The Amazing Illegal Wonder Potion

Chapter 9

Show Me Your Firebolt

Mama Atilla listened attentively as Sirius described what had happened.

"Do you have any idea what I might've done wrong?" he asked her when she'd stopped laughing.

"We-ell..." she replied, smothering a fresh burst of giggles. "Let me put it this way, dear. Are you sure your virgin's blood was, erm, genuine?"

"Of course I'm sure, I got it from a virgin! Or... well, I thought she... Oh bugger!"

His memory flicked back to the argument he had witnessed that morning. He had been so busy trying to slip the potion into Malfoy's bowl without anyone noticing, that he had not paid any attention to what it had been about. But now he remembered all too clearly the words "Lousy shag" stamped across Malfoy's forehead in zits.

He slapped his forehead in frustration. "I'm such an idiot!"

"Never mind, dear. Virgins are hard to come by in this day and age. You don't have to make the potion from scratch: just take another cupful and add a drop of real virgin's blood, and it should work. You'll have your boy, don't you worry about it!"

* * *

Draco had never been so angry in all his life. It had taken him a full hour to get away from Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys, who would say his name every time the spell lifted so that he was forced to dance and sing again and again and again. It would be a different song each time. Through the haze of rage and humiliation, Draco still wondered how he could manage such perfect renditions when in his normal state he didn't even know the words to these songs.

Not all the words, anyway.

Well, okay, maybe he did know most of the songs - all of them, really - but he sure as hell didn't know all the dance routines! Not that well...

Okay, so he'd practiced in front of the mirror, but that didn't mean he should be able to do them in front of an audience, did it?

Draco briefly wondered if a lilac ball gown would suit him better than the pink.

Then he glanced at his reflection in the mirror and almost punched a fist through it in frustration. "gahs ysuoL" glared at him out of the glass, the zits mocking him with their pus.

Draco needed an outlet. His thoughts strayed to Harry.

Draco did not find it at all embarrassing that he found Harry attractive. Shagging Harry Potter would be the ultimate conquest. It would prove once and for all that he, Draco Malfoy, was the lord of shag, the best damn lay in the school. After all, if even the innocent, incorruptible Harry Potter had succumbed to his wiles...

Then let anyone try calling him a lousy shag.

* * *

Harry was sweeping the floor in the drawing room, singing "Dancing Queen" under his breath. The tedious chore was greatly improved by the memory of Draco's performance. Harry wondered what curse Hermione had hit him with (and of course, it had to be Hermione, who else would come up with such a brilliant curse?)

Although, Harry had to admit, Ginny's cursing ability was now almost as great as Hermione's. Her Bat-Bogey hex was spectacular. And oh, the way those brown eyes flashed beneath that fiery hair when she was angry...

Harry realised he was getting sweaty. Sweeping the floor really was heavy work.

But why would Ginny be cursing Malfoy?

In Harry's mind, the words "Lousy shag" flashed on Draco's forehead.

"Ginny wouldn't do that," he said aloud to reassure himself. It was hard enough to believe that Hermione would, but Harry could almost live with that (if only it hadn't been Malfoy). Ginny, on the other hand...

Unless, of course, she'd done it to avenge a friend?

Now Harry smiled. Of course, that's what must've happened: Malfoy had hurt Hermione (probably forced himself on her, the slimy git), and Ginny, indignant on her friend's behalf, had cursed him. The zits had to be Hermione's idea, but "Dancing Queen" must have been Ginny's.

Harry thought of the way she tossed her long red hair when she was frustrated with something - and of the way she handled her wand when she was doing magic...

It really is hot in here. Maybe I should take my shirt off. No one would come in here: and he'd get the job done faster if he wasn't sweating so much.

He was so busy thinking about Ginny, that he didn't even notice Draco until the latter drawled, "Nice abs, Potter."

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. He dropped the broom and whirled around to face Draco.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" he snarled, a little more aggressively than he normally would have, even to Draco.

Draco smiled a slow, wicked smile. "I wanna see your Firebolt, Potter."

"What? So you can sabotage it?"

Suddenly Draco was standing in front of him, his nose inches away from Harry's. "Oh I'll sabotage it, all right..."

Harry began to back away. This was getting a little too strange. "I'm warning you, Malfoy," he said in what was meant to be a threatening voice, but was actually quite a bit higher than usual.

"What are you gonna do to me, Potter?" sneered Draco. "Sweep me to death?"

"No," said Harry in a flash of inspiration. "I'll call you Dra..."

Draco pushed him violently into the drawing room wall. "Don't you dare, Potter!!!" he hissed.

He was pressing up against Harry now, pinning his wrists to the wall. But he leaned his face in closer still, so their noses touched. "Kiss me, Potter."

Harry stared at him in horror. "I'd rather kiss a Dementor!"

Draco loosened his grip, but didn't back away. "It'd be a waste, Potter. You wouldn't make a very good lawyer." He leaned closer again. "Come on. You know you want me."

And he kissed Harry on the lips.

Harry tried to push him away, but Draco's grip was like a binding hex. In desperation, Harry jerked his head violently away from Draco's open mouth and screamed "Draco!!!"

In a flash, Draco had released Harry and rushed over to the broom, which was lying on the floor. He picked it up and held it like a microphone. He brushed the hair from his eyes, wiggled his hips and...

"Just take those old records off the shelf

I'll sit and listen to them by myself

Today's music ain't got the same soul

I like that old time Rock'n'Roll..."

Harry didn't stay to watch this performance. Without even bothering to pick up his shirt, he turned and bolted for the stairs.