Author's Notes: Thank you to aigooism, kristan1, emerald_dragon8 and sff_reader for betaing! Despite the title, this fic has no actual necrophilia. I've been watching quite a bit of The Princess Bride lately as well as reading Terry Pratchett and Red Dwarf. The "inconceivable" reference comes from The Princess Bride. I'm fairly sure I haven't taken any specific references from the other two. *g* Written for dracobigbang.

Draco stared at the hole he had just created in the wall. His foot still throbbed. He wished that the wall hurt as much as his foot, but he suspected that this wasn't the case. It was a Muggle wall and they tended to be rather stoic.

"I expect you to fix that," Pansy told him, frowning. "Stop kicking holes in my walls. My neighbours are Muggles. They'll think that you're abusing me."

Gritting his teeth, Draco waved his wand and the hole disappeared. "Third rejection in a week," he fumed. "This one was for a charms position that even a trained monkey could do. I got an Outstanding in my NEWTs. What do they want from me?"

"The right politics," Pansy said calmly.

Draco snorted. "I don't believe Muggle-borns are any less intelligent or worthy compared to us." He looked around the neat little apartment. "How can you stand living here though? It's so... Muggle."

Pansy shrugged. "It's either this or I'd be in the same job situation as you, or worse." Her lips curled up in a wry grin. "Turns out I'm quite a good journalist. Who'd have known? The Muggle world isn't as boring as you think, Draco."

Draco was positive that he wouldn't be interested in Pansy's articles. The Muggle world probably was only interesting to Muggles because they didn't have anything better to read. "You have money, you know," he pointed out. They'd had this argument numerous times before. Pansy still had a significant portion of her family's fortune. It had been put aside for her in a trust fund that the Ministry couldn't touch.

"I need to do this, Draco," she snapped. "I really do. Muggles aren't that bad. Some of them are even my friends!"

He shook his head. "You've changed." It was true. The Pansy Parkinson he knew back at Hogwarts would have never said that. She had always been more open-minded than the other Slytherins but she was never that open-minded. Idly, Draco wondered if she had a couple of half-bloods in her family. Perhaps that was why she was so different. Or perhaps it was because of the war; it had changed everybody. Plus, it had been five years. Almost everybody he used to be friends with had changed, or they were in Azkaban. Draco stood up and smoothed down his robes.

"You're going so soon?" she asked.

Draco shrugged. "I need to go home and rethink my job application strategy," he said. "You might want to make an appearance outside your apartment sometime just so your neighbours know you're still alive."

Pansy rolled her eyes and punched him lightly on the arm. "You're ridiculous. We're still on for dinner tomorrow night, right?"

He nodded. "My turn to choose, though."

She held the door open for him. "I take it I should air out my robes then?"

"I would if I were you," Draco said, with a grin. While he didn't really mind Muggle food so much, there was something disconcerting about being in a crowd of people who didn't know magic existed. How could they be so oblivious? Plus, he didn't really like wearing trousers. They tended to chafe.

He stepped out into the corridor. "See you tomorrow!" Pansy called as she closed the door behind him.

As Draco neared his front door, he could see a man standing there. In the dim light, he could barely make out any features but he could tell that the man was wearing robes. His hand crept to his back pocket where he kept his wand. There were plenty of people who would want him dead and he had no desire to satisfy any of their dreams. Many of his father's old compatriots thought that Draco had sold them out, especially when he'd moved out of Malfoy Manor, citing a desire to distance himself from the Malfoy name. Not that it had helped, Draco thought ruefully as he crept closer to his own door. Most of his father's assets had been seized by the Ministry when his parents had been arrested, and the pittance he was given every month was barely enough for his tiny one bedroom apartment in Hogsmeade. He needed a job soon, just to make ends meet. He'd had a few jobs over the past few years, but none of them had been on-going. He'd spent most of his time over the last few years brewing potions that he then sold under an alias. It didn't bring in enough money – he needed to be attached to a reputable brewing company for that – but it helped. Plus, it kept him busy.

Draco swore inwardly as he accidentally stepped on the squeaky floorboard near his door. The man in front of his door spun around. "Who are you?" Draco asked warily, not hiding the fact that he was gripping his wand tightly.

The man didn't answer but simply stepped forward. The floating candle in the hallway illuminated his face.

Draco stepped backwards in shock. "Potter!" he exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here?" He hadn't seen the other man for years, ever since they had both left Hogwarts, in fact. And Potter had tended to lurk suspiciously back then as well.

"Hello, Malfoy," Potter said, stepping forward. He held out his hand.

Warily, Draco shook it. "Why are you here?" he asked bluntly.

"I have a business proposition for you," Potter told him. "However, it is best discussed somewhere more secure."

Draco stared at him. "Sod off, Potter," he said finally, placing his wand back in his pocket. "I'm not interested."

To his surprise, Potter moved to block his way into his apartment. "You haven't even heard what I have to offer."

Draco snorted. The way Potter was talking, it sounded as though he was about to propose some sort of sordid sexual liaison. "I'm not interested," he repeated flatly. "I heard that you're quite successful. I'm sure you could find somebody better than a former Death Eater's son."

"Self-deprecation doesn't become you," Potter retorted. "Look, I heard that you were having trouble looking for a job and I was looking for somebody who was good at potions."

"Why don't you get Granger to help you?" Draco asked. Despite himself, he was intrigued. As far as he knew, Potter was working as an Auror. They had their own Potions Division with more than enough Potions Masters. Whatever Potter was trying, it was undoubtedly a private venture if he didn't employ the resources of the Auror Department.

"Hermione wouldn't be as much of an asset to this project as you would," Potter said.

Draco snorted. Apparently, Potter was trying to be all mysterious. It was working better than Draco liked to admit. And Potter was obviously trying to pander to his ego. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Potter," he pointed out. "As much as it galls me to admit it, my skills and Granger's skills are on par when it comes to potions."

Potter stepped closer; Draco could smell the mint on his breath. "But only you have the notebooks that Severus Snape left to you."

