Fic: Not a Tale of Thumbelina for lurkitty

[fiona_fawkes]

Title: Not a Tale of Thumbelina
Author:
Giftee: lurkitty
Characters/Pairing: Snape/Draco
Rating: G
Word Count: 4179
Warnings/Author Notes: Post-War. This is the sixth incarnation of the
story. We won't discuss its predecessors. I believe this story, does manage
to fit to the idea, if not the actual words, of the original request.
"Snape/Draco" and "surprise, humor, unexpected displays of affection." This
was beta-ed by my most favoritest person in the world (you know who you are,
lovely).

Summary: Life is calming down nearly two years after the end of the
War, but not all is sane and normal in the world inhabited by Draco Malfoy
and Severus Snape. Contained herein: Bells, Spiders, and a Potion Accident.


The bell above the door jangled and Draco Malfoy gritted his teeth. He'd
told his partner the thing would be more nuisance than help, and Severus'
reply had been to enlarge the thing until its little merry tinkle could
deafen the widow down the street who was unable hear anything below a yell.
If Draco failed to figure out the wards protecting the blasted thing, he was
going to have the entire wall replaced. The price of the renovation would be
worth it.

"Malfoy?" a voice queried.

Draco's hands stilled over the box he'd been wrapping -- his birthday
present to his mother -- and wished he had already lost his hearing. He
didn't want to hear that voice, didn't want to look up and see that
damnable, slack-jawed face, or look into those carefully shuttered eyes.

A hand settled on the counter in front of him. "Are you okay, Malfoy?"

With a deep breath, Draco forced himself to look up and smile pleasantly
across the counter at the Man Who Lived. "Mr. Potter, how lovely to see you.
To what do we owe the pleasure?" Draco could simper with the best of them.
He made himself meet Potter's too-knowing green eyes without flinching.

Potter, the world's most annoying philanthropist and second-most persistent
social welfare activist, grinned back at him. "I thought I'd come by and see
how the shop was doing." He looked around, as if he had never been in the
building before, and Draco found himself unable to resist following his gaze
and taking in the same sights he'd seen nearly every day for the past
eighteen months.

The exterior wall around the entrance was blank, the windows bricked in on
the outside and covered by panel board on the inside. The back wall, behind
where Draco sat at the wall-to-wall counter, was likewise unadorned, though
there were shelves under the counter lined with bottles. In the middle of
the floor were two long, ceiling-high shelves extending perpendicular to the
front, the contents of which happened to be ingredients used in the most
common of potions. There was no glassware filled with pre-made potions, and
without turning Draco could picture the hand-painted sign which explained
that they made, "Special Order Potions Only."

"It looks the same as always," Potter murmured.

Draco bit back his retort, about how Snape was resistant to change, but he
disliked stating the obvious and he wasn't quite willing to goad Potter.
After the war, Potter had been the driving force behind both their pardons,
as well as the main reason the Ministry had seen fit to return the Malfoy
estate to Draco after they'd confiscated it. Without those funds, Draco
would have been forced to live off the charity of others instead of buying
into Severus' shop and setting himself up as the partner to one of the
greatest Potion Masters in the world.

Really, he might not like the myopic martyr, but Potter made a much better
ally than enemy, especially given that all his enemies were dead or in
prison.

"Was there something you wanted, Potter?" Draco asked as solicitously as
possible.

The grin made a reappearance. "I'd like it if you'd call me Harry, you
know." His expression darkened a little, and Draco could read the other
man's determination. "Him, as well," he added, with a nod toward the door to
the back of the shop, where Severus was no doubt still gloating over the
damned bell.

It was hard to stop the smirk from forming and, having decided recently to
make life as easy as possible, Draco didn't try. "I don't think he'd like to
be called Harry, but you're welcome to give it a shot." He didn't need
Potter's eye roll to realize it was a horrid joke.

"You might want to keep in mind, Draco, that you're in my line of sight
should he make the attempt," Severus warned. Draco felt the hair on the back
of his neck prickle at the warning, but he took the lack of hexing to mean
it was a joke and turned his head to look over his shoulder.

