HP Fanfic: Draco Malfoy Should Have Moved to France (PG-13)
Title: Draco Malfoy Should Have Moved to France
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In order to get a promotion at work, Harry Potter is willing to do anything; even study Potions under Draco Malfoy. However, neither of them expects the results of an experimental potion gone awry.
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.
Word Count: 4,826
Beta(s): The amazing mathnerd , whom I love to pieces. She took it on despite a good reason not to, and was quick, efficient, and helpful as always.
Author’s Notes: Written for masteroftrouble, for the 2010 hd_parallel fest. Prompt for this AU was that Harry was raised by the Dursleys, who liked magic.
Draco Malfoy Should Have Moved to France
As Draco stared back into the bright green eyes of the man standing before him, he wished that he had taken his mother’s advice and moved to France after all.
“You have got to be joking.” This had to be one final taunt, some elaborate prank to cap off all the years of ridiculous behaviour. Harry Potter couldn’t really expect a favour like this, could he?
“I wish I were. But it’s all very official. I have a letter from the Minister.” He rummaged around in his robes and produced a slightly wrinkled sheet of parchment.
Draco sighed and held out his hand. Potter thrust the paper toward him, shifting from one foot to the other as Draco scanned it. Potter was right: Ministry seal and everything. “You know, when I got notice that the Ministry wanted me to provide someone with Potions lessons, I thought they meant someone school-aged. A nephew to some high-ranking official or something. Not you.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t expect to need a bloody tutor, either. I did just fine at Hogwarts, even if it wasn’t my best subject. But if I don’t increase my proficiency, I’ll be… Well, I can’t tell you.”
“You Unspeakables certainly are tight-lipped about your work.”
“Comes with the territory. Or had you not figured it out, what with the name and all? Merlin, Malfoy, all that money, and Daddy still couldn’t buy you a brain?”
Draco bristled. “I know I’m more or less forced to comply with this little request, but it would be beneficial to us both if you kept comments like that to yourself.” He cursed his luck. If he had never seen Potter after their school days, he could have been a happy man. Now he had to put up with this pompous, cocky, Golden Boy… He fought to keep a sudden smile from his lips. Yes, he had to comply. But that didn’t mean he had to make Potter’s life easy. “I suppose we should begin lessons at once. Show up here tomorrow at six in the morning.”
Potter leaned over the counter and snatched the letter back from Draco’s hand. “Six? Are you kidding me?”
“Look, Potter. I have a job to do, outside of tutoring you. Some of us actually take pride in our work. Show up here at six, supplies in hand.” The nice thing about the arrangement set forth in the letter Potter had shown him was that it was up to the other man to supply the potions ingredients they would need. Draco had a feeling that whatever they worked on wouldn’t be quite so standard. “We’ll meet three times a week, as the letter stipulates, until your superiors sign off, saying your lessons are no longer necessary. Any questions?”
“Are you sure we can’t change the time to something closer to eight?” He looked pained. “I’m not at my best that early in the morning.”
“Six, Potter. We’ll see how your first few lessons go. Perhaps we can renegotiate the time after that.” Not bloody likely, though, Draco let a gleeful little voice in his head trill. “Now, kindly leave me to my work.”
Potter shot Draco a fantastically irritated look and turned on his heel, the bell over the door to Draco’s shop jingling angrily. Funny how the bell had never sounded angry before now. Once his old nemesis was gone, Draco broke into a wide grin. He finally had the opportunity to repay Potter for all the misery he had caused Draco back in their school days. This might almost be fun.
~*~
Potter showed up three minutes after six, but Draco supposed he could let that slide. He was waiting just inside the door to his shop, a hot cup of coffee cradled in his hands. He didn’t exactly prefer to be up and working this early, but a Malfoy could be ready when required and do the task at hand well. Besides, he knew Potter wasn’t a morning person. He watched Potter walk up to the door with his hair still smashed on one side from where he had been lying on it and a crease from his pillow still tattooed on his cheek. The sight alone made getting up at such an early hour worth it.
