Heart in a Blender

Harry was disgusted. He stirred the sludge-like mass in the cauldron with difficulty. Remedial Potions. He still could not believe Snape had forced him to take a home-study course over the summer. And Dumbledore had allowed it.

I hate potions, he though. Hate, hate, hate. And I hate Snape. Super hate. I sort of hate Dumbledore right now, too. Oh yeah, and lest I forget, I hate Draco Malfoy. Harry always sort of tacked that one on as an afterthought. To stay in practice.

He sat back in irritation and then marched resolutely downstairs and picked up the blender from the kitchen counter. His Aunt Petunia and the other Dursleys were out shopping for new trousers for Dudley. The search for such a prodigious quantity of sturdy fabric typically took upwards of six hours; Harry had plenty of time.

He took the unit upstairs, plugged it in, and dumped the gloppy contents from the cauldron into the blender. Stir fifty-seven times, he read from the Intermediate Potions Handbook. Hmmm. He pressed the BLEND button and listened to the horrific whine as the motor struggled to turn the blades. The mixture smoothed out fairly quickly and turned from glop-grey to pale lavender. He shut off the machine. Finely chop a boar's heart and add it to the mixture. Harry wrinkled his nose.

"Or," he said aloud, "Toss the ruddy thing in whole and press FRAPPE."

Snape always sent Harry's homework by owl along with the necessary ingredients. A snide note and a pathetic grade accompanied each assignment, commenting on the potion he had returned.

Harry's unwrapped the slightly fetid-smelling boar's heart and tipped it into the blender with a grimace. Mix until potion turns crimson. Harry blended it until the sludge looked red enough to be considered crimson, and then he added the moth wings. After another few pulses, the potion turned clear as fresh water. Harry blinked at it in surprise. He carefully poured the contents into a vial, attached it to Hedwig's leg, and sent it off for Snape's disapproval.


Draco suppressed a yawn with practiced skill. Summers were so boring. No one to mock, no one to taunt, and no one to appreciate his obvious superiority, unless Greg and Vince happened to drop by, which was rare considering they both lived in Cornwall. And Draco's father did not particularly care for the elders Crabbe and Goyle. Draco actually preferred it when he could spend the days in his room, or flitting about on his broom, or wandering the gardens practising spells to cast on Potter and his ilk. When company arrived, Draco was forced to dress impeccably, sit like a garden statue, and speak only when spoken to.

"Wouldn't you say so, Draco?" their current guest asked.

Draco gritted a polite smile. "Absolutely, Professor Snape," he said in his best sycophantic tone. Draco had sucking up to Snape down to perfection. The Potions Master nodded at Draco's father in satisfaction.

"You see, Lucius? He is an intelligent boy."

"He hasn't the slightest notion what you are talking about, Severus. That intelligent boy completely tuned you out exactly 26 minutes ago. Which only proves your point, of course."

Draco smirked. Snape's response was curtailed by the arrival of a snowy owl through the open window. Draco's eyes narrowed immediately. Potter's owl. He would know it anywhere. It parked itself on the velvet settee next to Snape and extended its leg helpfully so that he could remove a small parcel.

The Potions Master smiled and his grin resembled something that ate owls, so Potter's bird wisely flapped across the room to perch on the windowsill to be nearest an escape route. Smart bird, Draco thought.

"Potter is taking a Remedial Potions class over the summer," Snape explained as he extracted a vial from the wrappings. "He's perfectly dreadful. Even worse than he is at Hogwarts. Albus wants him to take Advanced Potions next year, but in all honesty I think the boy is hopeless."

Draco smiled in satisfaction. His smile faltered when Snape looked at the potion and drew in a surprised breath. It looked like ordinary water to Draco, but Snape quickly uncapped it and sniffed.

"Unbelievable. It's not possible," the Potions Master mumbled. He dipped a long finger into the vial and then drew a drop of the potion to his tongue. He scowled and Draco sagged in relief, until he realized Snape only scowled from annoyance. "It's perfect. How in the name of Salazar could Harry Potter have brewed a perfect Muse Potion?"

Draco cleared his throat. "Muse Potion?" he asked.

"It gives you ideas… creativity…" Snape said absently before he snapped his fingers. "Hermione Granger! She must have stopped by Potter's and helped him prepare the potion."

Draco's father sighed heavily. "Not possible," he said.