Draco couldn't help but feel a little bit let down. So that was why Potter was here. Since he had received those damned notebooks, Draco had got a multitude of offers from a surprisingly huge range of sources of people wanting to buy them. He just never expected Potter to be one of those opportunists. Snape had invented many potions during his lifetime, and the secrets were rumoured to be in his notebooks. Draco hadn't touched them since Snape died. When the notebooks were bequeathed to him, they'd come with a scrawled note asking Draco to not look through them. Draco had figured he owed Snape that much. "You can't have them," he said flatly. He had no idea why Snape had left him the notebooks but he was going to look after them. Even if they were completely boring.

Potter smiled mysteriously. "I think you'll change your mind once you realise my intentions."

"I don't think so," Draco said. He'd been offered ridiculous amounts of Galleons for these notebooks before. He hesitated. "How much would you be willing to offer?"

"Nothing."

"I don't think so," Draco repeated, more firmly this time. If he hadn't been willing to sell the notebooks for a thousand Galleons, he most certainly wasn't going to give them to Harry Potter for free. He dug around in his pocket for his keys.

"Aren't you even the least bit curious as to what my proposition is?" Potter asked.

Draco paused, his hand halfway to the doorknob. He was definitely curious. There was a sly note in Potter's voice and the man seemed far more cunning than what he remembered. In any case, what would be the harm of letting Potter into his apartment? Surely it couldn't end up in disaster. He turned the key in the doorknob. "Come in then," he said.

Draco stared. He blinked a few times and stared some more. "I'm sorry," he said. "I mustn't have heard you correctly because I could have sworn that you said you wanted to dabble in necrophilia."

Potter pursed his lips. Draco couldn't help but think that action looked rather unpleasant on him. It made him look remarkably like a goldfish. More specifically, it made him look like Mr Bubbles, a puffy-faced goldfish that Draco had for one summer when he was a child. "Necromancy," Potter said, sounding annoyed. "I need Snape's notebooks for a project in necromancy."

"Oh, that makes it so much better," Draco said sarcastically. "You're an Auror, Potter. Haven't you checked the rulebooks lately? It's banned for a good reason." He narrowed his eyes. It didn't seem as though Potter was quite getting the urgency, so he added, "A damn good reason!"

"I would have thought you of all people would've wanted to help me," Potter said.

Draco snorted. "I would have thought that Harry Potter of all people would obey the laws of the wizarding world, but I suppose old habits die hard." He could see Potter grit his teeth. "There are spells to stop that, you know," he remarked.

"I'm trying to resurrect Snape," Potter burst out. There was an almost maniacal look on his face that made Draco feel rather uncomfortable.

"Why?" Draco asked bluntly.

"I'm surprised that you of all people have to ask that," Potter snapped. "He deserves it."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "There has to be more to it than that," he said suspiciously. He didn't know Potter well, but he didn't think that the other man would risk his entire career in the wizarding world on a simple whim. "What aren't you telling me, Potter?"

Potter hesitated before pulling out a note from one of his inner robe pockets. "I received this letter from Albus Dumbledore last week."

Draco stared. He didn't think he would have been more surprised if Potter had grown five heads and started singing the pom-pom polka.

"It was in storage," Potter added. "Dumbledore said in his letter that Snape was working on a resurrection potion and that it could be of benefit to me."

"And you assumed that this meant that you ought to come and recruit me on his highly illegal mission to resurrect a man who you've always proclaimed to hate?" Draco summarised.

Potter looked flustered. "Well, yes."

"You're a dolt, Potter," Draco pointed out. He pointed towards the door to his apartment. "You can leave now."

Potter stood up. "Did I mention that I'm willing to pay you for this job?" He held up a hand as Draco was about to speak. "I don't plan on buying the notebooks off you. I know how much they mean to you, but I plan on paying for your services."

It still sounded rather sordid to Draco, but then again, Pansy had always told him that his mind resided mainly in the gutter. "It's still illegal, Potter," he said with a sigh. "Please close the door when you leave. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy you dropping by unannounced after so many years, but please don't ever do it again."

Potter walked over to the door, opened it and paused. "I predict that we'll end up working together," he said.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "When did you become Trelawney, Potter?" He kept on staring at Potter until he left.

"This place looks ancient!" Pansy exclaimed as she looked around Diagon Alley.

"Your robes are ancient," Draco countered, with a sniff. She punched him in the arm. "Did you buy them five years ago?"

"Six," Pansy admitted. "But I have a whole cupboard full of Muggle suits at home. They're all quite up-to-date and fashionable. You know, my job does involve Muggles."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't remind me." He looked over her and raised an eyebrow. "You do have your wand with you, don't you?"

"I'm not an idiot," Pansy snapped at him. "I always carry my wand."

"How on earth do you explain it to the Muggles?"

To Draco's surprise, Pansy waved her purse in his face. "It's pretty easy to put a wand in one of these," she pointed out.

"Not particularly effective if you're attacked by a witch or wizard though," Draco said with a frown. "You need to be able to draw out your wand quickly."

She poked him in the ribs. "Stop it," she ordered. "You're even grouchier than usual today. What's the matter?"

Draco hesitated. He wasn't sure whether he ought to tell Pansy about Potter's offer. On one hand, he definitely wasn't going to be taking it, but on the other hand, he didn't want to get the stupid git into trouble for dabbling in necromancy. Then again, Pansy barely associated with any witches or wizards nowadays, so it was unlikely she'd tell anybody. "Nothing," he said finally. "Nothing's the matter."

Pansy looked disbelieving but she didn't say anything.

Draco was glad. That was one of the things he liked about Pansy. She didn't push an issue when it was obvious he didn't want to discuss it. Except, well, in this instance, he did actually want to discuss it. "Potter's offered me a job," he muttered.

Pansy stared at him. "Say that again?"

"Potter offered me a job," Draco repeated.

"Well," Pansy said, sounding cautious, "that's good, isn't it? A job's better than no job."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You've been in the Muggle world too long."

She poked him. "So? What's this job? What does the almighty Harry Potter want you to do for him?"

