DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Inspired by a challenge.




When Snape swung his office door open and bashed Harry Potter right in the face, Draco had thought it was funny.

When Harry's glasses had shattered and his nose began to bleed a little bit, Draco had thought it was hilarious.

When Harry's lip had trembled ever so slightly before he loped down the corridor toward the hospital wing, Draco had been forced to use Blaise Zabini as some kind of human crutch to keep from collapsing in his incredible fit of hysterics.

But when Potter had turned up for potions later that afternoon, a tissue twisted and jammed up one of his nostrils, Draco had been greatly miffed.

"Why are you here?" he hissed at the pathetic wretch as he flumped down in the seat beside him.

"I'm nod missing the pragtise fidal," Harry had mumbled, the tissue in his nose flapping a little bit from side to side as he breathed.

"But we've been made partners, you idiot," Draco explained calmly. "That means we have to work together. That is a bad thing, Potter. I may be forced to scald you or pour some kind of staining substance on your face. It won't be my choice, it's just the way things work. You do understand that, don't you?"

Harry sniffed carefully and then slowly pulled the tissue from his nose. "I think it's stopped bleeding now."

"That is absolutely repulsive," Draco told him. "Here, chop the shrivelfig."

Harry reached up and ran a finger along the dark flesh that was quickly blackening beneath each of his eyes. "I think I have a bit of a concussion. My stomach is doing some really mad things."

"Do not vomit anywhere near me," Draco instructed, shoving his stool a few inches away from the crazy boy. "I hate you. Go away."

Harry reached over and grabbed the knife and the fig before studying them carefully. "What are we doing again?"

"Chopping, you lunatic. I've changed my mind; give me the knife back before something bad happens. To me."

Harry smiled for some reason, the candlelight glinting off the jagged edges of the broken lenses of his glasses. "I know that. What are we making?"

"Veritaserum," Draco reminded the brainless oaf. "Like Professor Snape has been telling us all term. Have you been stoned this whole time?"

Harry smiled, for no apparent reason, yet again. "I bet you'd like to get me stoned."

Draco blinked. "I don't follow you, Potter. I think you've sustained some major head injury or something. Your brain may be swelling right this very minute. You should most definitely go and lay down somewhere that's out of the way and well ventilated. We don't want you stinking up the castle after you die of your massive head trauma."

Harry abruptly began to laugh, rather heartily, and then commenced chopping the shrivelfig into minuscule chunks. "Well, let's get this potion sorted out and then we'll see what you really mean by all of this."

Draco reached over and yanked on a knot in Harry's hair. "What do you mean, 'What I really mean'? What the hell is going on in there?" He knocked on the injured skull beneath that rat's nest and then pulled the knife from Harry's shaky hand. "Concussed people aren't allowed to chop things – basic rule of potion-making number one."

"Well, it's done anyw-OW!" Harry was cut off as a rather large hunk of shrivelfig ricocheted off the back of his head and sent him careening forward off of his stool and down onto his knees.

Draco turned around and burst into another fit of hysterical laughter.

"Blaise!" Hermione screeched from the back of the room. "He – is – injured!"

Blaise shrugged, still facing the front of the room and his chuckling friend. "I don't like him," he replied casually, and then began stirring his potion as if there had been no interruption at all.

"Time," Snape called through the sudden din of Slytherin sniggers and angered Gryffindor muttering.

Harry crawled, red faced and fuming, up from the ground and plopped down on his stool again.

"I need a volunteer pair, thank you Malfoy and Potter, you may come up to the front, please bring your vials, yes I am quite serious," the professor said in one long breath. "I can only assume that yours will be the most well done. Potter has hardly been here long enough to foul things up," he added loudly.

Harry limped a little as he moved to the front of the class. He was milking this pseudo-injury thing for all it was worth, and it was irritating the living hell out of Draco.

Hermione contorted her face into a rather maternal expression of concern, as Ron turned red and grunted unhappily. A second shrivelfig was launched at Harry's head and the sound of enthusiastic high-fives cracked through the classroom as Blaise celebrated his impeccable aim.

Snape made a point not to notice. "Right. Drink up."

Harry looked askance at the professor and then stared down at his vial. "Both of us?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "That would be why each of you were instructed to bring up a vial of your own. It is really quite basic logic. Now, drink up."

Draco was quite pleased to learn that Veritaserum tasted rather similar to chocolate milk, and he happily let three drops fall onto his tongue from his finger. Harry murmured something about lactose intolerance and gently set the vial down on the table next to him as if it may have exploded on contact once he had swallowed three drops of his own.