Snape glared at him. "Why not?"

"Honestly, Severus, do you not read Death Eater Weekly? They do print articles other than 'How to Disembowel Muggles With Precision and Grace'… although I rather enjoyed writing that one…" Lucius cleared his throat. "But I digress. They also keep tabs on all suspected members of the Order of the Phoenix. Granger is in Bulgaria with the Weasleys on some 'secret mission' for Dumbledore." Draco refrained from smiling when his father made air quotes with his fingers, although it did look rather amusing. Snape, the uncultured lout, snorted a laugh. Lucius put a halt to that nonsense by adding, "Some days I think you should be stripped of your Dark Mark, Severus."

Snape glared. "Because I don't read some owl cage flooring? Spare me. I know you only write articles in order to get a free copy and ogle the Most Eligible Death Eater of the Week, hoping it will be Rowle."

Draco perked up. He loved it when Professor Snape and his father descended into name-calling. Draco always learned the most interesting things.

"Go to your room, Draco," his father ordered, tossing a wet blanket over Draco's amusement, as usual.

"Wait, Lucius, I have an idea. We need to know how Potter managed to brew this potion. What if someone is assisting him? What if a new Potions genius has joined the Order ranks? What if he's after my job?"

In the end it was decided that they would wait and see if Potter produced any more sterling potions prior to sending Draco on his "secret mission". Draco discovered the quote marks in the air were not nearly as amusing when directed at him.


Harry put the blender to good use over the next several days. Snape's instructions seemed more complicated and the potions more difficult than ever, but the trusty blending machine took them all on. Harry was becoming a master at when to use GRIND and when to use LIQUEFY. He was actually beginning to enjoy making potions.

The Dursleys were not enjoying the side effects. Although Harry carefully cleaned the blender after each potion and returned it to its proper place in the kitchen, it was apparently impossible to erase all magical traces. Aunt Petunia's Margarita Night with the sour-faced women from her bridge club had turned into a night of hilarity when the residue of Birdsong Potion had the women chirping, cawing and squawking for hours in between bouts of hysterical laughter. Luckily the male Dursleys had hied themselves off to a local pub to watch football on the telly, and Aunt Petunia had been so hung over the next morning she barely remembered the evening at all. Her suspicious glances to Harry were kept to a minimum.

The suspicious glances were more in evidence after Dudley made himself a protein shake as part of his latest weight loss regime. Harry suspected the shake would have been healthier if Dudders hadn't thrown in a litre of pistachio ice cream, but it hadn't been the ice cream that had caused Dudley's face to break out in an explosion of grey patches that apparently itched like the dickens for three days before turning into ugly, peeling sores. Harry had been just as perplexed as the Dursleys by the reaction, even though they hadn't believed him for an instant. He only knew Imelda's Ink Removal Potion wasn't meant to be ingested. After that he was more careful to clean the blender thoroughly.



Potter is definitely cheating on his summer Potions work. I'm sure of it. Take the enclosed items, go to 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, and find out what the little brat is up to.


PS (Lucius, if you agree to send Draco on this mission I promise to send you the photo of Rowle I snapped at last year's Death Eater Picnic when he was smashed and started dancing naked atop the ice sculpture of… well, you remember.)

Draco read Snape's letter one last time before stuffing it in his pocket. He was not sure why the Potions Master thought he was a good choice to spy on the Prat Who Lived, and yet Draco somehow managed to end up standing across from 4 Privet Drive with a flask of Polyjuice Potion in his hand. Two hairs were twined around the top of the flask. One was reddish brown and the other was a fine golden blond. Refusing to become a ginger unless the Dark Lord himself appeared and forced the potion down his throat, Draco shoved the blond hair into the flask, shook it vigorously and, after a cursory check for gawking Muggles, drank.

The effects were surprisingly quick and mild compared to the other times he'd used Polyjuice Potion. Glancing down at his hands he noticed that they were still long-fingered and aristocratic, not calloused or rough like he had feared they would be. He wondered idly whose hair Snape had given him, but then he shrugged. It did not matter. He had a mission to accomplish.

Squaring his shoulders, Draco marched across the street and rang the bell. There was some sort of racket going on somewhere near the back of the house and it wasn't until he rang the bell a second time that it stopped and he could hear Potter's voice yell, "Alright, alright, I'm coming."

