Potioneer potter

Ch9

Just before he left to go down to potions classroom 3 as per usual, Harry had received a letter from Snape, containing a list of potions that he was advised to practice as well as some chosen to challenge him. As he skimmed through the lists, he saw that most were 4th and 5th year OWL level potions but some of them, a select few, were 6th year NEWT level and it was noted that he could find the required book for these at the back of the classroom or the library. Harry folded up the piece of parchment and tucked it into the cover of his textbook, before picking up two coffees and heading out of the hall.

Malfoy turned around briefly at the sound of the door opening and gratefully accepted the warm cup. He seemed to be at a particularly difficult part of the potion, as he had the sleeves of his plain white, collarless top rolled up and his usually perfectly gelled back, silver hair had fallen into a more natural, although messy, off-centre parting that Harry thought suited him much better. Not that he thought about it often, of course.

"You know, you've seen my skills, I can help you brew the potion without messing it up, it is supposed to be a joint project."

"No, no, no, it's alright. Trust me, it's much easier with just one person, otherwise the rhythm goes all off." Malfoy ran his long pale fingers through his hair, looking very stressed.

"Well, if you say so. I'll be over here but call me if you need any ingredients to be prepared or anything, yeh?"

"Yeh," he responded absentmindedly, already preoccupied with tracing his index finger down the page that the textbook lay open on, checking that he hadn't missed any steps in the recipe.

Eventually, Malfoy reached the point where he could leave the potion to simmer and immediately collapsed onto the chair behind him, putting his feat on the workbench, legs outstretched to the side and crossed at the ankles. He allowed his head to fall back and his eyes to rest for a moment, blissfully unaware that he was now being surveyed from head to toe by an entranced Harry Potter.

Harry watched as Draco's chest rose and fell with the long steady breaths he took through his nose. At 6'1", he was fairly tall for their age, but it gave him long, slender legs that, today, were covered by a pair of dark green, almost black, trousers. As he inhaled the strong scent of Malfoy's specific aftershave, Harry realised that he had never seen him this relaxed and defenceless whilst in his presence before.

"Potter?" Malfoy gave a couple of exploratory sniffs into the air. "Why, in all of your golden boy glory, are you hand brewing your own expensive broom polish?" He opened his eyes and lifted his head to give Harry the necessary incredulous look.

"Am I? I thought I was brewing your stupid aftershave. I don't remember what it's called, it was just one of the easier 6th year potions that Snape thought I could make." Harry rummaged through several loose pieces of parchment in his bag before he found the recipe he had been following from a library book. "Here we go, it says its called ay-mot, a-mow, ah-more-ten-"

"Oh, sweet Merlin, please say you haven't just brewed amortentia."

"Yeh, that's it!" Harry grinned up at Malfoy. "Why, what does it do?"

As soon as he had said it, Malfoy had secured his blank, uninterested, mask, which Harry now knew to be fake, and had leapt up, seemingly eager to escape, and halfway to the door by the time he answered.

"Why don't you ask your should-be-ravenclaw friend, Hermione about it." After a pause he added quietly, "I'll understand if you don't want to return next Saturday," before he turned and left.

Feeling like he had just missed something huge, Harry took out his book and searched the contents.

Amortentia – page 12