The smirk was gone before Potter was close enough to see it. “Hello, Potter. Have all your supplies?” All business. That was all he would allow Potter to see. No need to risk a Howler-or possibly something harsher-from the Unspeakables Potter worked for. Besides, if Potter was one of them, who knew what nasty tricks he might have up his sleeves?
“Yes, Malfoy. I don’t know what all of them are for, but they’re all here. The letter I received with the package of some of the restricted items says that perhaps we should start with something basic, so you can analyse my skills before we move on.”
That was actually quite a good idea, Draco mused. Pity he hadn’t thought of it. “Very well. Did the letter say which potion might make a good baseline test?”
“Antidote to Veritaserum.”
Draco raised his eyebrows. That wasn’t exactly what he had been thinking of when he had heard ‘basic’. He had been thinking more along the lines of a Calming Draught or perhaps the Wit-Sharpening Potion. Merlin knew Potter could probably use some of the latter. But the Antidote to Veritaserum was…complex. Dozens of ingredients. And it took two weeks to mature. True, Draco would know if it was brewed correctly by the end of their session, but it would be completely ineffective as an antidote until it matured fully. Not to mention, some of those ingredients were quite costly. “You have the supplies for that?”
“Yeah. Supplies, instructions, everything.”
Well, why not? If that’s what Potter’s superiors suggested, he may as well go along with it. As he watched Potter lay everything out, Draco wondered what else they would be working on in the coming weeks. While Veritaserum was taught in sixth year at Hogwarts, and antidotes were covered as part of the fourth year curriculum, this particular potion wasn’t a part of the standard curriculum taught to students. In fact, Draco had met few people, outside of licensed Potions Masters, who had even attempted it.
“Are you going to help with any of this?” Potter asked him, starting a small fire underneath his cauldron.
Draco stood back and continued to look on. “No. This is to get an idea of your personal aptitude for the work, remember? I want to see you follow the written instructions. If something goes wrong, I’ll catch exactly where that problem occurs. You have everything. Now, begin.”
He leaned against the counter across from Potter, ready to take in any deviations from the instructions Draco knew so well, any personal stylistic quirks that might contribute to a flaw in the end result. Two hours later, Draco had catalogued six or seven minor problems, none of them issues that couldn’t be corrected. That was promising, then. He could teach the other man, hopefully quickly, and he would never have to see him again. The Unspeakables would be pleased, and he would still have a bit of opportunity to ruffle Potter’s feathers. He wouldn’t stoop to something reckless, not in a Potions lab, but there were other ways.
“Decant that into one of the vials on the shelf to your left. No, not that one, the one at eye-level. Yes.” He waited for Potter to follow his instructions. There was a spilled drop, and he made note of that as well. If he had been working on something more caustic, Potter would regret a move like that, once it had eaten away at his fingers. “Now give it to me.”
Remarkably, Potter looked nervous. “But it’s not ready yet. It takes two weeks-”
Draco shushed him, irritated. “I am well aware of that. But I’m not planning on testing it out on you at the moment.” Though I wouldn't rule it out… “Just looking at it, I can spot an imperfection. Can you?” He held up the vial so it caught a beam of sunlight, refracting colours across the table.
Potter’s face scrunched up. “Not really.”
“It’s supposed to be clear, Potter. As clear as Veritaserum, as clear as water. This has a blue tinge to it. Can you not see that?” He tilted the bottle, bringing it a fraction closer to the other man’s glasses.
“Oh. Yeah. I guess it is a little blue.”
“Which shade of blue would you liken that to?”
Again, the scrunched face. “Cornflower?”
“Exactly. And why do you think it happens to be that colour?”
“I have no idea. Just tell me, Malfoy. I can’t learn if you don’t tell me.”
“Wrong!” Draco shouted at him, forgetting that his goal was to frustrate Potter, to tease him whenever possible. As much as he wanted to do that, he couldn’t help but let his passion for the subject override his personal vendetta. “You won’t learn if you don’t pay attention and think! It’s not what I tell you. You have to use your own powers of observation. You have to notice colour, and odour, and viscosity, and sheen, and even sound. If you do not do those things, you will never get the hang of Potions!”
