RP: Potions and presents
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Tywysog ap Hywel (NPC), Constance Owlswick (NPC)
Location: Lower Bourne, Surrey; Contego Terrace, Diagon Alley
Date: 4 June 2000
Status/Warnings: Private/Language
Summary: Draco gets a couple of things he really did not expect
Completion: Complete.
"It wasn't strong enough. She needed more than that. It took too long to work, and she was still hurting." Ap Hywel's deep voice told him for the fourth time that was the most advanced potion he could make, all the others requiring illegal or 'unusual' ingredients and rituals, and Draco slammed one hand on the table, shooting to his feet with his eyes narrowed. He had to do something for Hermione, had to come up with something that could help her more. He refused to let her go through that wracking pain again. She was his, she was family, and he would do whatever it took to keep her safe and healthy, to make up for the torture at his aunt's hands. "You know how to make something stronger, teach me. I have to help her, and if you won't show me what to do, then I'll find someone who will. I don't care about the process or about the legality. Fuck the Ministry's proscriptions and fuck my pardon. Help her."
Ap Hywel gave him a long look, then nodded once. "Of course, Lucius." Draco froze, his expression stiffening, and ap Hywel shook his head. "Draco. You really have no idea how much you resemble your father, do you? Especially when you decide you don't care about legalities. You care about people. A few people." Ap Hywel got out of his chair and headed for the potions lab, speaking over his shoulder as Draco trailed behind. "Glad Miss Granger agreed to take you on, actually. If this is the kind of response she can create in you? That sort of devotion, from a Malfoy. Look out, world. And bring your aunt's journal in."
Draco didn't care how much he looked or acted or sounded like Lucius, if it meant that he could make a potion for Hermione. If it meant that he could help her. He didn't care about that; just about her. He'd promised her he would find a way to fix it, and he would not break that promise. He followed Ap Hywel into the lab.
---
Camphor, herb royal, arnica, bay.
Opium, datura, nightshade, foxglove.
Two vertebrae from a viper's spine, bones crushed to powder along with the fangs.
Seven drops of blood, squeezed from the stirrer's left ring finger, using a copper needle beneath the nail.
Three hairs from the recipient, stolen under the new moon.
Spread on the afflicted areas. Wear gloves; wash hands immediately. Do Not Ingest.
Draco stared at the cauldron, then at Lucretia's handwritten journal laying open beside it. He looked back and forth between the two, both hands pressed onto the table. Half the ingredients for this were poisonous, but that didn't make this a Dark potion. Even the blood he'd had to add and that left his hand stinging didn't make this Dark. What made it Dark was the last ingredient. A part of another person's body, taken without her knowledge. Draco had no idea if Hermione knew that he cleaned out her hairbrush once a week and disposed of the hairs in a fire in his lab, for just this reason. There were too many possibilities, too many ways for some nasty-minded witch or wizard to try and grab control of another person by using their own bodies against them. Flesh, blood, bone, hair.
Adding those three hairs, shed on his shoulders and pulled out of his robes, made this potion more than a simple pain relief ointment, more than an analgesic paste. It twisted it to be specific to her, took part of her for magic. Draco wasn't certain he could do that. Just a couple of hairs, but used in magic without her permission, without her knowledge. He wasn't sure he could do that, knowing her. But he wasn't sure he could ignore the opportunity to help her. He stared at the cauldron, watching it simmer.
---
He came home late, with a small bandage around his finger and a story in place about ap Hywel startling him just as he'd started to slice a lemon. As he passed Granny Owlswick's door, it flung open in front of him, and the old woman's cane smacked him in the shin. "Boy. Get in here."
Draco sighed and adjusted the satchel over his shoulder, one hand against it to keep the contents from shifting. "What now?"
"This." A bouquet of blood pops suddenly appeared in front of him, their shapes just uneven enough to show they'd been handmade. "Rumor has it our landlord has a birthday on the morrow, and since him likes sweets, him gets they, yes."
Draco smiled and inclined his head to thank her, and quick as a spider, she'd gripped his face in both hands and jerked his head down to her level. She stared at his eyes, wide open from shock. "And him will do right by his girl, him will. Twig knows it. I knows it. Even Mister Toaderoy Croakhart knows it. Him will. Yes." She shoved him back and toddled into her flat, slamming the door behind her. Draco stared for a minute, his face warm and aching where she'd grabbed him, wondering just what she knew and how.