"I take it you heard the bell?" he asked.

"Barely," Severus said blandly, stepping out of the doorway to stand behind
and just barely to the side of Draco. "Mr. Potter. It's been four months
since you last graced us with your presence. I would hazard you have a
reason for your visit, aside from the pleasure of our company?"

Potter's face was set in a pleasant mask, not unlike the one Draco himself
used, and the tension in the air thickened. He envisioned Severus and Potter
in the middle of an arena with himself in the seat of honor, far above (and
away) from the action. Anything to be out from between the two of them.

He didn't move, however, letting Severus use him as a safeguard against them
hexing each other. Even when Potter had been adamantly working to clear
their names, he and Severus could be found hexing each other when no one
else was there to stop them. Potter claimed it was pent up anger for the
death of Albus Dumbledore. Severus claimed it was revenge for six years of
insolence and annoyance.

Draco figured between Severus' experience and Potter's sheer blind luck,
they were the only wizards on the planet who could match one another. He was
also pretty sure they kept up the pretense of animosity because the
challenge was fun. Honestly, if Potter hadn't bonded himself right after
killing the Dark Lord, Draco would wonder if the hexing was a sign of
unresolved sexual tension. As it was, he was very carefully as
un-Potter-like as it was possible to be, because it was hard to substitute
one thing for another when the two were nothing alike.

"I was wondering if you would be willing to create a variation of the
Dreamless Sleep potion." Potter's words were stilted from over-practice. He
must have been planning this trip for quite a while, to have the words down
to such an emotionless request.

Severus shifted, coming closer to the counter and opening more of himself to
attack, were Potter so inclined. His right hand settled on Draco's shoulder
while the other stayed hidden in his sleeve. Potter must have known that the
word 'create' would get the man's attention, and Draco gave him silent
applause. At least if Potter had Severus' mind engaged, he wasn't likely to
engage him in battle. Draco hoped. He stood up, tapping Severus' hand to
acknowledge the touch even as he shifted out from beneath it. "I need to
sort the shelves in the little store room. You two can keep an eye out,
right?"

He didn't wait for confirmation as he sidled through the freestanding
shelves, into the back of the shop, and towards the kitchen.

* * *

Potter was gone by the time Draco had swung around to the kitchenette for a
snack and made his way back to the shop front. The sign was turned and the
door was locked, which he knew after having a brief word with Severus, but
it was still his duty to deal with the accounts for the day, a task he dealt
with in minimal time.

When he was done, he stowed the accounting book beneath the counter, put the
green quill (his favorite) in its dragon-shaped holder, and returned once
more to the back of the shop. He bypassed the store rooms and went straight
to the work room. There was a new cauldron set up in the corner, though it
was as empty as the workspace around it. "You accepted Potter's order?"

Bent over a tome thicker than Weasley's head, Severus glanced up at him
through the fall of his hair. "Of course."

Draco nodded in understanding. There were simply some people you didn't --
couldn't -- refuse. In the new world, Potter was number one on that list.
"Dreamless Sleep variant. I imagine his request won't be too difficult to
complete?" He made it a question and waited for Severus' agreement. He
continued on nonchalantly. "Still, it will require a bit of time and most
likely some testing."

"Draco, we are not going to charge him an extravagant amount, no matter how
much we may like to do so." The smirk was evident in Severus' voice. "And no
matter how able he may be to pay it."

Draco was tired of money being a sore point between them, but it wasn't
worth the argument. He drew closer to Severus and leaned into him as he,
too, bent over the World's Largest Potion Tome, his attention on the man and
not the literature. "You know, we could always put in a few other
adaptations. Tell Potter we couldn't work out all the problems."

Severus tilted his head to look at Draco with one eyebrow raised and an
unsmiling mouth. "What sort of adaptations?"

With a feeling of triumph, because a curious Severus was a willing Severus,
Draco pushed away from the table and walked around to the shelf with bottled
remains of experiments, theirs and otherwise. "We had that cure for
impotence that 'belittled' the problem. Or there's the topical-"

"Dreamless Sleep is ingested, not applied," Severus reminded him.

