FOUR: Five Points to Gryffindor


"Draco! Hey, Draco!"

Draco opened bleary, stinging eyes. "Go the fuck away," he hissed angrily. Draco was normally unhappy to be woken, but today he was irrationally furious at the voice and to whomever it belonged.

"C'mon, Malfoy, you'll miss classes," Zabini said.

Draco was just awake enough to realize that the first speaker hadn't been Zabini.

Sure enough, Vincent Crabbe's head poked between the bed-hangings and shook his shoulder. "Draaaaco," he whinged.

Draco's grey eyes narrowed to bloodshot slits. "I swear by everything I hold dear," he rasped, "that if you do not remove your head from my space, I'll remove it from your body."

The curtains swished together in dramatic retreat. Vincent's voice sounded from at least a meter away, soft and contrite. "You promised you'd help me in Tranfigurations today," he went on gently, almost coaxingly. Draco doubted that anyone who did not know Crabbe well realized that he could employ such a voice, but it was what made him so successful around small, frightened creatures and Draco Malfoy.

Today, this was saying the same thing twice.

"I'm ill," Draco managed, feeling his stomach obligingly flip at the thought of being out in the world with his current… impediment.

The faint sound of unhappy, uncertain shuffling could be heard. "But who'll help me if you're…?"

"Granger," Draco replied, then winced. Shit.

"Hermione Gronger?"

He could figure 'Hermione' but not 'Granger'. Vincent Crabbe's mind was a strange, sordid little place. "She'll help you," he said with certainty. "Go on ahead, Vince, you'll be fine… with Granger's help," he was forced to tack on, in the interest of blatant honesty: without someone clever, patient and resourceful, Crabbe would not be fine in any class taught by McGonagall.

Strike that last part and keep it in any class, Draco decided with a smirk.

More uncertain shuffling – Draco had the sudden urge to leap out of bed and shake the other boy until he ran, terrified, for the door – and a deeper urge to burrow under the blankets like some small animal and block out the noise and go to sleep. He dismissed both irrationalities as clear signs that the potion was eating his brains.

"D'you… d'you need help to the Hospital Wing?"

"No, Vince, I just feel –" He stopped, clamping his mouth shut. "Sick to my stomach."

"Well, okay," Vincent said. "Feel better, then."

Draco nodded, then rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. "See you later," he verbally replied.

The fury-fueled need to strangle someone was slowly dissipating now that the temptation had been removed, the wish to be small and burrow-y overwhelming him; he could make a warren of connecting, billowing blankets and tented sheets. People would peek in past the curtains and they wouldn't see anything but that he was gone. He squirmed back under the covers and shut his eyes tightly, willing the world away.

It was at this time that the door flew open and slammed against the wall, interrupting a perfectly good spate of moping.

"Bloody hell!" Draco swore, face pressed into his pillow. "Just what does a man have to do to get some sleep around here? How many times do I have to tell you to leave. Me. Alone!"

A large hand reached out and flipped Draco onto his back; Draco stared up into the irate features of his Head of House and meeped eloquently.

"Ah, but it is you who are meant to come to me, Mister Malfoy," Snape stated in his silkiest tones, "Potions being your first class of the day!"

"But I – I'm –" sick, I'm SICK, I can't because I'm – "terrified of saying something I oughtn't, Professor, you were hit by the Potion too, you understand –"

"And yet I woke up at the godawful arse crack of dawn to remedy my lesson plans for today, Mister Malfoy. I woke and dressed and, oh – did all of those other little sundries that are required for starting one's day. I dined on breakfast in the Great Hall and listened to Albus's jokes for a soul-shattering twenty minutes. And now here I am, rescuing a truant from poor grades, lack of acceptable offers of apprenticeship, and a lifetime doomed to mediocrity."

Draco sat up in bed and scowled. "I'm hardly truant, professor, class hasn't begun."

"It shall in… Tempus!… fifteen minutes. You had best not make us late."

The Slytherin boy took his lower lip between his teeth and arranged his features into his best, most guileless expression. "Sir… there are secrets I know that I really do have to be careful of. Secrets about my father… about the Malfoys… about…" – here, he lowered his voice conspiratorially – "the Dark Lord! Not to mention things that are – well, you know – more personal." His features pinked as he thought of the question Weasley had asked him. He would have his revenge. "Please, sir?"