Potter just looked at him, dazed. After a moment, he shook his head like a dog shaking water out of its ears. “Merlin, Malfoy, you almost sounded like Snape for a moment. I don’t need to become a Potions Master. I just need to get a better feel for what I’m doing. Improve my general skill set.”
“And I’m telling you, I will not spoon-feed you answers. You will use your brain, assuming you do, in fact, have one.” He hadn’t realised he had moved around the table and drawn closer to Potter as he railed. He was close, far too close, to the other man. He hoped he was at least making an impression. “Now. Why is this potion tinted cornflower blue?”
Potter blinked at him, his backside pressed against the table to keep as far away from Draco as possible. “I…didn’t stir it correctly?”
Thank merciful Merlin, Potter did have a brain in there. Draco never would have guessed. “Correct. Either through carelessness or laziness, you neglected to make complete, full circles. You, as one of my American colleagues would say, ‘half-assed it’. You will not do this while in my shop, in my lab. To do so is not only a waste of both of our time, but also reckless and a potential hazard. I can think of at least half a dozen potions where such an error might have caused an explosion or resulted in poisonous fumes. Please bear that in mind the next time you want to rush onto the next step.” He backed away, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Potter had always gotten to him. Apparently, that had not ended once they had left school. And now, having stood so close to him, he realised that while Potter had apparently come in directly after falling out of bed, he had taken the time to wear cologne. A very nice cologne at that.
“All right, Malfoy. Sorry. I’ll try not to blow us up.” His mouth quirked up at one corner. “But I did tell you I’m better a little later in the day. Eight o’clock next time?”
Draco ran a hand through his hair. “No. Six. And next time, Potter, I’ll be correcting your little quirks as we go. Be prepared to not like me much.” Whatever Potter muttered was inaudible, but Draco thought it might have to do with however much Potter already liked him-or disliked him. He was unfazed. “Now leave. I have work to do and you have your own job to get to.”
He watched Potter’s posture as he stepped through the door. Potter looked frustrated and also a bit dejected. Draco shrugged to himself. Not such a bad morning, then. Too bad Potter was such a tosser-he otherwise seemed like the sort Draco might enjoy spending time with.
~*~
It had been eight weeks. Eight long weeks. Potter’s work was improving, and Draco had nearly trained all of the imperfections in Potter’s habits out of the man. But he was stubborn. A nasty burn had taken care of the carelessness in decanting-essence of murtlap and dittany or not, Potter was likely always going to have that scar on the back of his hand. Potter’s supervisor was giving Draco’s brain-and his nerves-a thorough workout. The man kept sending instructions for increasingly difficult and dangerous potions. And now eight weeks in, he was sending instructions for potions Draco had never even heard of. These potions were unlabelled-there wasn’t even a name for Draco to guess what the intention was. And one could only guess so much from the ingredients. One of them seemed surprisingly close to a love potion. What use on earth Unspeakables would have for a love potion was beyond him.
“What do you suppose this one is supposed to do?” Potter asked him as he stirred carefully in perfect, exact circles.
Draco stood over him and placed a hand on Potter’s shoulder, steadying himself as he looked at Potter’s work. They had very grudgingly gotten comfortable with one another over the past months. That did not mean, however, that they didn’t still push one another’s buttons. Draco was still positive that Potter was a cocky bastard and could use being taken down a peg or two. He thought that he might have succeeded a little, through the course of their lessons. Potter no longer seemed so eager to play high-and-mighty, and was much more willing to defer to Draco’s instructions and suggestions. “I don’t know exactly. But given the rosemary, the ginkgo biloba, the Jobberknoll feathers, the powdered tortoise shell, and the hair from an elephant’s tail, I would assume some sort of memory-related potion. And speaking of, did you remember the elephant hair?”