Draco grinned. "Yes, but you are the premiere Potions Master in
Britain, very likely in all the world, and I would imagine that if you can
create a variant of Dreamless Sleep, you could do the same with anything."
Draco picked up a blue bottle and rolled his eyes when he realized it hadn't
been labeled. Severus could remember what each and every stopped phial was
for, but Draco missed out on the creation of many of them and was at a
disadvantage. He turned to ask Severus what it was and jumped when the bell
on the front door jingled. The bottle started to slip from his fingers, but
he tightened his grip and glared across the lab at Severus. "I thought you
locked up?"

Severus gave him a scowl in return. "I said I turned the sign."

It was no use arguing, at least not while they had a customer just a wall
away, and Draco stalked out of the lab, the bottle forgotten in his hand as
he shoved through the door. There was a young woman standing just inside the
entrance, looking confused as she stared around the bare shop. Draco drew on
his best smile for her as he rounded the counter.

"This isn't the bookstore," she said. She gave him an embarrassed grin.
"Sorry."

"No worries," Draco murmured, waving away her apology. He turned her
smoothly, opened the door, and led her outside. "You'll want to go left two
doors." He waved her off and slid back inside, locking the doors and
muttering dire warnings for Potions Masters who couldn't bring themselves to
turn a lock or four. His muttering became louder and more frustrated as he
got to the last lock and it jammed. He had to hold the door precisely
so and force the bolt to turn with his other hand like so,
which was hard to do with a bottle trying to slide out of his grip.

Said bottle solved the matter by finally working its way free and though his
reflexes were good, he failed to catch it before it crashed to the floor and
shattered. Its contents were more vapor than liquid, and the fumes hit him
in the face as they wafted toward the ceiling. He blinked, nauseous and
dizzy as he inhaled part of the cloud.

There was a hazy period in which he thought he stayed awake but couldn't
tell, and then he was lying on the floor staring up at a ceiling that looked
as far away and broad as the sky. He blinked, waiting for the feeling of
disorientation to pass, but the ceiling stayed kilometers above him. The
whirling of his head seemed to stop, at least.

He sat up and looked around, and his stomach clenched tight. The door should
have been no more than a step away from him, but it looked to be at least a
short jog and stretched up into the shadows of the far-off ceiling.
Frightened that he knew exactly what had happened and not wanting to believe
it, Draco stood up and turned around. There, across the horribly uneven
floor, was the counter. It stood far in the distance, a mountain beyond
which sat his only hope for sanity and survival.

"Severus!" he called. His voice sounded normal to his ears, which was most
likely not a good sign. His wand! If he could find his wand, he could
enlarge himself, or use Sonorous, or any other number of things.

Except his wand was in the back, where he'd sat it down while making himself
something to eat.

"Bloody hell," Draco sighed. Knowing Severus, the man wouldn't notice his
absence until the following morning. He'd spend all night in the laboratory
without Draco to pull him away from his work. "Right," Draco said to
himself, pulling his determination and self-preservation instincts tight
around him. It wasn't that far to the counter, and there were no customers
to come in and try to step on him. All told, it could have been a lot worse.

Or so he told himself, until he drew near the shelves on the left side of
the shop and noticed the spider's web in the upper corner of the lowest
shelf. No wand, no help, and a spider the size of an Acromantula lurking
nearby. It was enough to make a grown man weep. Or a Malfoy run for his
life.

The distance stretched on and on, but he eventually made it past the
shelves, across the span between shelves and counter, and to the counter
itself. He had to go toward the wall to reach the opening to the back, but
after the distance he'd come, Draco was inclined to believe it would be an
easy walk. It had to be, because he couldn't run again without keeling over
from exhaustion. He really should have spent more time keeping in shape
after the war, but he'd taken it for granted that Malfoys (and Blacks, of
course) didn't have to work to maintain attractive figures.

He crawled under the gap between the floor and the swinging shelves that
served as the door in the counter. He could have walked under it if he were
a bit shorter, which meant he was nearly five centimeters tall (it was nice
to know), or he could have hunched over and walked that way, but he wasn't
much for bad posture for any reason.

