Knots In Our Heartstrings [Dramione]

Quiet

Draco stood glaring over the brim of his glasses. A thick sheen of steam had fogged up the lenses from where he stood over the bubbling cauldron, and with their pathetically compromised state, he was having trouble reading from his textbook.

He plucked them from his face furiously, and used the untucked hem of his shirt to rid them of the fog. No sooner than when he'd cemented them neatly back onto the bridge of his nose was his view completely obstructed by another layer of the thick fog.

Hoisting the book in frustration, he skimmed the next four lines of the instructions quickly before tossing it back to the kitchen table where it fell closed with a gentle thud.

Blaise snickered loudly into his palm, before attempting to quench his amusement with a large mouthful of tea.

"You better not be getting paid by the hour just to waste everybody's time with this nonsense," Draco found himself seething. "I haven't become illiterate, I still know how to read and follow instructions. If you wanted me to prove that to you, you could have just as easily given me a recipe for pumpkin soup."

"Didn't fancy pumpkin soup..." he drawled, tracing a finger along the wood grain of the table before snatching up a porcupine quill just as Draco began to reach for one. "And besides, I thought you'd appreciate me starting you off on something nice and easy to build your confidence."

"It's a recipe," Draco said. "Any idiot can follow a recipe."

"But it's more than a recipe, isn't it?" Blaise rolled the porcupine quill lazily between his fingers before flicking it back across the kitchen table.

Draco fumbled to catch it without skewering himself on the sharp end before tossing it into the pot.

"If I wanted you to follow a recipe I would have asked for soup. Perhaps a ribollita... Fancy making me some dinner when you're done with that?"

"Can't find anyone to make you soup in your own time?"

"Not good soup."

Draco bit his tongue and continued quietly making his potion, begrudgingly opening the textbook back up onto the page titled Cure for Boils – Properties, Effects, & Brewing Instructions.

"Finished," he grumbled quietly, noting off all the ingredients in his head.

"You sure about that?"

"Zabini–"

"Because right now what you have made is soup. A grotesque soup; but nonetheless it is absolutely soup and nothing but soup."

Blaise's lips curled up slightly as he pathetically attempted to hide a knowing grin.

His very first lesson and Draco was already at his witts end with his new tutor. His new tutor who although didn't degrade him at every available opportunity like he was sure all the other candidates would have, appeared to enjoy leading his lessons with an air of childlike curiosity and smugness.

"Now Draco," Blaise cooed, "Pray tell, what defines a potion – even a mighty shite potion – from a soup."

He felt his jaw set steadily to the side as his mouth hung open in annoyance, his tongue skimming the inside of his teeth before prodding gently at the freshly gnawed flesh on the side of his cheek.

"Magic." He said. So matter-of-factly that he may as well have been stating his own name.

"And have you used any magic, in the preparation of this soup?"

"No."

Blaise picked up his teacup taking a slow sip before gently swirling the liquid about with a gentle lilt of his wrist. He swung one foot up so it wanted neatly on the bench before him and plucked a book from within his robes, propping his elbow on the edge of the table as he began to read.