The dark haired boy threw open the door with a flourish and then froze. "Malfoy?"

Draco frowned. How had Potter seen past the effects of the Polyjuice? Perhaps Snape had been on to something by suggesting Potter had some assistance. It was shocking, actually. Draco had assumed the Potions Master to be off his rocker. Before Draco could come up with a reply, the Gryffindor had reached into a pocket, snagged a smallish item that Draco could not see clearly, and then splashed him in the face with a clear, cool liquid. Stunned, Draco felt the effects of the Polyjuice ripple off of his body just as the tangy scent of a Revealio Potion reached his nostrils.

"Potter, what the bloody…?"

His angry shout was cut off by Potter's awed voice. "It is you. I mean when I opened the door to see Draco Malfoy standing there I figured it had to be someone Polyjuiced. And I was right, apparently, but—" Potter paused and peered at him. "Why were you Polyjuiced as yourself?"

Draco blinked. Himself? What on earth? And then it dawned on him. Two hairs. Snape would never send him two hairs. One of his own must have gotten twined around the top of the flask as well. He groaned. What a royal cock-up this was turning out to be! He should have known, actually. Any plan that he was involved with seemed automatically doomed to failure. The Order of the Phoenix should just send Draco to become Voldemort's right-hand man. The freakish bastard would be dead the first time he tried to implement one of Draco's brilliant plans.


Harry watched in silence as a number of emotions chased themselves across Malfoy's face, denial, frustration, and embarrassment chief among them. Harry had been shocked to discover his school nemesis on his doorstep, but after a month of no contact with any of his friends, and a week of not even the Dursleys' annoying presence, Harry was desperate for company.

He opened the door wide. "Well, come in." The look of shock on Malfoy's face was priceless. He'd obviously not expected that. Harry grinned.

"But what about... I mean your Muggle relatives..." Malfoy began, his confusion plain.

"They're not here. Uncle Vernon won a two-week trip to Majorca through some raffle or something. They won't be back until next Tuesday," Harry explained and added, "Er… you're not here to kill me or anything, are you?"

"No," was the only reply.

Harry motioned impatiently. "Come on. It's hot out there. Cooler inside."

Malfoy hesitated for a moment longer before finally stepping into the interior of the house. Harry thought he looked like someone stepping into a pile of dung—mostly disgusted, but also somewhat nauseous. Harry shut the door behind him and then started down the hall, calling to the blond over his shoulder. "This way. I'll put on some tea."

Malfoy trailed behind him, looking unwillingly fascinated by the frozen, unmoving pictures lining the walls. He paused and perused the Wall o' Dudley, as Harry liked to call it.

"Where are all of the pictures of you, Potter?" Malfoy asked finally. "Oh wait, let me guess. They have a separate shrine set up for you, don't they? A life-sized portrait hanging over the fireplace maybe?" Malfoy glanced into the living room. Harry wondered if he seriously expected to see "We Love Harry Potter" paraphernalia. If so, he was looking in the wrong house.

Harry snorted at Malfoy's antics and continued toward the kitchen.


Draco watched wordlessly as Potter 'put on some tea'. It was almost fascinating the way he filled a pot with water from a spigot and then set it atop a large metal box. A knob was twisted to produce fire and Potter placed the kettle on the flames before opening a box and dropping two paper devices into white ceramic mugs.

"This will take a few minutes," Potter said and Draco wondered why he did not just heat the kettle with his wand. Before he asked, he actually remembered. Underaged magic! Potter was not allowed to do magic. Draco scowled. Neither was he, now that he thought about it. He was exempted from that foolish rule at Malfoy Manor because no one from the Ministry would dare to accuse Lucius Malfoy's son of practicing magic outside of school. Not if they wanted their facial features to remain recognizable, at any rate. "Have a seat?" Potter added.

When they were seated across from each other at the kitchen table, Potter cocked his head and asked, "What are you doing here anyway? I mean, when I saw you standing on my doorstep I figured it had to be a joke. Fred or George trying to have me on, maybe. And why were you Polyjuiced as yourself?"

Draco was mortified to feel his cheeks grow warm. He found himself babbling the truth without even trying to come up with a decent lie. What was wrong with him? "Um... that wasn't on purpose. I seem to have mixed up the hairs." He winced and waited for Potter's laughter and snide comments, but they never came.

