Clean

The Potionmaster

Chapter 13: The Potionmaster

The instant she walked into their classroom, before Draco could even open his mouth to speak to her – not that he'd actually planned to, since he was working diligently on shutting her out entirely – Granger tossed him a small glass container. Despite his surprise, he caught it securely in his right hand, raising it to the light to see its contents.

"Nice catch," she said offhandedly.

"I'm a seeker, Granger, give me some credit," he said, frowning as he realized he was once again engaging their usual banter. The container held some kind of thick white balm. "What is it?"

"It's sort of – a moisturizer," she said tentatively. "I added a few beauty charms – "

"What the fuck – Granger, did you give me makeup?" he exclaimed, wrinkling his nose. "I expected you to be pissed at me, but to pretend that I'm not still devastatingly handsome is just – "

"Ugh, Malfoy, just stop," she said, rolling her eyes. "Look, you have to do something about – "

She cut herself off, looking at him and sighing. "You look – you look really tired," she said wistfully, as though she regretted having to say it at all. "You look exhausted. I told you I'd get Harry off your back, but you have to do your part. If you keep wandering around with bloodshot eyes, he's not going to leave you alone."

He squinted at her, inspecting her face closely. She didn't look like she was being sarcastic. She looked sincere – almost sad for him.

"I can't help it," he mumbled defensively. "I don't – I can't sleep."

She tilted her head, her expression softening. "I know, Malfoy," she said quietly. "I'm – I just wanted to help. I told you I would help."

He shook his head. "I told you not to."

"Well," she sighed, shrugging. "If you want to come up against me in a battle of wills, you should expect to find yourself the loser."

"Like I keep telling you, Granger," he replied airily, "You really don't know me."

She put her hands on her hips, feigning irritation. "Just take the salve, would you?"

"Fine," he said, with equally feigned exasperation. "Thanks," he added quietly.

She ducked her head, blushing. "Yeah."

Maybe in a different world, in some other parallel universe, he could have told her what he really thought. He could have said I want to believe that this means I can trust you, that you would choose me, because I worry I can't do this alone, and maybe she would have softened and said I want to choose you, too, and maybe someday I could, but that would be a different world. Some other universe. Somewhere in the pages of someone else's story.

He coughed, clearing his throat. "So – did you bring the – "

"Yes, yes," she said hurriedly, her hands waving frantically as she remembered what they were both there for. She dug furiously into her bag, pulling out a small mahogany cabinet, littered with small vials.

"Is that legal?" he asked, pointing to her bag.

"What?" she asked, startled, nearly dropping the contents of the case. "Is what legal?"

"The bag," he clarified, raising his brows. "You charmed it to fit everything."

An opalescent flush spread furiously over her cheeks. "I – how would you even know that?"

"My father works – worked," he corrected himself, biting his lip quickly, "He worked for the ministry, Granger, I know an illegal spell when I see one," he snorted. "You used an extension charm, didn't you?"