Location: Lower Bourne, Surrey; Contego Terrace, Diagon Alley
Date: 4 June 2000
Status/Warnings: Private/Language
Summary: Draco gets a couple of things he really did not expect
Completion: Complete.
"It wasn't strong enough. She needed more than that. It took too long to work, and she was still hurting." Ap Hywel's deep voice told him for the fourth time that was the most advanced potion he could make, all the others requiring illegal or 'unusual' ingredients and rituals, and Draco slammed one hand on the table, shooting to his feet with his eyes narrowed. He had to do something for Hermione, had to come up with something that could help her more. He refused to let her go through that wracking pain again. She was his, she was family, and he would do whatever it took to keep her safe and healthy, to make up for the torture at his aunt's hands. "You know how to make something stronger, teach me. I have to help her, and if you won't show me what to do, then I'll find someone who will. I don't care about the process or about the legality. Fuck the Ministry's proscriptions and fuck my pardon. Help her."
Ap Hywel gave him a long look, then nodded once. "Of course, Lucius." Draco froze, his expression stiffening, and ap Hywel shook his head. "Draco. You really have no idea how much you resemble your father, do you? Especially when you decide you don't care about legalities. You care about people. A few people." Ap Hywel got out of his chair and headed for the potions lab, speaking over his shoulder as Draco trailed behind. "Glad Miss Granger agreed to take you on, actually. If this is the kind of response she can create in you? That sort of devotion, from a Malfoy. Look out, world. And bring your aunt's journal in."
Draco didn't care how much he looked or acted or sounded like Lucius, if it meant that he could make a potion for Hermione. If it meant that he could help her. He didn't care about that; just about her. He'd promised her he would find a way to fix it, and he would not break that promise. He followed Ap Hywel into the lab.
---
Camphor, herb royal, arnica, bay.
Opium, datura, nightshade, foxglove.
Two vertebrae from a viper's spine, bones crushed to powder along with the fangs.
Seven drops of blood, squeezed from the stirrer's left ring finger, using a copper needle beneath the nail.
Three hairs from the recipient, stolen under the new moon.
Spread on the afflicted areas. Wear gloves; wash hands immediately. Do Not Ingest.
Draco stared at the cauldron, then at Lucretia's handwritten journal laying open beside it. He looked back and forth between the two, both hands pressed onto the table. Half the ingredients for this were poisonous, but that didn't make this a Dark potion. Even the blood he'd had to add and that left his hand stinging didn't make this Dark. What made it Dark was the last ingredient. A part of another person's body, taken without her knowledge. Draco had no idea if Hermione knew that he cleaned out her hairbrush once a week and disposed of the hairs in a fire in his lab, for just this reason. There were too many possibilities, too many ways for some nasty-minded witch or wizard to try and grab control of another person by using their own bodies against them. Flesh, blood, bone, hair.
Adding those three hairs, shed on his shoulders and pulled out of his robes, made this potion more than a simple pain relief ointment, more than an analgesic paste. It twisted it to be specific to her, took part of her for magic. Draco wasn't certain he could do that. Just a couple of hairs, but used in magic without her permission, without her knowledge. He wasn't sure he could do that, knowing her. But he wasn't sure he could ignore the opportunity to help her. He stared at the cauldron, watching it simmer.
---
He came home late, with a small bandage around his finger and a story in place about ap Hywel startling him just as he'd started to slice a lemon. As he passed Granny Owlswick's door, it flung open in front of him, and the old woman's cane smacked him in the shin. "Boy. Get in here."
Draco sighed and adjusted the satchel over his shoulder, one hand against it to keep the contents from shifting. "What now?"
"This." A bouquet of blood pops suddenly appeared in front of him, their shapes just uneven enough to show they'd been handmade. "Rumor has it our landlord has a birthday on the morrow, and since him likes sweets, him gets they, yes."
Draco smiled and inclined his head to thank her, and quick as a spider, she'd gripped his face in both hands and jerked his head down to her level. She stared at his eyes, wide open from shock. "And him will do right by his girl, him will. Twig knows it. I knows it. Even Mister Toaderoy Croakhart knows it. Him will. Yes." She shoved him back and toddled into her flat, slamming the door behind her. Draco stared for a minute, his face warm and aching where she'd grabbed him, wondering just what she knew and how.