As a general rule, Eames hated Potions. It was a boring class, full of boring things, and it had nothing on Defence against the Dark Arts. Well, apart from one thing: Arthur. Arthur was the light at the end of the dreary Potions tunnel for Eames. They had been paired together by Professor Slughorn on the first day of their third year. Now they were in their sixth and still paired together, all because Slughorn hates change with a passion. Over those three years, Eames is relatively certain he's completely and utterly in love with Arthur. Which is bad. Really bad. In his first year, Eames was put into Slytherin house – essentially the worst house to be in. Arthur was in Ravenclaw: the house Eames saw to be full of the geniuses and best fighters. That's where Arthur was; where Eames wanted to be, but mostly, it was what kept them apart. Well, that and the fact that Eames was pretty sure Arthur was none too fond of him. Eames was fortunate enough, however, to have three classes with Arthur. The other two were: Flying, and Care of Magical Creatures though, which was a lot more practical work than Potions, and kept them away from each other for most of the lessons. They weren't partners in the other lessons either. In Flying everyone worked individually, and in Care of Magical Creatures, Arthur was paired with Draco. Eames, hated Draco. In fact, hate wasn't a strong enough word. Eames detested Draco, Eames loathed Draco. The way Eames saw it: Draco was the biggest prick that ever lived, and – somehow – still got all the good-looking dates. Sure, Pansy Parkinson was a total bitch, but she was fine. Recently – in Care of Magical Creatures classes – Eames had noticed Draco turning the charm on to Arthur. His Arthur. Jealousy consumed him as Eames witnessed Arthur struggling with a Billywig, only to have Draco laugh endearingly as he took it gently from Arthur's hands, allowing their fingers to brush just long enough so Arthur would cast his eyes to the floor and blush in that positively adorable way that only he could do. Eames swears, if Draco so much as looks at Arthur in that lewd way again, he'll rip his throat out with his bare hands. In Potions though, that's where Eames could have his way with Arthur, sort of. They were together in Potions, and over the years they'd formed something of a bond. Eames wasn't much use when it came to Potions, but Arthur was beyond clever, and kind enough to help Eames try and understand – which was a difficult task, considering Eames spent roughly 95% of every lesson fantasising about all the wondrous, scandalous things he would do to Arthur if they were ever left alone.
"Eames, are you listening?"
"Do you fancy Draco?"
"What does that have to do with Potions?" Flabbergasted, Arthur's face was a picture of shock and surprise that would have Eames keeling over in laughter were it not for the question playing on his mind. Resting his face moodily on the palm of his hand, leaning onto their work surface stubbornly, Eames only moved his eyes so he was looking up and making contact with Arthur's.
"Answer the question."
Arthur looked down and blushed, just like he did when Draco flirted with him. "That's...none of your business Eames." Eames' stomach twisted with the growing desire to smother Draco with a pillow that night. It was Arthur's cautious concern that made Eames realise that he had gripped his pencil so hard it had snapped in his palm. "Eames are you alright?"
"No." Eames ground out. Why did Arthur have to fancy Draco? Why did Eames have to fancy Arthur?
"W-why not?" Arthur leaned a little closer to Eames' face, concern turning into curiosity. "Do you fancy Draco?" Arthur's American voice warped the word 'fancy' around: his lexis was naturally different to Eames'; he was just copying for effect.
"No." Eames replied with such blunt vehemence his aversion to Draco was palpable. "I. Hate. Draco Malfoy." Arthur reeled back, his eyebrows shooting up and his eyes bulging, almost comically.
"Why?" At this, Eames could hold himself back no longer: he straightened up from his leaning position with such haste that Arthur flinched a little, forcing a miniscule amount of guilt to form somewhere within Eames.
"Don't you see it Arthur? Draco's a pure, utter prick. He's rude, smug, heartless, and a genuinely bad person!"
"How could you say something like that?" Their shouts – although hushed – were still causing some stir from the tables around them. "Since I met him, Draco has been nothing but loyal, honourable, and...charming."
"Oh so that's it, is it? His charm's got you." Sarcasm dripped from Eames' mouth with every syllable. "Well he might act that way around you. But not around everyone else. Not around me." Driving further meaning to his point, Eames leaned to Arthur – leaving millimetres between them – and yanked his sleeve up so that Arthur could read the scar on his forearm: mudblood. It had been cut into him. Arthur audibly gasped at the inscription and gently took Eames' arm.
"He did this to you?" He looked up at Eames' eyes; his own sparkling with what Eames feared would soon become tears. Eames pulled his sleeve back down, but encouraged Arthur's hands to stay where they were – on Eames' thick forearms.
"Him and his minions yes. Took five of them to hold me down mind you, but he was still the one driving that compass into my skin over and over, just to get his pathetic point across. Bastard."
"Eames I –I'm so sorry. I had no idea. If I'd known then I wouldn't-"
"Wouldn't what?" Eames looked down at Arthur, optimistic hope filling him.
"I wouldn't pay any attention to him. I won't pay attention to him. I promise. You mean more to me than he ever will."
"But I thought you-"
"Don't be stupid." Arthur almost scoffed at Eames. "I'm not crushing on Draco." Eames nearly exploded with joy. "I'm totally obsessed with this other guy." And there goes that joy.
"Don't tell me." Eames moaned, not realising that Arthur's hands had moved slightly so they were now half way up his biceps, having a subtle feel of Eames' impressive arm muscles. "You do not fancy Harry bloody Potter."
"Ew, no." They laughed a little. "The guy I like is way hotter than Harry – and Draco actually."
"Oh do tell." Again with the sarcasm. "I'm simply dying to hear."
"Well," Arthur first looked down to the ground – the way Eames always wished he would when they were talking – then looked back up, sporting a gorgeous blush. "He's called Eames, but I constantly fantasise about calling him by his real name because I think Nicholas is really sexy. He has incredible arms and a smile that makes my heart melt. But don't tell him I told you." The boyish grin Arthur was bearing, joined with the words he'd just shared, made Eames' body hum with adrenaline.
"Arthur, darling. I had no idea."
"Yeah. So, do you think I have a chance with him?"
"I don't know, he is a little out of your league." Arthur batted the side of Eames' head playfully, placing his hands on either side of Eames' neck afterwards. Eames' chuckled. "Darling, he wouldn't have it any other way." Eames' hands found their way happily to Arthur's waist and pulled them together in the sweetest kiss Professor Slughorn had ever seen. Of course, he hated it though. Slughorn hated change.