Final Exams: Is there an Afterlife? A Harry-Draco ficlet by Meredith

A/Note: Hi everybody, I'd appreciate if you'd review, I'm not sure if this needs a second chapter. Care to comment? It makes all the difference.

"Oi, Potter!" The blonde yelled across the dungeon.

"What is it, Draco?"

"Have you been studying for your potions final exam?"

"No, but I've been praying, and I think I'll get to heaven after Snape kills me."

The Gryffindors around him laughed, and surprisingly, Draco joined in.

"Well, just in case divine intervention is not available, would you care to attempt to study with me tonight?"

"A lesson from the master?" Potter's sarcasm was hard to miss. "Absolutely. When?"

"Seven-thirty, don't be late."

"But I've got Quidditch from six to eight!"

"So? Wait a minute, I'll pretend to care. Be there, or don't." A chorus of "ooh"s from around the room.


Sure enough, he was there, cauldron tucked under his arm, ratty copy of "Advanced Potioneering" inside it. He looked around the empty hallway by the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, and for a minute he was afraid Draco would show him up. Then, as he leaned dejectedly against a marble statue, a pale hand caught his shoulder and whisked him inside an invisible hole. He couldn't speak until they were through, and he was facing his attacker.

"Ouch! You nearly tore my arm off there."

"Hey, not my arm, not my problem, mate." Harry chose to ignore that jab.

"All right, let's start. What's your worst potion to date."

Harry thought it over for a second, and cringed.

"Love potions." Draco nodded sympathetically.

"For an amateur, they are," He paused, and smirked slightly, "devilish."

Harry set up his cauldron and poured the base liquid, sloshing some on the front of his robes. Draco laughed outright.

"Here, let me show you how to pour." He guided Harry's hand with his own, and the clear liquid made a beautiful arch as it cleared the side of the basin.

"Okay, add three hairs of the maker, and stir twice. Who's maker?" Harry asked, sweating over the steaming, almost-yellow potion.

"I am. Your hair's probably contaminated." Harry laughed.

"Here, allow me, your Majesty." He deliberately plucked two blonde strands from his bangs, and one from the very top of his gorgeous head. Draco yelped.

"Oh excuse me, am I hurting you?"

And the blonde tackled Harry, sending the book flying and just missing the cauldron.

"Gerroff—Malfoy! It was a bloody joke! Sheesh!"

And at once, in reference to his surname, the Slytherin sat upright, leaving the Golden Boy laying on the cold stone floor, looking up at him incredulously.

"You might try having a sense of humor now and then."

Harry's jaw dropped. Draco—the cold one—telling him to get a sense of humor.

So he returned the tackle, just as three Slytherin girls entered the statue hole. Upon finding the Gryffindor and his archrival tangled on the floor, they giggled uncontrollably as the boys took several minutes to unwind and stand up.

"Potter, you're hopeless at Potions. No wonder you get so angry." Draco said a bit too loudly, an obvious attempt to cover for what had just happened.

It didn't fool the oldest girl, a prefect, who crooned,

"Don't let us interrupt you, continue! Would you like a room? Some condoms? A pair of handcuffs?" And the others began giggling afresh, doubled up with laugher.

The boys weren't laughing. Harry was doing inner battle with his gentlemanly instinct not to hit a girl, and then there was that bothersome inclination inside him that the prefect was right… NO! She couldn't be, don't think about it, Harry.

Now Draco was bent over the potion again, its fumes masking the deepened shade of his own face.

"And… it's done." And what a potion! It was murky silver, with several spirals curling up to the ceiling in little hearts, and if Harry stared in it long enough, random thoughts that made no sense passed through his mind…

I wonder if Draco has a girlfriend.

He CAN'T love Parkinson. The cow!

His eyes are exactly the color of this potion. It's unbelievable.

Draco saw him and snickered.

"It's not a Pensieve, you know. You won't get to enter my memories, and trust me," His voice darkened, "You would never want to, Potter."

"Mind your own business, Draco."

"Why? It's my potion."

"Our potion!"

"Then why isn't it the color of YOUR eyes? I don't see an ounce of emerald in there." At once, Draco realized his mistake. "Not that your eyes have a color, mind you…" But it was a lame cover-up.

"Let's continue, shall we? No need to test it, we know my love potions are perfect…"

"Of course, how else would you get girls?"

"Who says it's GIRLS I'm interested in, Mr. One-track Celebrity?"

Harry coughed.

"Anyways, I don't use love potions on anyone."

"Then how can you tell it's right? I bet it's poison. If I fail my final exam because of you, I swear, Draco…"

Draco was losing his temper.

"Then why don't you drink some? Since you're so sure it's poison, I'd be glad to force-feed it to you!"

And Harry, instead of yelling back, poured some into a goblet he conjured out of thin air. Before Draco's wide eyes, he raised it to his lips. But he was smirking, and before he swallowed, he said demonically,

"You really are in love with me, Draco."

And it was all downhill after that.

FIN... or is it? You decide. R&R.