Instead Potter just grinned at him and said, "Well, at least you don't have cat ears." Unaccountably, Potter's eyes widened at his own statement and he blushed as well, glancing away quickly.

Draco frowned. What was that all about?

"Your clothes are all, um… wet," Potter said. "The expensive silk or whatever won't be ruined, will it?"

Draco glanced down to find wet streaks and splatters marring the very expensive material of his shirt. "Potter! You absolute ass! It is ruined! Just look at me! I look like a… a… sloven! I look like a Weasley!"

"I happen to like Weasleys," Potter said warningly.

"Well, now that I am shabby as a Weasley, perhaps you will like me better and clean this immediately." Draco began to unbutton his shirt and Potter shot to his feet, looking decidedly spooked. Draco sighed. "Never mind. If you can't manage to clean it, I will send you a bill."

"Just… checking the kettle," Potter said and spun around to poke at the kettle that would never boil in that short amount of time unless prodded with a nice jolt of magic. Draco wondered if being alone in a Muggle house without the ability to do magic had unhinged him. It would have driven Draco round the bend in no time. He allowed himself to feel a moment of pity for the poor, lonely hero. A moment only, quickly squelched. It wouldn't do to start feeling sentimental toward his prey when he had a "secret mission" to attend to. Draco made quote marks in the air just as Potter turned around.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"What are you doing?" Draco countered as he lowered his hands guiltily.

"I asked you first."

"I'm taking off my shirt," Draco said and quickly did so.

"Oh yes," Potter squeaked and spun round to the kettle again.

Definitely unhinged, Draco decided.


Harry decided to get Malfoy a shirt to wear while the kettle took its time coming to a boil. He escaped upstairs and quickly opened his trunk. While staying at Privet Drive, he automatically reverted to wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs. The Dursleys always treated him somewhat better if they thought he was suffering. Harry quickly yanked off the shapeless rag he wore and put on a plain black t-shirt he had purchased in Diagon Alley. He held up a red one and grinned at the thought of Malfoy in red.

Harry tiptoed down the stairs and peered into the kitchen, wondering what Malfoy was doing here. Harry expected to see him sidling through the house, but the blond still sat at the table, looking bored. And shirtless. He really has lovely skin, Harry thought and then considering knocking his head against the banister a few times to rid himself of that idea.

He tossed Malfoy the red shirt and shut off the stove.

"You can wear that, if you'd like. I think it will fit you. We're about the same size."

"It's red!" Malfoy complained.

"It's dry," Harry retorted and poured hot water into the cups. He automatically spooned three teaspoons of sugar and added a splash of milk to Malfoy's mug before realizing he really shouldn't know how the blond took his tea. Unfortunately, Harry took his black with a single spoonful of sugar, so he couldn't pretend it was his. He shoved the cup across the counter with a defiant look. Thankfully, Malfoy was still staring at the shirt and did not appear to have noticed the tea stalking.

"Have you never worn red before?" Harry asked.

"Never," said Malfoy.

"I've worn green plenty of times," Harry said placatingly.

"That's because you look brilliant in green," Malfoy said absently and then blanched. Harry grinned, feeling strangely warm.

"Thanks. I'm sure you'll look just as brilliant in red."

Malfoy pulled the shirt over his head with a panicked look and his hair instantly sprang into a halo of static. Harry snickered. The grey eyes glared at him. "Well?" Malfoy asked when his hair was again under control. He stood and put his arms out to the sides before performing a model-like twirl for Harry's inspection.

The red shirt looked surprisingly good on him, but then Harry assumed the prat would look fabulous in one of Dudley's shirts. Harry's eyes unwillingly strayed to Draco's arse, encased in tight black trousers. It was perfection.

"Were you checking me out?" Malfoy demanded.

"Wasn't I supposed to?"

"Erm… I guess. Like what you see, then?"

Harry shrugged. "It doesn't suck to look at you."

Strangely, Malfoy blushed. Harry quickly gulped his tea and looked away. They drank their beverages for long minutes until the silence became uncomfortable and the ticking of the clock was noticeable.

"So, why are you here?" Harry asked.

"I'm on a secret mission to find out who has been helping you prepare your potions for Snape." Malfoy's fingers curled and Harry half expected him to make little quote marks in the air.

Harry chuckled. "Some secret."