Potter reached over with his left hand, still counting as he stirred, and picked one up. “Almost ready.” Draco watched him mouth sixty-three, sixty-four, sixty-five, sixty-six before tossing the hair in. “Oh, fuck.”
Draco’s heartbeat doubled. That was never a phrase one wanted to hear in a Potions lab. He didn’t even have a moment to ask what had gone wrong before Potter leapt backwards and dragged Draco down to the floor with him. There was a gloppy-sounding explosion, quite muffled, really, before the two of them were splashed with a bright green substance and Draco found the world going misty before his eyes. “Wha?” was all he managed before he lost control of his tongue.
“Hairs. Stuck together. Didn’t m…” And then either Potter discovered the same difficulty in speaking or Draco’s hearing went. He blinked hard, trying to clear the mist from his vision, and saw only Potter’s blurry face, inches from his. Then a wave of nausea hit him, just before the sensation that he was falling, tumbling end over end into darkness, and Draco closed his eyes and hoped he would hit bottom soon.
~*~
When he did hit bottom, the landing was much softer than expected. He looked around his surroundings, noticing that the mist seemed to have disappeared. Things were bright and a bit soft around the edges, though. He was in a yard, some fastidiously cared for suburban yard, in some nondescript neighbourhood. He realised he could hear the sound of small children talking, one excited, one bored, and he crept closer. This didn’t feel like a place where small children lived. Much too neat. Almost like the Manor, he thought with a wry smile.
“How did you do that?” one of the voices asked, sounding amazed. Draco peered around a rosebush and saw that the owner was a very stocky boy with blond hair. “Do it again!”
The other boy, somewhat skinny and wearing glasses-Potter’s glasses, Draco realised with a start-broke into a wide grin, the boredom sliding off his face. “I don’t know.” And then he hissed, an oddly strangled sound that Draco recognised at once. Parseltongue. The snake that was lying between the two boys raised its head. Then it laid down again and slithered into a complicated set of positions. Draco blinked. The snake had just spelled out ‘hello’. He would swear to it.
Since when do snakes know how to write? Draco thought as the stocky boy laughed in delight. “Could your mum do this, Harry? Or your dad?”
Potter shrugged. “I don’t know. I asked Aunt Petunia, and she says she doesn’t think so. My mum could do a lot of neat things, she said, but not this.”
The blond boy seemed to ponder this. “That’s really cool. I wish I could talk to snakes. Or any other kind of animal. Does this mean you’re going to that special school?”
“Probably. I can do all sorts of things. Uncle Vernon says it’s a given fact. Once I turn eleven, I’ll be able to go be with all the other wizards and witches.”
“And you and your friends will be able to use magic whenever you want,” the blond boy breathed, looking equally impressed and jealous.
“Well, not during the summers,” Potter corrected him. “There’s some law about that. Not until I’m seventeen.”
“But still,” the other boy pressed. “Think of all the things you could do. You can already do so many cool things, and you don’t even have your wand yet.”
Potter said something else, petting the snake in front of him, but Draco couldn’t hear it. There was a quick disorienting flash, and he found himself standing in a corridor back at Hogwarts. In front of him stood Potter, now much taller and looking much more fit. “I don’t keep staring at him, Hermione!”
“You do too, Harry. It’s bordering on obsessive,” his bushy-haired friend replied. Granger, her name was. That was it. “If you have a crush, it’s no big deal. But you two have never gotten along. You might want to try being nice instead of playing pranks. Fred and George aren’t exactly spectacular role models.”
“It’s not a crush!” Potter’s face flamed bright red. “All right, maybe it is. But at least he notices the pranks. Nothing I do ever seems to impress him.”
“Maybe you ought to try something different. You both play Quidditch. Strike up a conversation.”
“He’d never talk to me,” Potter said with a sigh. “It’s just some silly infatuation. I just want what I can’t have. And after this year, I’ll never see him again.”
Draco found he was holding his breath. Potter couldn’t… No.
“You could change that, Harry. Just give it a try.”