The door into the backroom was ajar, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He
couldn't remember if he'd shut it behind himself or not. Severus might
eventually yell at him for that, but Draco couldn't imagine having to crawl
through the miniscule gap between the door and the floor. He rested in the
hallway leading to the back. He was tired, and his legs and feet hurt. He
consoled himself with thoughts of reaching Severus, who was only nine meters
away at most. If Draco didn't count the tables, cauldrons, stools, and
miscellaneous equipment he would have to move around.

"Severus!" He just wanted this day to be over. He wanted Potter to disappear
off the face of the planet, and for the shop to succeed so that when Severus
was old and gray, and Draco was still barely young enough to enjoy his own
good looks, they could live in peace and luxury. Mostly, he wanted his wand
and his lover, not necessarily in that order, because one or the other, but
most especially both, could put him to rights again.

He knew his voice must be quieter than what he was used to, and so Severus'
appearance around the corner was unexpected, but most welcome. "Draco?"

Draco pushed to his feet and, dignity aside, waved his arms and called out
as loud as he could.

Severus' head seemed to turn down toward him, though those dark eyes were
too far away for Draco to tell if they focused on him. There was still
confusion and worry in Severus' voice. "Draco?"

"Over here, down here!" Draco chanted, jumping up and down and hoping
Severus would notice the movement.

The man squatted down, bringing his eyes and his ears closer to Draco. The
blond would have wept in relief, but he hated being splotchy. "What in hell
was the blue bottle for? Look what you've done to me!"

Severus extended a hand toward him, and Draco climbed on, understanding
without having to be told. Severus lifted him. The jolt and rise was akin to
his first broom ride, though he had more faith in the hand than he'd had in
that first broom. Despite his ire, Draco had to admit he had a very
intelligent lover, one who was thoughtful enough to pitch his voice lower
before he spoke again. "Impotence cure, shrinking side effect, a variation
which works through fumigation instead of application."

Draco grinned, putting his anger on hold as the implications put the earlier
conversation in his favor. "You could adapt it for ingestion, couldn't you?"

"Not if it works so well, no. I can't imagine what the world would do to me
if I miniaturized their hero." Dark eyes swept over Draco, an action that
took no time at all. "I was going to label it before we left for the night,
but I knew you wouldn't remove the stopper without consulting me. I hadn't
considered that you might drop it." The words were as much an apology as
Draco would get without outright demanding one be issued.

He sat down in Severus' palm and crossed his arms, letting go of everything
but his relief and his desire to be his own size once more. "I do expect you
to fix me, you know."

Severus hummed in his throat, a sure sign he was already working through the
problem in his head. "The original salve had to be applied, and the base for
the size reversing potion is still stocked. It may be as simple as an
application on your skin. However, the potion you inhaled is more powerful
than the original, and its antidote may not be strong enough to counter the
effects."

They entered the lab with Severus on auto-pilot, listing out ingredients and
the substitutions he would make. It was the way they generally worked in the
evenings, with Draco working on the standard potions, ones anyone with an
'O' on their Potions O.W.L could create, and Severus working with the more
complex potions and sharing their details with Draco. In an otherwise
abnormal, surreal situation, it brought a sense of normality.

When Severus rested his hand against the top of one of the work tables,
Draco dutifully climbed off, conscious of the fact Severus needed his hands
to work. He sat and waited patiently, letting his mind sift over Severus'
words and basking in the fact that even in his shrunken form, a world with
Severus in it was a safe one. Large, frightening, and not terribly
comfortable, but safe.

"The transformation of the salve into a gaseous form took several hours,
because the ingredients of the base were sensitive to heat. The antidote
will take most of the night, because its contents are even more delicate."
He paused in his litany, and Draco knew what he was going to say before the
words emerged. "You'll have to spend most of the night that size."

