Seven Steps || Drarry

Part 11

Three more days, Draco told himself as he trudged to his potions lab, dragging his hand along the wall. He had finished four; it was more than halfway through, at least until the next month. It should have been easy, considering how much practise he had, but the last couple days always seemed like a special sort of torture. Just about the only thing he looked forward to about going home at the end of the school year was sleeping until noon if he wanted to.

The door moved under his fingertips. Draco froze, anxiety creeping up his spine. He was sure he had closed it when he left the night before. He peered through the illusionary wall. The lights were on as well.

Potter pulled off the cover off the second cauldron and set it to the side, looking up when Draco stepped inside, "I'm pretty sure everything's ready, and I've washed my hands already," he held up his hands.

Draco stared at him then let out a resigned sigh.

Potter narrowed his eyes, "What?"

"Since we were eleven years old you've been nothing but a test of my patience," Draco said. He set his brewing case on the end of the table and used his freed hand to rub his temple.

Potter raised his hands in a wordless expression of pure exasperation.

Draco wanted to complain about Potter asking for time and, he had assumed, distance and yet here he was forcing Draco to exercise what little impulse control he had against the constant feeling in the back of his mind that he was running out of time. Unfortunately, he couldn't find a way to word it that wouldn't make him sound like a petulant child, and he had already heard enough from Potter on that particular subject for one day. He settled on, "I wasn't expecting you to be here."

"I shouldn't have skipped out yesterday. Hermione said I was overreacting," Potter said.

Draco raised an eyebrow and pulled open the drawers containing what they would need to brew, "Words of wisdom from the only person in your group with any," Draco said.

"Hey!"

"Did she give any other helpful advice?" Draco said, turning away and going to the sink to wash his hands.

"Not really," Potter said evasively.

Draco patted his hands dry and rolled his sleeves back down, buttoning the wrists and smoothing his hand unconsciously over his left forearm. When he came back to the table, Potter was slowly slicing the asphodel in a fair approximation of how Draco preferred it.

Draco sat on the other side of the table and selected a small clean piece of bone and the file rasp, "You don't have to keep coming. This isn't your obligation."

"You want me to leave?" Potter asked.

Draco narrowed his eyes, "That's not what I meant, as you well know."

Potter used the edge of his knife to push the sliced asphodel into one pile, "...I want to."

Draco knew he should take the statement at face value, but he couldn't stop himself from prodding at it, "You want to help because it's the right thing to do or because you want to help me?"

"Both," Potter said without hesitation. He took out the scales and leaned over the potion instructions, "How much asphodel for each potion?"

"Two and three-quarters of an ounce," Draco said without looking up. He shifted on his stool, his knee brushing against Potter's.

Potter twitched at the touch but didn't pull away. "Erm, wolfsbane uses powdered wolf bone, which can only be obtained from wolves that have died naturally, right? So how did you-?" he pointed at the piece in Draco's hand.