“I just wish…”
But whatever Potter wished, Draco didn’t get to know. The scene changed again, still accompanied by that sickening swoop. Draco wondered how long he would be stuck here, in what appeared to be Potter’s memories. How long would the potion’s effects last? How long had this really been going on? Hours? Seconds? This time he was in a sterile-looking room, an antechamber of some sort, with four chairs lined up against the wall, leading to a door that had just opened to reveal a very tall man in dark robes. “Unspeakable Clarkson,” Potter said, rising from his chair.
“Potter.” Draco noticed the lack of title associated with the greeting. “Your performance in this department has been adequate so far, but there is one area in which you must improve.”
Potter’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t understand. I passed the most recent exam with a high enough score to advance to-”
“I’m not arguing that, Potter. But your Potions practical wasn’t quite where we would like to see it. You would benefit from some private lessons, and I think I know just the person.”
“Lessons? At the Apothecary in Diagon Alley?”
“No, nothing so simple as that. There’s a Potions Master just outside of London who runs a much better Apothecary. He knows his trade inside and out. He should be able to instil in you what we’re looking for. He produces only the best results. We’ve been looking at him for months.”
Draco blanched. He hadn’t known the Ministry had taken an interest in him at all. They had been watching him, going over his ‘results’? It was flattering and a bit satisfying to know that he was considered so highly by this man, someone within the Ministry with apparent power, but it was still disconcerting.
“Anyone’s got to be better than Snape was,” Potter muttered.
Unspeakable Clarkson smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile. “I believe you know the fellow, actually. Draco Malfoy. You were in the same year at Hogwarts together, weren’t you?”
This time it was Potter who went pale. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then it should be a matter of simplicity for you. Take this letter. The Minister has signed off on it. We shall supply you with all that you need. Give it some time. We’ll periodically ask for samples of some of your work with him, to verify that you actually are learning something. After you’ve risen to our level of expectation, we’ll consider your promotion again.” He stood there, waiting for Potter to do something. “You’re dismissed.”
Potter nodded curtly and began to walk down the long hallway towards the lift. Draco followed, trying to catch what Potter was muttering to himself.
“…Doesn’t matter how hard I work. It’s all always been so easy. Why not this? And why him? He’ll just want to make my life as miserable as I made his. He’ll never help me. Hermione was right, I should have just…”
Draco stopped walking. Why did so many of Potter’s memories come back to him? At least this explained some of why Potter seemed so damn stubborn. He was used to impressing everyone he met, used to having everything come easily to him. But now there were some things that refused to be so easy. Well, life wasn’t always so easy for everyone else. Though Draco did feel a slight bit of guilt that Potter had called Draco’s petty behaviour ahead of time.
This time when the scene changed, it was more gradual, the change much less violent. The nausea was barely noticeable, and the change in light wasn’t nearly so drastic. “What the bloody hell?" Draco whispered. He was standing back in his potions lab. Only this time, he was staring at himself. This was…two weeks ago, given the ingredients laid out on the table. Potter was standing next to the past version of him, listening to Draco talk about the best way to crush a scarab. He moved closer, at Draco's invitation, to see what Draco was doing, and Draco caught the look the past version of himself had missed. The look wasn’t the irritated, bored expression Draco might have expected during this sort of lecture. It was…longing.
Draco backed quickly away from the scene in front of him. But he no longer missed the not-so casual brush of Potter’s hand against his when he handed over the silver knife and urged Potter to give it a try. Everything about Potter’s posture said that he was trying hard to be a model student, as if that might finally impress Draco. He had to admit, he had noticed that change. He no longer thought of ways to frustrate Potter. Apparently, the other man was an expert at doing that himself. He smiled at Draco after copying his instructions exactly, but instead of being met with a smile in return, all he received was a curt nod. Potter’s body sagged and the scene faded in front of him, to be replaced only with that mist.
Eventually, the mist cleared enough for Draco to see that the two of them were still lying on the floor, faces inches apart. Potter had his eyes squeezed shut, his glasses hanging off one ear. He was muttering something. After a moment, Draco made it out. “It doesn’t matter if your father doesn’t care, Malfoy.”
