Love Under Will

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Chapter Two: Deathjoy

The four hours between his jog and Potions class gave Malfoy an ample amount of time to ask himself repeatedly just what the fuck he thought he was doing. He kept coming back to that morning, trying to decipher what Harry’s eyes had been saying, what had made him seem so hesitant when he spoke. He had seemed more like the nervous, slightly awkward first-year Draco remembered and less like the stony, serious young man who had miraculously escaped death on four different occasions. Worse, Malfoy had noticed to his chagrin that Potter had jumped to protect him from the plant instead of just jumping on the broomstick and speeding away.

Well, Malfoy, didn’t you push him out of its way?

He was in my way, was all.

Right. And you sat there gazing into his eyes out of annoyance, is that it?

Fuck off.

It was shaping up to be a very long day.

Breakfast came and went. Malfoy said hardly a word to the Slytherin table. They were a lazy lot, and relatively few of them made it to breakfast on a regular basis anyway, so it wasn’t as though he was expected to make chit-chat. The Gryffindor table was full, alert, and loud. The Weasley twins had turned everyone’s orange juice into a grapefruit-tomato mix and left the color the same. In the midst of the laughter when poor, pathetic Bongbottom forgot and took a giant swallow, Malfoy heard That Granger Mudblood ask softly, "Harry, are you alright? You’ve been awfully quiet since you got back from the Quidditch field."

"He’s just trying to focus on the match against Slytherin, right Harry?"

"Right." Malfoy could see Harry evading Weasel’s glance without looking up from his waffles.

"But that match isn’t till Friday. You’ve got three whole days till then."

"Are you kidding, Herm? This is a match against Malfoy we’re talking about. If Harry wants to obsess over beating that dirty git, let him!"

"Ron, did you say you’d heard from Charlie?" Harry’s voice cut in sharply. Malfoy sat silently, wondering what was going through Potter’s head, why he had changed the subject—and why he possessed such an uncanny ability to zero in on Harry’s voice, even halfway across the room.

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Potions came. Draco walked with Crabbe and Goyle to class, wondering idly if he could get one of them to utter a sentence containing more than one clause. He saw the Holy Trinity ahead of him and steered to the left as Harry and Ron moved to their seats in the middle of the room. He ran his fingers through his hair and tossed his head as he walked past them, pointedly bumping Granger out of the way.

"Hey!" she said indignantly, before turning around and seeing him behind her. Goyle snickered. "Oh, am I in your way, is that it?" Granger sniffed contemptuously.

"You’re a Mudblood, aren’t you?" he retorted icily.

"She’s worth twenty of you, Malfoy," came the quiet response from behind her.

Draco turned slowly and locked eyes with Harry. He had taken his seat and was gazing up at Draco with a look that contained as much mystery as malice.

"Twenty of my servants, perhaps," Draco answered smoothly. He kept his gaze trained on Harry for an instant longer, then briefly flicked his eyes over Granger before settling into his own seat.

"Harry, why didn’t you bust that idiot one? Look at his shoulder, it’s not like he could have hit you back."

"I’ll beat him on the field in a day or two," was the soft reply.

"Oh. Right. I s’pose it wouldn’t be very sporting to beat up your archrival just before the game, even if it is Malfoy."

"Oh, honestly…"

Malfoy couldn’t hide a smirk.

Snape strode in then, his heavy breath leaving trails in the air behind his cape. He proceeded to the front of the class, checked for absences with a quick but thorough sweep of the room, and was about to speak when he noticed Draco’s arm.

Draco liked Snape, but sometimes his blatant favoritism bordered on embarrassing.

"Mr. Malfoy, your arm is better? Madam Pomfrey informed me you were wounded."

Yeah, and if you hadn’t stopped to chit-chat with Boy Wonder here, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Moron.

Snape cast a suspicious eye towards the Triumvirate, as though he suspected them of having plotted to cast Malfoy into harm’s way. "I trust there were no other mishaps?"

Malfoy gritted his teeth and tried not to squirm. It wasn’t like him to be self-conscious, and he wondered if it had anything to do with his earlier encounter with Harry.

It’s because you got a glimpse of his ass in his Quidditch sweats,

isn’t it?

I thought I told you to fuck off.

"It’s nothing. It’ll be alright by tomorrow," he shrugged nonchalantly.

Snape raised an eyebrow as if he doubted the accuracy of that prognostication, then turned to the rest of the class and began his rapid-fire lecture.

"For the remainder of this week’s class we will be focusing on a very important potion. It is called Diabolution, and it is one of the more powerful draughts known to wizardkind. Knowing how to use it can save you from a variety of illnesses—" he paused dramatically—"and failure to recognize it may end your life. We will start by examining the uses and ingredients of the Diabolution solution—"

Dean Thomas muttered, "We’ll have a Dalmatian plantation…"

The only one who laughed was Hermione, who had partnered with Parvati since Lavender was absent, but it was enough to cause Snape to look up and snap, "Talking without permission, Miss Granger—five points from Gryffindor." He pondered a bit, then continued, "And I think the circumstances of the potion call for slightly different pairings… You, Miss Granger, will partner Miss Parkinson. Mr. Longbottom, you will partner Mr. Goyle. You, Mr. Weasley, will join Mr. Crabbe, and you—" Snape’s eyes narrowed over the protests from both houses with spiteful delight—"Mr. Potter, you will help Mr. Malfoy. And see to it that his injury does not affect his potions, or points will be deducted."