"He wants Snape's notebooks," Draco said bluntly.

Pansy raised an eyebrow as they strolled along towards the eateries that lined Diagon Alley. "I thought you said you'd never sell them," she pointed out. "You said you'd rather eat your wand, and since you've still got it, I'm guessing you rejected Potter's offer?"

"He didn't want to buy them," Draco said in a low voice. Pansy leaned forward with an interested expression on her face. "He wanted to use a potion in the notebooks to resurrect Snape and he wanted me to help him."

Pansy whistled. "Who would have thought? Necromancy!"

Draco looked around but fortunately nobody seemed to have heard. "Shh!" he hissed.

"You aren't planning to actually go along with this crazy scheme?" Pansy demanded. "Please don't tell me you're actually thinking about it?"

Draco hesitated, biting his lower lip.

"Oh crap," Pansy said. "You are."

Damn it, Draco thought. She really did know him too well. He spied a narrow alleyway on their right and dragged her into it. A few steps and almost immediately, the noise and smells of Diagon Alley died down. "I'm not thinking of taking the job," he insisted.

"Uh huh," Pansy said, looking skeptical. She looked around and wrinkled her nose. "Why'd you drag me here anyway?"

"We're not having a discussion about necromancy in the middle of Diagon Alley," Draco said practically. He had no desire to be dragged away by overly zealous Aurors.

"If we'd gone to the Muggle world for lunch, then we could have talked about it over a nice meal and wine," Pansy suggested.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Stop that smirk," he told her.

Pansy simply grinned at him. "Look," she said. "Why don't you just turn him into the Aurors and be done with it? It's illegal and there's a good reason for it. It's not like he's planning a prank or anything. Necromancy's dangerous."

What she said made sense. Draco knew that it was the right thing to do, yet ever since Potter had dropped in for his unexpected visit, he'd been thinking about what Potter said. Snape deserved better than he had got. He deserved to be alive with an Order of Merlin First Class or whatever other accolade he wanted. Of course, knowing Snape, he probably would just scowl and slink off to his dungeon, but he deserved that as well.

"I know that look," Pansy said slowly. "Don't be an idiot."

"What look?" Draco said irritably.

"That look you have on your face right now," Pansy said. "It's the look you have whenever you're going to do something stupid."

Draco glared at her. "I have never done anything stupid in my life."

Pansy raised an eyebrow.

"Well okay," Draco conceded, "there was that one time."

She gave him a pointed look.

"And the other time in your mother's rose gardens," Draco said, with a sigh. "But bringing back Snape isn't stupid. Well, it isn't that stupid. Potter claims that Snape was working on some form of resurrection potion or spell. Surely, Snape would have thought to counteract the normal problems when necromancy is involved."

"I suppose," Pansy conceded grudgingly. "But it's still illegal."

"When's that ever stopped you?" Draco pointed out.

Pansy rolled her eyes and grabbed him by the arm. "Come on, let's get some food. I'm hungry. I can tell you've made up your mind already."

To Draco's surprise, Potter turned up at his doorstep again that night. "What are you doing here, Potter?" he asked grumpily as he opened his door.

"I was wondering if you had changed your mind?" Potter said simply.

"Ah." Draco wondered if Potter had suddenly developed Divination powers. This was just too much of a coincidence. Unless... perhaps Potter was planning to turn up at his doorstep every night for the foreseeable future. Idly, Draco entertained that notion as he took off his cloak and hung it up beside the door.

"So?" Potter said, looking at him expectantly.

"You can come in," Draco said. "Wipe your feet though. You tracked mud on my carpet last time." He sat down on his couch and watched with amusement as Potter frowned as he wiped his feet.

"As much as I appreciate being invited in again," Potter told him, as he closed the front door, "what I really wanted to know was whether you had thought about my offer."

"Were you planning on stalking me until I accepted?" Draco inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course not!" Potter said sounding indignant. He tilted his head and regarded Draco through his eyelashes. "Would it help?"

"Possibly," Draco admitted. "Fortunately for you though, I have decided to be generous and help you out."

Potter blinked rapidly.

"I fully expect to be well recompensed for my services," Draco said briskly. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted choosing that particular combination of words, but that wasn't to be helped.

"Of course," Potter told him. "How would you like your payment? Galleons or pounds?"

"Galleons, of course," Draco said, wrinkling his nose. "Why would I take pounds?"

"I am well aware of your friendship with Pansy Parkinson. She's quite the journalist. Hermione says that she rivals Rita Skeeter in the Muggle world," Potter said, a slight smile crossing his face. "I thought that you might want pounds for when you visit her."

Draco was alarmed. "No, it's nothing like that," he said quickly. "We've been friends since childhood. We're not..." He stopped. Why was he explaining himself to Potter of all people? "I'd prefer Galleons, thank you," he said.

"Very well," Potter said. He then named a price that made Draco's eyes widen. "I am well aware of the dangerous nature of necromancy," Potter informed him. "However, this is necessary."

"You know that Snape won't exactly come back to life and thank you on bended knee," Draco commented as he watched Potter write out a wizarding cheque for the first week. "He's probably going to just glare at you and stomp off to his dungeons."

To his surprise, Potter flushed a deep shade of red and there was a flash of defensiveness in his eyes. "I know that," he said stiffly. "But we owe it to him."

Draco raised an eyebrow. If he didn't know better, he would have thought that Harry Potter had a small crush on Snape. Maybe this would turn out to be some sort of necrophilia fantasy after all. Especially if the necromancy didn't end up working, he reflected. "Well, as long as you know," he said.

"Dumbledore would have wanted me to do it," Potter said. "I know he would."

Draco had to concede that point. It was quite likely that the crazy old coot would have wanted Potter to dabble in necrophilia just to bring Snape back. Dumbledore probably would have thought of it as a character-building exercise or something like that. "I'd like to see that letter he sent."

"I'll bring it around tomorrow," Potter told him.

"Tomorrow?" Draco repeated.

"We're going to get started straight away," Potter said.

Oh goody.

