Citation Formatting & Other Love Languages

Draco challenged someone, anyone, to find a class more useless than Theoretical Potions.

In hindsight, he should not have saved this particular course for last on his list. The final hurdle in a several years-long endeavor to achieve his Mastery in Potions.

Because Theoretical Potions was dragon shite. They didn't even brew, just discussed various ways one could brew. Such endless possibilities, the Professor-Whose-Name-Draco-Could-Not-Recall insisted and then wasted his breath and Draco's time by pontificating on how and why various ingredient substitutions could affect a brew, and forcing the class to diligently take notes and calculate all the ways this might occur in the reality of a cauldron.

Dragon. Shite.

Draco spent many an evening wishing for an owl notifying him of a class cancellation because unfortunately this instructor had pontificated himself to death. Or drowned in a cauldron somehow. Theoretically. Of course.

But he was so close to his end goal; Draco crossed off another interminable class in his mental calendar. Just one more evening of suffering through a lecture, then a final evening of presentations, and then he'd be free.

Draco occupied his attention during this particular session by reliving a recent conversation. A stimulating, challenging academic discussion that only grew more impassioned as they consumed more champagne.

"Right, of course, but that's all in the standard recipe for the Elixir to Induce Euphoria. I'm saying you should try a different stirring method if you're swapping in crushed, dry leaves."

"You mean to say Hermione Granger is in favor of disregarding the exact instructions set out in a text? I never thought I'd see the day."

"There's nothing wrong with a bit of experimenting, I find it makes for a better potion-maker. I'm trying to be more open-minded these days. About more than just potions."

The shuffling of feet past his desk roused Draco from his stupor. He'd survived his last torturous lecture, praise Merlin. Theo waited for him by the door. At least the classes ended pleasantly enough: with a routine meet-up at the pub so they could whinge to Blaise over drinks.

"How's the paper coming?" Theo asked after they'd settled into their regular table.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "It's due in two weeks."

Theo shrugged and took a thoughtful sip of his first beer of the night. "I started mine two months ago. Think I've got it in good shape."

"Bit keen aren't you?"

"It's worth most of our grade."

"And? I'll pick my topic this weekend. Maybe."

"You seem far too unbothered about the length."

"Should I make a cock joke right now?"

"Forty pages is no easy feat, mate."

Draco paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. "I'm sorry, how many pages?"

"Forty."

"As in four-zero?"

"Correct."

"Fuck."

"I knew you hadn't read the syllabus."

"Forty pages, Theo. Forty."

"You're also my critical friend and you'll be looking over mine as well."