Draco’s body jerked. So while he had been spending time inside Potter’s memories, Potter appeared to have been spending time in his. He pulled away, finding himself still wrapped in Potter’s arms, a result of being dragged to the ground in an effort to avoid the explosion. Apparating would have been simpler. But there hadn’t been time for him to think of it before he was doused in green glop, and really, he was lucky Potter had reacted as quickly as he had. As soon as their physical contact was broken, Potter twitched and rolled over, gagging. Draco wondered exactly what he had seen. And what other effects this potion might have. Potter seemed to have gotten much more of a direct dose than Draco had.
Once Potter’s gagging had subsided, he cleaned off his glasses and put them back on. He got to his knees and looked at Draco, who was now sitting up, looking at him suspiciously. “I’m so sorry.”
Draco clenched his jaw. The place was a mess. And though they appeared fine, who knew what that potion might have done to them-might still be doing? “You should be. Potion accidents are no trivial matter, Potter. We need to clean this up.”
“No. Not for that. I mean, I am sorry about the accident. I should have paid more attention. But I meant sorry for…” He looked miserable.
“For what?”
“Let’s just say I know I made your life difficult in school, okay? I didn’t mean to, and you had-I mean, you were probably dealing with your own issues.”
Draco’s mind flashed to all sorts of uncomfortable memories Potter might have seen. The day his father had caught him with dirty Muggle magazines. One of the hundreds of times his father had said he was disappointed. The aftermath of Potter’s pranks. “Don’t bother, Potter.” When the other man’s face crumpled, Draco sighed. “We were both children. That’s nearly ten years ago now. Haven’t we learnt to be adult with one another in recent weeks?”
Potter nodded, still looking miserable. “Yeah.”
Draco thought of one of the clear threads that ran through Potter’s memories-while most things came easily, the things he wanted most were the things that eluded him. “And with the exception of today’s incident, you’ve done very well. Unspeakable Clarkson should be quite impressed with your progress.” He took a deep breath. Well, why not? “I know I am.” Potter might still be a cocky little twit at times, but he wasn’t as bad as he used to be.
When Potter’s eyes lit up and a smile-a true smile-spread across his face, Draco knew he was on the right track. “You are?”
“I am.” He thought again about that scene he had witnessed between Potter and his Muggle-born friend. “Well, now Potter. Now that you’ve managed to impress me, I have to ask: is there anything else you wish?”
Potter looked confused for a split second before he seemed to realise what Draco might have seen while they were taking a tour in one another’s memories. “No,” he said quickly. “I’ll settle for you not ruining my chances at my promotion with a report about today’s incident.”
“That’s all?” Draco stood and held out his hand to Potter, who stared at it a while but eventually took it. Draco hauled him into a standing position. They were once again standing very close. It no longer seemed too close. “Nothing else you want?” He squeezed Potter’s hand, rubbing his thumb along the recent scar. He got a brief glimpse of something that didn’t quite seem to be a memory-more like a faded fantasy, a daydream. In it, Draco pushed Potter against the table and took a kiss, forceful and sure.
“I don’t…”
Draco sighed. Apparently, Potter wasn’t good at just taking things he wanted. That was a Malfoy trait and another little trick Draco could teach him, if he wanted to learn. Potter was a decent study. “Yes. You do.” He pressed Potter against the table, no longer caring about the green goo on the surface. “Ring any bell-?”
He was interrupted when Potter leaned in and captured Draco’s bottom lip between his teeth. Draco let out a surprised little noise, feeling their bodies come together. He smelled the cologne he had noticed on Potter that first lesson, cool water and moss and musk, all very good things, lingering and filling his head with the scent, negating the smell of spilled potion. Potter slid his tongue past Draco’s lips, and Draco smiled wryly into the kiss. Perhaps he had been wrong about Potter. On many levels.
He still needed more Potions lessons, though.