Draco blinked and re-read the letter. Dumbledore had practically ordered Potter to come and meddle in his affairs and get him to help Potter resurrect Snape. It was almost spelt out in black and white, or rather, blue and pink. He wondered if white parchment had run out when Dumbledore was composing his letter. Also, was the paper scented? Draco sniffed. It was. Violets. "Subtle, wasn't he?" he muttered as he put the letter down on his coffee table.

Potter shrugged. "I don't know what you mean."

Draco wondered if he was being deliberately thick or whether it was merely accidental. Either way, it annoyed him. "Never mind," he said with a sigh. "I'll go get Snape's notebooks." As he stood up, he wondered if he ought to be leaving Potter alone in his living room. Draco decided that he could. He walked over to his bedroom, drew out his wand and concentrated on bringing down the wards around the cabinet. He then reached into his pocket and used the key to unlock it. He pulled them out and walked back out to the living room.

He could see Potter looking around the room inquisitively. Potter's eyes seemed to linger on the photo of him and Pansy on the mantel. Draco could tell that Potter wanted to ask whether he was in a relationship with Pansy. He coughed slightly and was amused when Potter turned red.

"Here you go," Draco said as he sat down. He handed the notebooks over. He frowned slightly as he watched Potter flip through them rapidly. He had gone through the notebooks the previous night and found nothing.

"I expect you've been through these already," Potter said conversationally as he turned the pages.

Draco's eyes narrowed.

"I also expect you're wondering how I know that."

"Perhaps," Draco said cautiously. He itched to wipe that slight smirk off Potter's face. It didn't suit Potter at all. It was far too much of a self-satisfied smirk to fit that usually open face.

"Ah ha!" Potter said as he jabbed a finger at one of the blank pages.

Draco raised an eyebrow. Had he gone crazy? After the war, Draco had expected Potter to break down. Was it finally happening? Pansy had mentioned something about some sort of Muggle trauma illness that happened after violent situations. Perhaps Potter had that. Draco's lips twitched. If Potter did, then he couldn't wait to tell The Daily Prophet about it.

"It's written in Parseltongue," Potter said irritably. "Invisible Parseltongue." He flipped the page over to show Draco several more blank pages.

"Well, of course," Draco said sarcastically. "Why didn't I think of that? Invisible Parseltongue. It's obviously the logical conclusion to come to when faced with an empty page."

"It is when the rest of the book is full," Potter pointed out.

"But the pages are at the end of the book," Draco told him. "Your logic fails."

Potter made a dismissive waving motion. "It doesn't matter. This is written in Parseltongue." He held up the notebook and showed the blank pages to Draco.

"I still can't see anything," Draco said with annoyance. Was Potter usually this slow? "I don't suppose it has handy translating instructions in invisible Parseltongue as well?"

Potter frowned as he peered into the notebook. After a few seconds, his face brightened. "As a matter of fact, it does!" he declared.

Draco wondered how on earth Snape was able to write in Parseltongue; knowing Snape it was probably from some obscure potion he'd concocted. And not just regular Parseltongue. Invisible Parseltongue. Draco hadn't even known there was a difference but he didn't want to admit that to Potter. His father had always told him to show no weakness. Then again, his father had also said that Voldemort was going to win and that long hair was fashionable, so Draco wasn't really that attached to his father's sayings.

Potter drew his wand out and mumbled something that had a lot of hissing and syllables with the letter 's' in them. As Draco watched, letters and numbers appeared on the blank pages. "See?" Potter said triumphantly.

"Well, it's not invisible anymore," Draco said grudgingly. "Unfortunately, I still can't read Parseltongue. The little snakes are pretty though."

"This isn't English?" Potter said as he lifted up the notebook. He had a frown on his face.

"All I see are rows upon rows of snakes in various positions," Draco told him. He could have sworn that a couple of those snakes were copulating. He hoped that didn't mean that the potion required some form of sex magic. He didn't think he could cope with that if it involved Potter. Especially if it involved Potter. The very idea made him nauseated.

Potter frowned. "Well, this isn't very helpful," he declared.

Draco resisted the urge to bang his head on the coffee table, except he didn't particularly want a head-shaped crater in his expensive table. "Perhaps there are additional instructions?" he suggested through gritted teeth.

Potter flipped some pages. "Ah ha!"

Draco hoped that the exclamation was due to some sort of concise instructions for translating squiggly snakes into readable English. At the back of his mind, he wondered whether he was simply a bit jealous of Potter's ability to read and speak Parseltongue, but Draco quashed that thought. He had no reason to be jealous of Potter. Except, maybe of Potter's exceedingly better job prospects compared to him, he conceded inwardly. He definitely wasn't jealous of Potter's physical appearance anyway. Draco couldn't figure out why the ladies of the wizarding world seemed to fawn over Potter's abominable hair.

Waving his wand over the notebook, Potter made a hissing noise. As Draco watched, he could see the little snakes turn into English words. He was mildly surprised when the copulating pair of snakes turned into a rather innocuous word. "It's English now," Potter said. "Right?"

Draco considered lying but decided it wasn't worth the effort. "It's English," he confirmed, pulling the notebook towards him.

"So?" Potter demanded, about half an hour later. Draco had spent the entire half hour holding up a hand whenever Potter had tried to speak to him. "Have you finished reading it yet?"

"Potter," Draco said slowly, trying his best to be patient, "unless it's slipped your mind, this is an incredibly complicated potion, and I'm currently in the process of trying to figure out whether it is in any way physically feasible to create."

There was a brief pause. "Is it?"

Draco rolled his eyes. Potter apparently had no ability to keep his mouth shut. "I believe so," he said cautiously. "I won't know until I investigate some of these ingredients, but at first glance, it seems do-able."

"Good, we'll begin tonight," Potter announced.

Draco stared at him with his best 'are you crazy?' expression. "That's impossible," he said, pointing down at the notebook. "Look at this bit. The flowers need to be picked during the full moon. And the entire potion takes about a month to make and then the final steps also need to be taken during the full moon. That means we need at least two months, possibly more."

Potter frowned. "Isn't there some sort of short-cut?"