"Are you going to tell me so I can leave?" Malfoy demanded. "I don't want to be here any more than you want me here."

"I don't really mind you here," Harry said. Strangely, he meant it.


Draco blinked at him in surprise and downed the last of his tea. It had not escaped his notice that Potter had made his tea exactly right. Draco could not think of a single person who would know how he took his tea. The house-elves prepared it at home, so he doubted his parents knew. Certainly none of his Slytherin friends would have noticed.

Potter had also changed out of the horrific rag he had been wearing when Draco arrived. The black shirt he now wore stretched tight across his chest and accented the muscles Potter had grown sometime when Draco wasn't watching. Frankly, it didn't suck to look at Potter, either. He had no logical response to Potter's words, so he kept silent until the Gryffindor spoke again.

"It's no big deal, although Snape will probably birth a hippogriff. I've been using a blender," Potter said.

Draco stared at him until Potter laughed and got up. Draco did not watch Potter's arse as he walked across the kitchen… very much. The Gryffindor picked up a medium-sized device from the counter. It was a bulbous metal thing with a glass pitcher at the top.

"A blender. Come on, I'll show you."

Potter carted the device upstairs and Draco followed. Yes, he did watch Potter's arse as they went upstairs, but it was right in front of him! Where else was he supposed to look? It was quite pleasantly shaped, also… and his legs were nice, Quidditch-honed, mostly likely. Draco was relieved when they reached Potter's room. The git bustled around, picking up random clothing, scrolls, books, and papers. Draco threw himself on the bed with a smirk.

"The Dark Lord would be so jealous if he knew where I was right now," Draco commented.

"I don't think he wants to shag me," Potter said, shooting him a quizzical look.

"I meant in your house, not your bed!" Draco yelled.

Potter chuckled. "All right, let's get to the potions. Which one should we make? The evil bastard Snape sent me three this time."

Draco put his hands behind his head. Potter's bed was surprisingly comfortable and it smelled of Potter. Draco turned his head slightly and breathed in the scent. He froze when he noticed Potter watching him.

"The potion?" Draco prodded.

Potter held up a sheaf of parchment. "Okay, we have a Hair Growth Potion, Declawing Draught, and Skin Softening Solution. I swear he has me brewing his personal toiletries."

Draco snorted a laugh at the thought of Snape turning Potter into his personal brewer. "Let's go with the Skin Softening thing."

"I knew you'd say that," Potter said, but pulled the parchment out and then dug through a leather pouch for ingredients. Draco watched the black-haired boy as he prepared the items. He seemed so much more relaxed than Draco had ever seen him. He decided it was because Potter felt safer at home than anywhere else. For the first time he thought about how Potter must feel to have an evil wizard and his minions lurking outside just waiting for the chance to cast a Killing Curse on him. It was a sobering thought.

"Everything is ready," Potter said. "Want to watch?"

Draco levered himself off the bed and joined Potter. He observed curiously as the Gryffindor tossed several items haphazardly into the glass pitcher. He pressed a lid atop the mixture and pushed a button. The machine roared to life. Draco was amazed when the items whirred into a finely chopped mess. Potter stopped the machine.

"Now add the spring water," he said. Draco picked up the flask and poured in the water. Potter added a handful of lavender petals. "The instructions say to stir one hundred and five times. How fucking tedious is that? By my calculation, we can simply press BLEND for say… seven seconds?"

Draco looked at the buttons and found the one labelled BLEND. He pressed it an instant before Potter yelled, "The lid!"

The contents sprayed out of the blender and all over Draco, the wall, and the desk. Potter jammed a button and the machine stopped. Draco glared at him through a cloud of sodden hair dripping with pinkish glop.

"I hate you, Potter."

"Well, I don't think there was anything too volatile or disgusting in there, since we hadn't gotten to the baboon spleen yet… but you should probably shower, just in case. Come on."

Draco followed the annoying prat down the hall to the bathroom.

"Okay, do you know how to use the controls?" Potter asked after verifying there were towels available for Draco's use.

"I know how to use a shower, Potter."

"Right." He seemed uncertain and awkward for a moment. "I'll let you get to it, then."

Draco sighed in disgust when the door shut behind the Gryffindor. This had to be the stupidest secret mission ever.


