Bad! Bad! Bad, awful, repulsive Dobby!”

“Well, at least he’s efficient,” Draco says with only a minor amount of spite. “I didn’t even have to lift a finger.”

“No change there, then,” Ron mutters.

Harry scowls at them both before turning back to Dobby. “Dobby, you’re not making much sense. Could you explain further, please?”

“There was a bet, Harry Potter, sir. They all said Harry Potter would and I said Harry Potter wouldn’t, not even with the effects of a love potion. Harry Potter would never fall for a foul boy,” Dobby kicked himself, “like Draco Malfoy. So Dobby tainted Harry Potter’s cauldron and Dobby lost ten galleons.”

“You lost the bet?” Hermione asks. “But wasn’t it obvious you would lose? Any love potion is almost impossible to resist. You surely didn’t think either of them would be able to fight it? I don’t see what was proved.”

Dobby looks at the ground, his ears wilting dramatically. “The potion only lasts for a day, Hermione Granger. Dobby bet that Harry Potter would go back to normal by his first lesson on the second day, but Harry Potter didn’t.” He shook his head sadly. “Harry Potter is in love with Draco Malfoy, just like they all said.”

There’s an awkward silence in the air and it’s only broken when Dumbledore chuckles mirthfully. “Haven’t I always said that your power is -”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Harry pleads.

Dumbledore chuckles again and sits back at his desk. “Of course, I knew all along.”

“What?! How could you…? Merlin, you really do know everything.”

Dumbledore chuckles yet again and now it’s really starting to grate on Harry’s nerves. He chances a look at Draco and finds that he’s staring right at him, a confused expression painted on his pale face.

“So…” Draco pauses and he’s obviously trying to find the right words. “We’ve wanted each other all along?” His tone is sarcastic but Harry can clearly hear the hope in it and it gives him confidence and he nods back at Draco.

“Yeah. Weird, huh?”

Draco’s eyebrows go up. “Very. So, all the time we were kissing, that was real?”

Harry nods again and on the outskirts of his vision he can see Hermione and a very red-faced Ron slowly backing away. There’s a wail and pop and then Dobby is gone, too.

Draco continues. “So, I…don’t hate you?”

Harry shakes his head and moves into Draco’s personal space. “You want my body. Apparently.” He watches with intense relief when Draco’s pupils expand and his expression turns hungry. “It just took a dose of love potion to give us both a kick-start.”

Draco’s hands are trailing all over him, like he doesn’t know what to touch first. He lowers his lips to Harry’s neck and gently pulls their bodies flush together. “Snape is going to kill us,” he whispers.

“Was that supposed to be a sweet nothing?” Harry asks, chuckling. Dumbledore is still chuckling from before and hasn’t actually stopped chuckling for at least five minutes. Draco also starts to chuckle and before they know it, all the Headmasters in the portraits join them in a chuckling frenzy.

“Are you going to be nicer to me now?” Harry asks.

“Of course!” Draco cries, like it’s such an obvious answer. “Consider yourself an honorary Slytherin.”

Harry isn’t too sure about that last part, but Draco is the most feared of all the Slytherins so maybe the others will bend over on his say so. The image of that is either pleasant or unpleasant and Harry is having trouble deciding which.

“Potion partners?” he asks.

Draco straightens himself and tugs at the hem of his t-shirt where it has mysteriously ridden up at some point during the evening’s proceedings. “Absolutely. Perhaps with my tutoring you’ll actually improve.”

“You save me from Snape and I’ll save you from Ron – oh, and Voldemort! I nearly forgot.”

“It’s a deal, Harry Potter.”

They kiss again and, somewhere in the depths of the kitchens, a wail and the sound of a head repeatedly banging against an industrial grill is heard long into the night. By morning, a strapping house-elf with shrunken ears, feet like boats, and knees like small boulders has slipped something pink into Dobby’s bran and that’s where the story ends, because nobody needs or wants to hear about what happens next. Those naughty house-elves.

The End.