"Why, of course," Draco said. "Look! How could I have missed it! It says that you could go through all the effort of making the potion properly or you could just buy an equally effective version off the shelf and pour that into Snape's rotting skeleton." He rolled his eyes. "Of course, there isn't a short-cut! No wonder you were so awful at Potions when we were at school."

Potter looked annoyed. "A simple 'no' would have been fine."

"No," Draco said flatly.

He wasn't surprised when Potter looked even more annoyed. "I would like this potion to be made as quickly as possible."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Any particular reason? He's been dead for the past five years. It's unlikely an extra half year will make a difference."

Potter made a grumpy face that would have been more appropriate on a three year old. "I hired you for this, remember?" he snapped. "I expect that we'll get started right away."

Draco shrugged. It really wasn't as though he had anything better to do with his time. Resume dropping was getting old. In fact, it was getting old the first time he did it. Malfoys simply didn't go around dropping resumes around at random institutions. It was embarrassing. No, it was mortifying. If his grandfather was still alive, he would have been horrified.

"I have a lab set up," Potter continued. "We can go there today."

"After we get some of these ingredients," Draco said, looking more closely at the list. "Some of them are pretty rare, but I have contacts in Diagon Alley." Some of these contacts were less than reliable but Potter didn't need to know that titbit. He also didn't need to know that other contacts were former Death Eaters who had yet to be brought before the Wizengamot. There was such a thing as honour among Death Eaters, after all.

Potter gave him a brief smile. "I knew that I made the right choice in hiring you."

"You didn't have a choice," Draco muttered. "It wasn't as though there was a line of people at your door wanting to sell you Snape's secret notebooks."

Potter looked miffed.

Draco quite enjoyed the look on Potter's face as they walked into his favourite apothecary. Dead rats brushed the top of Potter's head and he jumped. "This is the only place we can get the ingredients," Draco reminded him.

Potter pursed his lips. "Hurry up."

After half a minute, the dangly curtain that separated the back of the store from the merchandise moved and a squinty-eyed little man stepped out.

"Ah, Perkins!" Draco exclaimed. "How are you today?"

Perkins scowled unpleasantly. "Same as always, young Malfoy." He squinted upwards at Potter and there was a flash of recognition in his eyes. "This must be the renowned Harry Potter. This is mighty strange company you're keeping nowadays."

Draco coughed. "We're here to buy a couple of potions ingredients," he said. "Some very rare ingredients."

Perkins' eyes lit up like Galleons. It was obvious the man could smell a sale when he saw one. "Well, you've come to the right place," he said unctuously. "I have the market cornered on rare potions ingredients." He leered unpleasantly at them.

Draco shuddered inwardly but maintained a calm expression. "Then you should be able to help me with this," he said smoothly, sliding a piece of parchment across the counter. "I trust you will be discreet."

Perkins gave him a smile that showed all of his yellow teeth and rotting gums. "Of course, Mr Malfoy, I am always discreet." He turned his head to look at Potter and then tilted it to one side. Draco shook his head. "I have most of these in the back, but you'll have to come back for this one next week." His finger jabbed at the parchment, leaving a faint stain. He then turned around and walked into the back of the shop.

With a wince, Draco picked up the parchment and dropped it in a pocket. He made a mental note to wash that pocket out thoroughly.

"What was that about?" Potter asked, sounding suspicious.

"He wanted to know if you were trustworthy," Draco said mildly. "I told him you were."

Potter stared at him. "I meant the bit about being discreet."

"Oh, that," Draco said. "Well, some of these ingredients are controlled by the Ministry. People might ask questions if we just walked into a normal apothecary asking for them. That's why we're here." He wrinkled his nose at the layers of dust lying on everything. There was no excuse. They weren't Muggles. Nobody had to resort to using their hands to clean things. Perkins could have just used a spell to clean up his shop, but obviously he preferred to wallow around in the dirt.

"You mean they're illegal?" Potter looked horrified.

Draco shook his head. "No, just controlled. Highly controlled. I doubt that even if you walked into a shop asking for these that you'd be able to get out without at least a few raised eyebrows. Don't worry though, Perkins will be able to get them for us."

Potter didn't look mollified. He just stared around the shop with a look of distaste on his face. With amusement, Draco realised that he probably did care about the whole highly controlled factor.

A few minutes later, Perkins emerged clutching a plastic bag in one of his claw like hands. "All the ingredients, except the venomous nightflower, are in here. I should have stocks of the nightflower after the next full moon." He gave a sharp toothy smile. "That'll be a hundred galleons, including the nightflower."

From the look on Potter's face, Draco could tell that he hadn't expected the ingredients to be that expensive. It was obvious that Potter had never dealt with restricted or banned potions ingredients. They were always expensive, especially when procured through less-than-legal means. "Here you go," Draco said, handing across a small bag of Galleons that Potter had given him. He wasn't surprised when Perkins immediately opened the bag and began rifling through it. That man had no class.

"This seems to be in order," Perkins told him.

"Of course it is," Draco said icily. "You aren't presuming to imply that I would try to short-change you?"

There was a flicker of fear in Perkins' eyes that almost made Draco grin. It was obvious that the Malfoy name still commanded respect in some areas. "Of course not, Mr Malfoy."

"Good," Draco said. He reached forward and grabbed the plastic bag from Perkins. Without bothering to check the ingredients, he spun around and marched out of the shop. Perkins wouldn't dare give him incorrect ingredients and if he did, well, then it would be his funeral. As Draco stepped back into Diagon Alley, he could hear Potter's footsteps behind him.

"What was that all about?" Potter asked.

"Perkins is a rat," Draco said shortly. "There's only one way you deal with rats and that's through fear."

With a steady hand, Draco wiped sweat off his forehead. Potions brewing could be very difficult and dangerous. Hot liquids tended to spit out at you, and cauldrons had a terrible tendency of exploding at the wrong time. All in all, it wasn't an occupation for the faint of heart. In fact, as Draco continued to brew, he suspected that it wasn't an occupation for anybody who wasn't very masochistic. Snape probably had a yearly subscription to the Masochism Club. Most of the potions he'd sold in the last few years were simple ones that weren't likely to turn acidic and burn a hole through his floor.