Any other day Malfoy would have relished watching Potter be his personal slave for two hours, but today the thought unsettled him more than anything. "But I’m fine," he protested sotto voce, hoping only Snape would hear him.

"Yes, you are," whispered Blaise Zabini loudly from the back. Draco swallowed his embarrassment and eyed Harry, who was gazing at him again with that strange mixture of dislike and appraisal. If he heard the girl’s remark, he did not let it show.

Brushing past a disgruntled Weasley, Malfoy joined Harry. They cast the briefest of glances at one another before scooting apart on the bench and listening to Snape in stony silence. The air was cold and brisk. All over the room students could see their breath forming into crystals of vapor. Beside him, Malfoy could have sworn Harry’s breath quickened. (He wouldn’t have noticed had he not been focused on controlling his own.)

"Now," Snape continued briskly. "The Diabolution Solution potion has only one form. Around its most important ingredient, however, hinges the question of whether the solution will be used to harm or to heal. It contains three drops of blood from the maker of the potion. One drop for love, one drop for hate, one drop for Fate." Quills scribbled noisily all around. "Can anyone tell me what these three drops of otherwise innocuous human blood add to the potion?" Snape asked thickly.

Malfoy straightened, noticing Granger didn’t even bother raising her hand anymore. He waited for Snape’s predicted glance over at him and then ventured smoothly, "My guess is it would be a kind of…emotional component."

"Very good, Mr. Malfoy." Malfoy glanced at Harry, who cast him a quizzical look that very obviously asked how the hell Malfoy had known that. "The Diabolution Solution is incredibly dangerous. Why? Because if the potion’s maker should feel love for the drinker, the affects of the potion will serve to harm the recipient. The drinker will suffer immediate death."

Several students gasped.

"If, however, the maker of the potion feels hatred for the drinker, that person will find that the potion in fact makes the recipient immune to most kinds of spells and curses until its affects wear off."

"But…but who would want to make a potion like that?" Blaise Zabini asked. "Hurts your friends and helps your enemies?"

"Obviously, you would never dream of helping your enemies," muttered Harry under his breath. Malfoy cast him a sharp glance, but if Harry was thinking about that morning, he didn’t show it.

"Ah, Miss Zabini, that is an excellent point. Because the Diabolution Solution contains strong healing powers, it is not normally characterized as a Dark Arts weapon. However, it is notorious for ending lovers’ quarrels, affairs, unrequited love, and various other highly passionate disputes. The cases in which the potion is used as a beneficial medicine are rare indeed, but it is important to note that its effectiveness in making the user immune to most spells is absolute…"

Harry’s arm lay outstretched on the tabletop as he drew unconscious patterns with his index finger. Draco glanced over as he dipped his quill, noting how strong Harry’s hands looked, and then he realized that Harry, without knowing he was doing it, was tracing a ‘V’ into the woodwork repeatedly. Malfoy watched in fascination, wondering if even Harry knew how thoroughly the Dark Lord had affected him, until abruptly he felt Harry’s eyes upon him. He looked up at Harry, startled into fleeting embarrassment, and quickly turned away again towards Snape, who chose that moment to look down at him and ask, "Can anyone tell me what the common name is for the Diabolution Solution, based on its use in crimes of passion?—Mr. Malfoy, what would you propose?"

Draco blanched, as he had no idea what Snape had been saying.

He saw a tiny smile creep across the edges of Harry’s mouth.

"I propose that you ask Mr. Potter, sir," Draco answered with his most charming smile, "as I’m fairly certain he hasn’t been paying attention."

"Well, Potter?" Snape took a step to his left, immediately turning on Harry. "How shall you acquit yourself?"

Since the rest of the class was now focused on Harry, Draco took the opportunity to swing around in his seat and watch his rival, a bemused smile playing about his features. When Harry caught Draco’s expression, a pulse point in the Gryffindor’s throat flickered, and it was Draco’s turn to find himself breathing faster.

"I believe they call it the Deathjoy Serum, Professor."

Snape clicked his tongue once in disappointment. "Not bad, Mr. Potter," he said, and a couple of Gryffindors let out whoops of appreciation. "It seems partnering Mr. Malfoy may offer you a chance at increasing your skills of retention."

The Slytherins snickered. Malfoy did not. His eyes were still fixed on Harry, who looked away from Snape and returned Draco’s gaze wordlessly. Something about that gaze made Draco glad the professor had assigned him Potter after all.

Damn. Potter had unbelievable eyes.

Something had definitely changed.

That night, Draco Malfoy couldn’t sleep. When at last he did, he dreamed that he was flying next to Harry Potter. They were both wearing Quidditch robes, but neither of them were playing. They flew side by side, saying nothing, only occasionally looking at one another. Suddenly Harry’s broom began to writhe in his hand and it became a snake. He started to fall, and Draco dove after him, grabbing onto the snake, which then stretched itself into an incredibly long grapevine with six-inch razor-sharp thorns. The vine began to attack him. When Draco escaped and flew to the ground, Harry had vanished. Draco was still searching for him when the dawn came.

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