Harry sprawled on the bed for a moment, trying not to think about Malfoy in the shower. That was absolutely something he should not contemplate. Ever. He got up and cleaned up the mess, reflecting wryly that he was going to get a failing grade for that potion because Snape intentionally sent enough ingredients for one batch only. What was it about Malfoy that caused Harry's life to automatically go into fuck-up mode?


The cry shocked Harry out of his reverie and he ran down the hall and into the bathroom. Malfoy was in the shower, peering at him from behind the flower-imprinted curtain. "What's wrong with this thing?" Malfoy demanded. "I turned the knob marked H and it's fucking cold as ice. Does H not stand for HOT in the Muggle world?"

Harry hurried forward and twisted the knobs quickly. "Sorry! Uncle Vernon did his own plumbing repair in here and got the controls backward. We all just… got used to them." He put a hand in the water until it felt warm enough and then glanced to the back of the shower. He immediately wished he hadn't and clamped his eyes shut.

Oh shit, now he would have an image of naked Malfoy stamped on his brain forever. And it was not a bad image. Harry wondered if there was a Brain-Scouring Potion…

"Thanks for telling me, Potter," Malfoy snarled, making it a bit easier to shove the image of nudity aside. "Which of these bloody products is it safe to use?"

Harry groaned, realizing he would have to put his head back into the shower to find the proper shampoo among the eight or nine bottles arrayed there. Harry was only allowed to use the cheapest, most generic of them, but Malfoy deserved better… Fuck, now the blond's sense of superiority was rubbing off on Harry.

He looked into the shower, trying to keep his eyes on the bottles. He found Petunia's favourite shampoo and picked it up. His gaze shifted sideways and his jaw dropped in shock. Malfoy was fully immersed, head tipped back into the spray. The water poured over his body in long rivulets. Harry was transfixed. He had never thought of a bloke as gorgeous before, but then he had never had a naked, wet Adonis close enough to touch before. Malfoy's head left the spray and he blinked at Harry, who blushed scarlet and jammed the shampoo in Malfoy's direction.

"Here you go," Harry stammered and bolted the instant the bottle left his hand.

He leaned against the bathroom door, panting. He decided the sweat beading his forehead had been caused by the steam. The shaking was a bit harder to explain, as was the tightness in the crotch of his jeans.


Draco smiled at Potter's hasty retreat. The Gryffindor acted like he'd never seen a naked man before. Draco pondered as he rinsed the suds from his hair. It had been rather titillating knowing Potter was looking at him. Draco had never thought of himself as an exhibitionist, but perhaps he was.

He turned off the ridiculous backward taps, but must have done something wrong, for he was instantly doused in scalding water. Draco shrieked and threw himself out of the shower, straight through the hideous floral shower curtain. It tore completely free of the rings as Draco sprawled on the floor. The door slammed open again and Potter stood there with wand drawn, looking every inch the hero.

"You have a very dangerous life, Potter," Draco commented.

"Are you all right? What happened?"

"I think I have third degree burns," Draco said. Potter stepped around him to shut off the evil water and then knelt beside him. A hand touched Draco's shoulder.

"Do you need a Healer?" Potter asked and Draco rolled over in annoyance. Potter blanched slightly. "Shit, you've got red splotches everywhere. You really did get burned. Should I call someone in the Order and have them take you to St. Mungo's?"

Draco had no intention of going to St. Mungo's, not even if his skin began to bubble and flake off. It was not terribly painful, but Potter had no need to know that. "No. I am in no mood to announce my presence to the Order and have to explain myself to the Dark Lord, later. I'm sure he would be ecstatic to know that I was here drinking tea, lounging on your bed and nearly being killed by your possessed shower, and yet I did not try to hex you even once."

Potter ignored that and put a hand under Draco's shoulders. "Come on, let's get you into the bedroom. I think Aunt Petunia has some burn ointment in the hall cabinet. At least we can put that on, if you refuse to seek proper treatment."

Potter levered Draco to his feet and then half dragged him down the hall, even though Draco was perfectly able to walk. It was sort of fun leaning on the Gryffindor. Potter helped him sprawl on the bed and Draco felt another burst of pleasure when Potter's face turned crimson at the sight of Draco's nudity.

"Let me get you a towel, too," Potter said and practically raced from the room. Draco thought about crossing his arms behind his head, but decided it would look too calculating. He was going for helpless. He thought painful thoughts and waited without moving until Potter returned and draped a fleece modestly over Draco's lap. He held a small tube in his hand.