"How's it coming along?" Potter asked.

Draco was startled but tried to not let it show. "Do you have to sneak up like that?" he demanded. "It's impolite."

"I wasn't sneaking," Potter protested.

"Make more noise," Draco grumbled. "Maybe we should put a collar on you. And then put a tinkly bell on the collar."

"I'm not a cat, Malfoy," Potter said wearily.

Draco suspected that Potter was getting used to these bizarre conversations. Whenever Draco was brewing, he tended to pour ninety per cent of his concentration into the potion, and only ten per cent into whatever conversation he was having. As a result, the conversations tended to be less than sensible at times. "I don't know, you would make a rather amusing one." Draco twirled his wand in his spare hand.

Potter took a step backwards. "You're not turning me into a cat."

"Not while you continue to pay me," Draco agreed. "I doubt the goblins will let you access your Gringotts account if you're a cat."

Potter didn't answer but Draco could almost feel him roll his eyes.

"Chop those," Draco ordered as he handed roots over to Potter. He winced inwardly as he saw Potter handle the knife awkwardly. "No, not like that. If you chop them that way, the potion will explode like it did last time. You need to chop them into cubes not rectangles."

Potter took a step backwards.

"Get back here," Draco told Potter wearily as he concentrated on stirring the potion steadily. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Potter slowly chopping the roots up into approximate cubes.

"Why can't we do this by magic?" Potter muttered.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Did you listen at all during Potions? Some ingredients need to interact with human skin during the preparation phase. Our very skin imbues them with a tiny bit of magic." From the look of surprise on Potter's face, Draco concluded that obviously Potter had never listened during Potions.

"So," Potter said after they had been working for a few minutes in silence. "Parkinson is doing quite well as a Muggle journalist."

Draco nodded.

"I was ... surprised by that," Potter said.

Draco turned his head slowly. "Are you trying to make small talk?"

Potter shrugged. "This is boring. I figured we could talk."

"Not about my friends," Draco said flatly, suppressing a sigh. He couldn't blame Potter for being surprised through. He had been surprised when, after the way, Pansy had suddenly announced that she wanted to go into the Muggle world. At first, he had expected some sort of Magi-Muggle venture company or something, but instead, she seemed to have integrated herself in with Muggles. It hadn't always been easy. The first year, Draco remembered Pansy turning up at his door, cheek's bright red with embarrassment, because she had forgotten that Muggle men didn't wear skirts and had bought a skirt for a male co-worker's birthday.

"So what Quidditch team do you support?" Potter asked.

"I'm not talking about Quidditch either," Draco muttered. He had to sell all of his brooms to pay for the furniture in his apartment.

"Food, then," Potter said irritably. "Surely you won't mind talking about food."

"I like cantaloupes and orange juice," Draco said flatly. "How about you?"

To his surprise, Potter looked like he was actually thinking about the question. "I think I like pumpkin juice better," he said slowly.

Draco wrinkled his nose. He hadn't been able to drink pumpkin juice ever since Pansy had introduced him to orange juice. Plus, the Muggles seemed to also have other types of juices like apple juice, pineapple juice and grapefruit juice. "Keep on chopping," he told Potter.

Potter made a face. "I miss McDonald's," he said as he pushed a pile of chopped up roots to one side.

Draco shuddered. Pansy had dragged him in there once, and he'd sworn to never go again. "I don't see how Muggles can eat that stuff."

"It's nice!" Potter said defensively.

"It's disgusting," Draco pointed out. "Even the Muggles call it junk food."

Potter shrugged. "You're the one who likes orange juice better. It's also a Muggle drink."

Draco snorted. "And it's much nicer than cheeseburgers." To Draco's surprise, he was almost enjoying the conversation. It reminded him of the good-natured bantering he had with Pansy. Working with Potter wasn't as bad as he'd originally thought. While he wouldn't have considered them friends, they certainly seemed to tolerate each other. Draco reached over and grabbed a mortar and pestle. He began to grind herbs. There was a sudden clatter as Potter dropped his knife on the table. "What is it?" Draco asked irritably.

"Malfoy?" Potter's voice was hesitant.

Draco looked up.

"I... I think the cauldron's bubbling."

"I can see that!" Draco snapped as he grabbed his wand and waved it over the potion. Immediately the fire below the cauldron disappeared. "You've just ruined a cauldron."

Potter raised an eyebrow. "You were the one giving the instructions."

"And you were the one jabbering on about Quidditch teams and food," Draco pointed out. "When you brew, you need to focus all your attention on the brewing process."

Potter pressed his lips together tightly. "You sound just like Snape." There was a tiny note of surprise in his voice.

"Undoubtedly he told you the same thing when you ruined potions in his classroom," Draco grumbled. "He was a grumpy git most of the time, but he was right!" With that, he turned away from Potter and grabbed another cauldron out. "We're going to have to start again."

"I haven't seen you for a week," Pansy said flatly, leaning up against the doorframe, her arms crossed across her chest. "I thought we were having lunch on Tuesday."

Draco mentally swore. "I was with Potter."

"You were with Potter?" Pansy stared at him with her best 'are you crazy' expression. "You skipped lunch with me because you were with Potter?"

"I would have preferred lunch with you," Draco grumbled. "But this job with Potter seems to be taking up all of my spare time. The potion is a lot more complicated than it first looked." That was an understatement. Every cauldron he had used so far had managed to blow up in his face. He had made more trips to St. Mungo's in the past week than he had in the past five years.

"Well, necromancy potions generally are," Pansy pointed out. "That's why most necromancers end up dead. Blown up. Hoisted on their own petard."

"Oh shut up," Draco snapped, rubbing his nose. A flying shard of glass had embedded itself in his nose a few days ago. It had been fixed but he could swear that his nose wasn't the same. It didn't matter that the doctors all claimed that it looked the same; he knew the difference. Potter just told him that he was being stupid.