By his tone, Severus was expecting an argument or a tantrum. Draco
considered the benefits of both and rejected them in favor of being
reasonable. "I want a bed to sleep on. And breakfast in the morning. With
hand-picked Egyptian strawberries. And after the nightmare that is today,
between this and Potter, I think we should take a long weekend. Or a
week-long vacation. Preferably somewhere warm, sunny, and spider-less."

Severus chuckled. "That can be arranged. We'll go after your mother's
birthday party."

Draco shuddered. He loved his mother, but her parties were something he'd
need a month's long vacation to recover from. "Do you think you could wait
to unshrink me until after?" It wasn't quite a joke, but Severus laughed
anyway.

The base went into the cauldron, things were added (Draco was paying more
attention to the way his reflection looked in the squat bottle of clover
oil), and once everything else was added to Severus' satisfaction, the
cauldron and its contents were put under the dragon skin hood, where the
fumes would be caught and siphoned into a bottle. Draco had to wait for
Severus to clean up the work tables, then himself, before picking Draco up
once more and carrying him upstairs to their flat.

He walked around the dining room table while Severus ate dinner, picking at
scraps of Severus' dinner and threatening to sit on his dinner roll until
Severus ate it. He amused himself briefly by shoving the salt shaker across
the tabletop, but in the end, he expended the effort only to tire himself,
as Severus never put salt on anything.

The bathroom was large and pristine. Draco found the toilet to be entirely
too daunting when he thought of standing on the edge, and too embarrassing
when Severus offered to hold him up.

A bath was out of the question, as he was not about to wash under the sink
faucet. That was for the masses (like Weasley) who couldn't afford
claw-footed tubs large enough for half a dozen people.

He grudgingly accepted the shrunken toothbrush Severus offered him, but
Severus refused to perform any magic on him, given that they couldn't
foretell the consequences of it on Draco's small form.

By the time they had retired to the bedroom and Severus dug out pajamas,
Draco was pouting. His arms were crossed, his lips trembled, and he knew he
looked pathetic. Unfortunately, Severus had bypassed pouting, sulking, and
grumpy, and had gone straight into surly. In a better situation, Draco had
surefire ways of turning that particular frown upside down, but sadly, his
luck had abandoned him for the day.

Or maybe not, he reconsidered, as Severus transfigured a bed from Draco's
pillow and situated it on the nightstand on Severus' side. Then he let Draco
down beside it and handed him a shrunken pair of pajamas. They changed at
the same time, Draco placing his day clothes in a pile at the end of his
bed. Then he walked to the edge of the table and waited until Severus was
reclining, a book in hand. "Severus."

Dark eyes flickered toward him and without having to be asked, Severus
offered his hand once again. He settled Draco on his chest and Draco
scrambled over the cotton night shirt, grateful Severus hadn't worn the
silk. It took him until he'd reached Severus' neck to remember that his
lover plus genius meant the pajamas weren't an accident. He pressed a kiss
to the long column of Severus' neck and then stepped back as Severus tipped
his chin down.

"Are you quite comfortable, or would you like to stick your small, bony feet
into other parts of my anatomy?"

Draco stuck his tongue out at him, not the most mature of replies but one
which almost always tended to make him feel infinitely better. While he was
on the subject of immaturity... "I can see up your nose," Draco commented
quietly, leaning carefully against Severus' lip. He tilted his head to the
side, gauged the distance and size, and decided, "I think I could fit
inside."

"Draco, I may not be able to hear your diminutive plotting, but I do know
when you are up to something and you are in no position at the moment to
carry out any plans you may be concocting."

Draco snickered to himself, patted Severus on the cheek because, really, the
man could be clueless, and kindly made his way back to Severus' neck and far
away from his nose. He ended up settled in the dip where shoulder and neck
joined, playing with a thick strand of Severus' hair as the man began to
read aloud. It took Draco nearly three full paragraphs before the words
penetrated his mind, and he gave a hard tug at Severus' hair. "Thumbelina!
You sadistic..." His words were cut off as he misjudged the width of
Severus' shoulder and tumbled down the side of the pillow.

Above him, the deep, seductive laughter of his lover promised all sorts of
things Draco was not in a form to appreciate. Or so Severus thought, the
tease.

Draco knew better.