"So," Snape said, leaning back against the chalkboard and rubbing his hands together. "As I am sure you are all aware, Veritaserum causes even the best of liars to become temporarily unable to tell anything but the truth, and, as such, is regulated heavily by the Ministry. For example: Malfoy, how demonstrative would you say that your father is toward your mother?"

"Not very," he replied immediately, startling himself in an oddly pleasant sort of way.

Snape nodded approvingly. "And would you say that your father is more interested in, say, the tall, dark type?"

"Yes. Just like I am." It was like his mouth had completely detached from the rest of his body and was functioning solely on its own.

"I knew you fancied me!" Harry blurted out and then slapped his hand over his mouth.

"Care to elaborate?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow and pulling up a chair.

Harry shook his head. "Yes."

"Go on," Draco urged, sneering intensely.

Harry grimaced as if he was holding in a sneeze. "It's completely obvious that your father has a thing for this asshole over here," he explained, motioning to Snape and looking absolutely horrified at himself. "And it's even more obvious that you're completely head-over-heels for me."

"How so?" Snape enquired, jotting something down at an astounding speed.

"It's like the little bully on the playground pulling his crushes' pigtails all the time with him, you know? Only it's not my pigtail he wants to pull, and – ohmygodpleaseletmestop!"

"Yes, that is all well and good," Snape told him, tapping the end of his quill on the table, "but let's get back to Malfoy senior, shall we?"

"I'd kind of like to hear more of Potter's little theories about me," Draco said, and meant every word of it. "Why do I want to... pull anything of yours?"

"Well you make it perfectly clear that I'm always on your mind – I don't mean any of this, I swear, there's something horribly wrong with our potion, there is no other explanation – you can't stop thinking about me. You go out of your way to pick me out of a crowd and then insult me to get my attention."

"I insult you because it makes you walk away," Draco informed him. "And when you walk away I can watch your ass – what? That's not even in there!"

Snape smiled. "Of course it is. You Malfoy men and your black-haired boys..." He leaned back in his chair, looking wistful and far away.

Harry made a sound something like a 'meep' and then bolted toward the door.

"ACCIO POTTER!" Snape shouted, and the would-be escapee was torn from the ground as he flew back toward the professor's outstretched wand.

"Careful!" Hermione called from the silent crowd of students. "He's injured!"

"Yes, we're all terribly concerned for his well being," Draco announced without a hint of sarcasm.

"Malfoy," Snape began. "What would you say your father most enjoys, the chase or the capture?"

"The chase," he replied, disgusted that he even knew that, and even more so that Snape was writing his answer down.

"And would your parents consider their relationship to be, oh, open?"

"Yeah," he answered and blushed uncontrollably.

Harry began to laugh and was immediately hit in the face with yet another large chunk of shrivelfig.

"Thank you, Blaise," Draco muttered.

"You're cute when you're embarrassed," Harry told him and then pointed his wand at himself. "Stupefy!" he shouted and fell paralysed to the ground.

Snape stood and stomped around the desk to the boy on the floor. "I'm not finished with the pair of you," he said testily. "Ennervate!"

Harry remained stationary on the floor.

"Didn't it work?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head again. "Yes."

"Then get up."

"I'd rather stay down here, thanks."

Snape sighed. "That's fine for the time being. Malfoy, what colour would you say is your father's favourite? Does he prefer dark chocolate or milk? How does he feel about flowers? Is your mother planning to be out of town any time soon?"

"I am completely horrified right now," Draco responded blandly. "And strangely intrigued by the possibilities of a Stupefied Potter..." he trailed off and wished there was a large hole somewhere in his vicinity into which he could crawl so as to perish with whatever dignity he had left.


"Coal grey, dark, hates them, and she'll be in Paris the weekend after next."

Snape beamed. "Excellent! Class dismissed."

"You're just going to leave us like this?" Harry asked, sounding a little hysterical as he stared wide-eyed up at the ceiling.

Snape nodded and motioned for them to follow the herd of their classmates as they rumbled out of the room. He crossed the words 'roses' and 'milk' from his parchment and carefully slipped it into an envelope. "Yes. You're amusing. Run along and owl this to your father for me, will you, Malfoy?"

"I'd rather Stupefy Potter," he replied thoughtfully, regretted it immediately, and then walked quickly out of the room.