"Well, since you're here, you'd better come in," Pansy said finally, holding the door open for him.

Draco ducked under her arm and walked into the room. He went over to sit on his favourite squishy sofa that Pansy had bought two years ago at a Muggle yard sale. He didn't want to admit it but he suspected Muggles made better furniture. He sank into the sofa and breathed out. It had been a long week. A long week filled with unpleasant explosions and they hadn't even got the venomous nightflower yet. Draco certainly wasn't looking forward to that.

"Want a beer?" Pansy asked as she walked towards the fridge.

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Don't you have butterbeer?"

"Last time I had that, one of my Muggle friends asked why I was mixing butter and beer," Pansy told him.

"You have Muggle friends?"

Pansy hit him on the arm with a cold beer bottle. "You know I do. Now drink up."

Draco took a long sip from the bottle and almost choked. "This is beer?" he spluttered.

"Yes," Pansy said haughtily. "Now stop getting it on my carpet."

Draco straightened up the bottle and looked guiltily at the stain on the carpet. He was about to take his wand out to clean it up when Pansy shook her head at him. She reached over and grabbed roll of paper towels and handed them to him. Draco took the roll. "What do you want me to do with this?"

"Wipe it up," Pansy said, smirking.

"A simple Scourgify would do the job," Draco complained, as he gingerly used the paper towels to soak up the beer.

"This is more amusing."

Draco narrowed his eyes. He had long suspected that Pansy made him do things the Muggle way because it entertained her. There was surely no other reason why she told him that Muggles put heavy things on their back and then climbed up mountains. She had dragged him along on one of the so-called hikes at one point and Draco had almost fainted. There was just no point. He ended up Apparating to the top of the mountain, admiring the view and then Apparating back to their cabin. Pansy had spent the next few days being furious at him for spoiling the event. "It really isn't," he said.

"More amusing for me," she clarified, smirking.

"Because I obviously exist solely for your amusement," Draco said sarcastically.

Pansy smiled brightly at him. "Finally, you're getting it. Now drink up."

Looking dubiously at his beer, Draco took another sip. It wasn't any better than the first. In fact, if he had to rate it, he would have said that it tasted worse. Not only did it taste bitter, he also had the after-taste of the first sip in his mouth. "This is disgusting," he said, putting the beer on the table. "How do Muggles drink this?"

Pansy shrugged as she took a gulp from her own bottle. "They've probably destroyed their tastebuds. It's not bad once you get used to it."

"How long did it take you?" Draco asked, sniffing. He could swear he could smell the beer even from where it was on the table.

"What?"

"To get used to it," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

"A year," Pansy admitted. "Perhaps two. I think I might have one taste bud left in my mouth and it's currently dying a slow death." She took another sip of her beer, oblivious to the irony.

"I think I'd rather have Firewhiskey," Draco declared. "I think I'd rather go back and help Potter brew his life-threatening potions."

Pansy raised an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe not," he admitted. "But surely you'd prefer some butterbeer? That stuff slides down so smoothly that a twelve year old can drink it."

"This has a better kick."

"You can say that again," Draco muttered, leaning back into the couch. For all his talk, he was glad to be here with Pansy. He could feel his muscles unwind after the long week. Unfortunately, this unwinding process made his muscles throb with pain, but that couldn't be helped. It was as though the process of relaxing was physically painful. "Sodding Potter."

"Sodding Potter," Pansy agreed. She reached over to take a swig out of his beer. "I suppose you'll be going back over after this?"

Draco nodded glumly.

"This should work," Potter insisted.

Draco took a step back. "That's what you said about the last four cauldrons you brought in," he accused. "I have scars to show for those cauldrons." He reached up to feel the scar just above his right eyebrow. "Now, I have to admit this looks quite dashing, but I don't think I want any more, thank you."

Potter glared at him. "This will work." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Otherwise, I'll get you a welding mask."

"Uh huh," Draco said, sounding disbelieving. "And what makes you think that it'll work? And I do not want a welding mask. They look terrible."

"It's made out of plastic!" Potter said triumphantly holding up his new cauldron.

Draco stared. "So I can have melting, sharp pieces in my face instead of simply sharp pieces? How exciting."

"No," Potter said irritably. "This is a special kind of plastic that doesn't melt. It's some new Muggle invention or something. You can probably get Pansy to tell you all about it."

"Was that a snide anti-Muggle comment, Potter?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course not," Potter said as he handed over the cauldron. "It took me forever to find this one. You'd better not make it explode, Malfoy."

Draco made a face at Potter's back as he walked away. You'd better not make it explode? It wasn't as though Draco wanted the sodding cauldrons to explode. It wasn't as though he sat around and put the wrong ingredients into the cauldron so that it would explode in his face. It wasn't as though he wanted to destroy Potter's gaudy gold cauldron and expensive glass one. Actually, Draco reflected, he might have wanted to destroy the gold one. It really was quite ugly.

With a sigh, he put the cauldron on the bench and began slicing up the ingredients again. "I can't see why you couldn't help," Draco muttered as he sliced up the musical mushrooms, which made shrieking noises as the knife went into them. He'd given up on the notion of Potter helping him. The man couldn't seem to cut roots up into perfect cubes; Draco suspected that was why the first cauldron had melted.

"Because I'm paying you," Potter called out from across the room.

That was unfortunately true. "Not nearly enough," Draco retorted.

"I paid for the St Mungo's bills," Potter snapped.

"But who'll pay for the years of therapy if my head gets decapitated by a flyaway cauldron?" Draco wanted to know.

Potter stared. "I promise I'll pay for your years of therapy if you end up decapitated," he finally said.

Draco smirked. There was a slight chance he could still live after being decapitated. After all, he was a wizard and he could end up as a ghost. If that happened, then Potter would be paying out of his nose for therapy bills for the rest of his life. It was a glorious thought. Although, Draco thought, he probably wasn't going to be happy being dead. It would be such a bummer being unable to touch things or to do anything. All ghosts were really expected to do was look scary once in a while and go 'ooooh!' at people. He was surprised that some of them didn't die of boredom.