"Burn cream," Potter explained and sat on the bed next to him. He held it out to Draco, who made no move to take it. "You… um… rub it on the burned areas."

"Will you do it for me?" Draco asked after lowering his eyes demurely. He felt a gleeful thrill at the very thought of the Chosen One performing such a menial and intimate task. He might have to write his own article for Death Eater Weekly. Anonymously, of course.

"I… I guess," Potter said and unscrewed the tiny cap. He squeezed some of the pale cream onto his index finger and reached out to touch Draco's jaw, who winced at the first cold touch. Okay, so it did sting a bit. Potter's touch was surprisingly gentle as he massaged it in and moved on to Draco's throat and chest. His arms had only a few reddening spots and Potter made quick work of those. Draco's torso was the worst. A long streak near his navel disappeared beneath the towel and Potter's eyes met his for a nervous moment. Draco smiled encouragingly and Potter obligingly slid the cloth sideways a bit. The movement pulled it tight across Draco's cock, which had already begun to awaken at Potter's light touches. Draco bit his lip as it swelled to life.

Potter's fingers froze mere inches from the evidence of Draco's growing arousal.

"Must be a side effect of the potion that splashed on me," Draco said and Potter laughed unsteadily.

"Potion," Potter said. "Yes, of course."

"Either that or your soft hands are turning me on," Draco said and grabbed Potter's wrist. The Gryffindor gasped and Draco kept his gaze fixed on the wide green eyes as he pulled Potter's hand up to his lips. He nuzzled the soft flesh on the underside of Potter's wrist and touched it with his tongue. Potter drew in a surprised breath and tried to pull away, but Draco did not let go; instead he tugged Potter forward inexorably. When the green eyes were inches from his and their panting breath mingled deliciously, Draco dropped his other hand not-so-casually into Potter's lap. The Gryffindor stopped breathing.

"Apparently some of the potion got on you, too, eh?"


"Yeah," Harry managed. "The potion." He appreciated Malfoy giving him an out, although he wondered if the potion was responsible for Malfoy's behaviour, or… something else. Regardless, Malfoy's hand remained against Harry's erection, stroking gently. Harry slid forward with a sigh of surrender and touched his lips to Malfoy's. There was no protest as their mouths pressed together and locked. Harry sucked lightly and felt a thrill shoot through him as Malfoy did the same, and then the soft lips opened beneath his, inviting Harry inside. He moaned aloud and obliged.

Malfoy's tongue was hot and wet and hot and, oh Merlin, perfectly wonderful… Harry knew he had never tasted anything quite so spectacular. Before he could explore it quite as much has he would have liked, Malfoy's hand moved, short-circuiting Harry's thought processes. Those beautiful fingers drew up Harry's cock and tugged at the waistband of Harry's jeans. Harry's hand still lingered on Malfoy's flank and he quickly moved it until he felt an erection not his own.

The grey eyes snapped open and Harry stared at him for a long moment, not speaking. Harry stroked carefully, not wanting to break the spell. Malfoy drew in a shaking breath and then wrenched at Harry's zipper.

The sound seemed to change the atmosphere. Harry crushed his mouth against Malfoy's, tasting him greedily. He tore the towel away and Malfoy pushed at his jeans, freeing Harry's cock. He forgot how to breathe when Malfoy's hand curled around it—his world narrowed to the five fingers gripping him and the tongue sending licks of fire threading through his veins.

Harry was overwhelmed and fought back when his Gryffindor tendencies surged to the forefront. He could not allow the blond to have such frightening power over him. Harry broke the kiss and wrenched himself out of Malfoy's grip. The silver eyes widened in surprise and Harry glimpsed dismay before the blond could mask his expression—he thought Harry was leaving.

The idea buoyed him with a heady sense of power. He grinned lazily and paused over Malfoy's cock until the grey darkened to almost black as he suddenly realized Harry's intention. Harry admired him for a moment; the blond hair was beginning to dry, hanging over his forehead in delicate strands. Harry suddenly wanted to bury his hands in it—but first things first. Without thinking too much about what he was doing, Harry licked a stripe up the centre of Malfoy's throbbing cock.

Malfoy's head tipped back with such force he would have cracked it on the headboard if he had been backward mere inches. Harry found the response so delightful he did it again and then took the length of it into his mouth. He had to close his eyes against the weight of feeling that nearly overwhelmed him. He was sucking Malfoy's cock—and loving it. Merlin, he must be mad.

Fingers suddenly tangled in his hair, negating the madness. He loved that, too. It frightened him for a moment, the sheer depth of his feelings, but he shoved his alarm aside to concentrate on the task at hand.

"Potter… oh Merlin, Potter," Malfoy murmured and Harry nearly sighed in relief. Whatever he felt, at least he wasn't alone. He took Malfoy as deeply as possible, laving the hard length and sucking at the tip each time he reached the top. He tasted bitter saltiness, but mostly warm flesh, throbbing with need. Malfoy's hand clenched in his hair and Harry found his own hands touching Malfoy's thighs before sliding to caress the blond curls surrounding the wet cock.

Harry cupped Malfoy's balls suddenly and it seemed to be more than the Slytherin could take. He shuddered and flooded Harry's mouth with hot liquid. Harry nearly gagged, but steeled himself and took it all, swallowing quickly before he could register what he was doing.

Malfoy's fingers nearly hurt, so tightly he gripped Harry's hair. Harry eased the pain by letting go of Malfoy's spent cock and resting his cheek on the flat abdomen. Their laboured breathing seemed loud in the quiet room, until Malfoy's words split the silence.

"Potter, have you ever…?"

Harry laughed sardonically. "No. Merlin! No, of course not."

Malfoy's sigh seemed relieved, but that might have been Harry's imagination. The Slytherin cleared his throat. "You can… um… if you want."

Harry's head rose in astonishment. Was Malfoy seriously suggesting…? A dark blush stained the blond's cheeks, making him look even lovelier, if possible.

"You won't find me potion-addled every day, Potter. You'd best make the most of it."

Harry could not even speak. Potion-addled or not, this was a gift beyond price. He pressed a soft kiss into Malfoy's abdomen and then moved up to take his lips once more. "You're beautiful," he said.

Malfoy groaned when Harry's fingers found the opening he sought.

"That's the potion talking, Potter."

"No potion. Just me," Harry assured him. "Just me, Draco."


Lucius returned to the room and glanced at Snape, who sat before the large mirror eating a fluffy white substance.

"How fares my son?" he asked.

"I don't think you want to know," Snape replied around a mouthful of the strange food. Lucius sat next to him on the sofa and glared at the mirror.

"What are you watching?"

"Female mud-wrestling. It's a Muggle thing. Want some popcorn?"

Lucius watched for a moment, unwillingly fascinated by the writhing, mud-coated bodies, but then he remembered himself. "Draco?" he prodded.

Snape sighed. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

The mirror clouded over for a moment and then cleared to show Draco lying on a bed, kissing Harry Potter with unmistakable zeal. Lucius bolted up from the couch and hurried away several feet while wondering if there was a way to Self-Obliviate.

"Damn it! I hate it when you are always right!" he yelled.

"Not always," Snape said calmly and scooped up another handful of his white snack food. "I didn't expect Draco to bottom."

Lucius buried his face in his hands. "I'm not hearing this. I'm not hearing this."

"Oh, stop whinging," Snape said around a crunchy mouthful. "My plan worked perfectly. Potter will protect Draco with his little Gryffindor life and you'll be free to convey proper outrage at Draco's shocking 'betrayal'. Have you written the letter disowning the boy?"

Lucius reached into his robe and waved a sheaf of paper at Snape in annoyance.

"Go, Barbarianna! Pin! Pin! Pin!" the Potion's Master yelled.

"Will you pay attention?" Lucius demanded. "Is it absolutely necessary that I send the letter to Draco now?"

Snape sighed and set his bowl aside before Vanishing the mirror. "Yes, it is. Potter's protective instincts will kick in immediately and Draco will be safe. You know it's for the best for him to remain ignorant as long as possible. Did Narcissa go to France, as intended?"

"Yes, of course."

"Good. See that she stays there. Now here are the pictures of Rowle I promised you. Don't wank too much, you might go blind." Snape tossed a pile of photos on the table before striding to the door. Lucius stared at him angrily, but could not quite help shooting a covetous glance at the photos.

"You are evil," he said to the black-haired man. A pathetic comeback.

"So I've heard," Snape replied and departed.