And that, Draco reflected, would be a tragedy.

Potter's Muggle cauldron seemed to do the trick. The necromancy potion was bubbling happily away, and even the musical mushrooms seemed to have shut up like they were supposed to. Nothing had blown up and Draco managed to stay happily alive. All in all, it was a good day.

Potter looked smug. "See? It wasn't so hard."

"This is the easy part," Draco told him. "Just wait until you see the venomous nightflower and the next few steps of this potion."

Potter looked unfazed. "You can do it."

"It's good to know you have so much faith in me," Draco said sarcastically.

"I have faith that you'll do good work so long as I keep on paying you," Potter said simply.

Draco sighed. When had Potter got so cynical? "I just want to point out that this was the easy part." He sat back in his chair and sipped the cup of hot chocolate that he had got from Potter's kitchen. "You realise that even the Muggles make better hot chocolate?"

Potter glared at him.

"That is a venomous nightflower?" Potter said, sounding horrified.

"Yes, it is," Draco said shortly, as he kept his distance. He was going nowhere near the giant flower with the teeth. Flowers weren't normally his thing and that was when they were relatively small, sweet smelling and pretty. Giant venomous flowers with stingers were definitely not his thing. He glared at the vivid pink flower with the purple spots. It seemed to be a giant sign from nature for animals and humans to keep away from the flower. It seemed to scream: Dangerous Flower. "Keep away from the ..."

"The stinger," Potter interrupted. "I know."

Draco nodded. He supposed that it was fairly obvious. The stinger dripped vile-looking green, vaguely acidic liquid out of the bars of the cage. He didn't even want to know how Perkins had got the flower in the cage.

"Aren't you going to pick it up?" Perkins asked, giving them a crooked smile.

"Give me a minute," Draco muttered. He took his wand out and trailed smoke into the cage. He was relieved when the flower's head drooped and it seemed to go to sleep. "Now, Potter, you can pick it up."

Glaring at him, Potter gingerly picked the cage up. "How venomous is this?"

"Very," Perkins told him, a glint in his eyes. "One sting has been known to kill a full grown wizard."

Potter stumbled and almost dropped the cage.

"Careful," Draco said as he continued directing smoke towards the flower. "We don't want it to wake up, do we?"

"No, of course not," Potter said sarcastically.

Draco waved his wand and a shroud appeared around the cage. Now it looked as though Potter was carrying something harmless like an owl. If nobody looked too closely and nobody saw the wisps of smoke coming out from through the material, then it was a perfectly believable disguise. Draco could see Potter's fingers trembling as they walked out of the shop together.

"So what do we do with this?" Potter asked, pointing towards the nightflower sitting on the bench.

"We milk it," Draco said matter-of-factly. He tried to keep all the fear and apprehension out of his voice, and he thought he did quite well. When he had first read the instructions, he had been horrified. Nobody went around milking nightflowers. It was ridiculous.

"We milk it?" Potter repeated, his eyes wide and round.

"We milk it," Draco repeated.

Potter looked towards the nightflower. It viciously slapped its stinger against the cage and spurted green acid at them. "How do you suppose we do that?"

Draco shrugged. "I was hoping you could do it."

Potter stared at him. "Why me?"

"You're the one who wants Snape resurrected," Draco pointed out. He grinned.

Potter frowned. "You smoke it and I'll milk it."

"I can't do that," Draco said. "See, that's the problem. It doesn't drip venom when it's asleep."

"Oh."

"So you're going to need to somehow get fresh venom from its stinger while it's awake," Draco said in a chipper tone. "We can't just clean it off the cage because it needs to be put in a non-reactive crystal vial immediately."

"Uh huh."

From Potter's tone, Draco gathered that he was less than enthused by the prospect. He handed Potter the crystal vial and watched as Potter approached the nightflower with gritted teeth and a raised wand. With a sigh, Draco raised his wand as well, ready to direct smoke into the cage at the slightest sign that the nightflower would attack. After all, he didn't actually want Potter to die. That would be a rather ignoble death for The Boy Who Lived.

"Getting there," Potter said through gritted teeth.

"We need ten drops," Draco cautioned.

"I know," Potter snapped. "Why don't you come over to get them yourself?"

"But you're doing so well," Draco said smoothly. "I think I'll leave it to you." He watched as the nightflower waved its stinger lazily in Potter's direction and a few more drops fell into the vial.

"Got it!" Potter said triumphantly. He almost stumbled in his haste to get back across the room.

"Good," Draco said as he watched the nightflower snap its petals at them.

"It's done!" Draco declared as he stoppered the potion bottle. He put it onto the lab table in triumph.

Potter looked up from where he was reading Quidditch Weekly. "So now what do we do?"

Draco rolled his eyes. It sometimes felt like Potter hadn't even bothered reading the instructions for the potion. He had to do all of the work. "We need to pour it into his mouth and then smear it over his skin."

Potter stared. "That sounds rather unscientific."

Draco sighed. "This is magic, Potter. Not science. And you didn't let me finish. There is a spell that I need to say. Before you ask, yes it has to be me. The person who brewed the potion needs to speak the words."

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

Draco shot the casket a dubious look. Sometime over the past week, Potter had moved the casket into his basement. Draco didn't want to know what kind of strings Potter had to pull to steal Snape's casket. It was currently sealed and frankly, Draco didn't particularly want to unseal it. Snape had been dead for many, many years. He wasn't going to smell nice.

"Well?" Potter demanded.

"You can unseal the casket," Draco said abruptly.

Potter stared. "Why me?"

"I did everything else," Draco said snippily.

"You look green," Potter pointed out.

"I do not," Draco insisted. He most certainly never turned green. That would be unseemly.

"You do," Potter said. There was a peculiar tremble about his lips, and Draco suspected he was about to burst out laughing. "You don't want to open the casket because of what's inside!"

"Maybe you're right," Draco said tartly. "So you can open it."

Potter glared at him. "Fine, but you can do the smearing of the potion."

Draco grimaced. "We'll both do that."