Snape sighed deeply. "Oh, Draco," he said, placing a paternal hand on the boy's shoulder. "No. Not in a month of Sundays. When I am not fearing for Potter's life, I fear that your father has ruined you. Mister Potter is not exempt from his classes; what makes you so special?"

Draco winced and hung his head, his pale fringe falling into his eyes. Snape must really think that, or at least he must really have meant to imply that Draco was a spoiled brat. "You really think Father has ruined me?" His cheeks felt hot, but he had to know the answer.

Snape blinked. "Is that what you heard." It was not a question. He drew a deep breath. "You have very little control. Your altercation with Mister Potter whilst attempting to brew a very finicky and delicate potion demonstrates this. Even if you were not – personally very fond of Mister Potter," he went on, his lip curling perhaps at the thought of anyone enjoying Potter's company, "a mature young man would have been able to keep his reaction to an unpleasant expression. You often want what you cannot have, and desperately yearn for it until the moment it is attained. And you just attempted to slip out of your own Head of House's class because you felt entitled to do so. These are the marks of a brash and boastful young man who has been told he is inherently, immeritoriously better than any other witch or wizard."

"But sir –"

"You will come to class, and you will behave properly while you are under my care. Now move."

Draco, still blinking in hurt shock, moved haltingly towards his school trousers.

"Move faster! I will be waiting outside, so do not even think of dallying further."

Draco scrambled about the Slytherin dorm in double-time, tugging on trousers and shirt-with-far-too-many-complicated buttons, shrugging into cloak and mangling his shoes. He didn't even have time enough to clean his teeth.


Harry strode to Potions class with a heart full of dread. Yes, it was true that he had managed not to speak to Ron or Hermione except in nods and grunts; and they, blessed bestest friends that they were, did not attempt to force or even cajole him into conversation, including him their discourse in a benign and almost peripheral way: Did you finish your homework for Potions, Harry?

Of course Harry finished it. We worked on it together. Merlin, Hermione, don't you think he has more to worry about than Potions?

I think that if he'd been more careful around potions in the first place, then perhaps he wouldn't be in this mess -!

And they're off! Harry thought with a grimace – arguing about sex again, almost as if they didn't quite realize they no longer had to. Though their arguments now tended to be interspersed with somewhat ferocious snogs at irregular intervals.

It was in this way that they managed to reach the Potions classroom without incident. Harry moved to the table to the right of Hermione's, beckoning Ron over to work with him; the last thing that he needed was to be partnered with Malfoy again. Unfortunately, Ron was too busy arguing with Hermione to notice Harry's frantic motions; and Harry was too wary of opening his mouth.

It might attract someone's attention, and then they might want to tell him horrible, ghastly things. Such as "roll me in the hay, Harry Potter!"

Such things could not be borne.

So Harry sat down silently, and held his silent peace until Snape strode in with Malfoy in tow. The Potions Master roughly shoved Draco into the classroom ahead of him, causing the blond boy to flush as he stumbled forward a few steps.

Harry groaned as he realized that he was still partnerless, and that Malfoy was the last student to enter the room. The blond moved to their shared table in a huff, dropping himself into the chair beside Harry's with less than his usual studied grace. His hair was a mess. He immediately crossed his arms over his chest and proceeded to ignore Harry completely.

This was just as Harry liked it, so he returned the favor.

"You will take out your size six cast-iron cauldrons from the cabinet at the back of the room," Snape snapped. "You will read the directions on the board. You will perform the experiment. You will be VERY careful to powder the hematite finely, or you WILL explode."

Hermione raised her hand.

"You will NOT raise your hand while I am speaking. You will leave me alone to nurse my hangover in peace."

Draco smirked at that.

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled, and he moved to fetch the cauldron while Malfoy picked over the potion ingredients.

"Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy?"

Harry felt his chin jerk in learned response to Professor Snape calling on him for any reason. He set the heavy cauldron on their table before moving up to the front of the room to join Malfoy.

"If you think I am allowing the two of you to work together again, after yesterday's debacle, you are leaps and bounds more foolish than I took you for."

"I already apologized for that, sir, and you took points," Harry stated firmly – then wanted to kick himself. He should be jumping for joy that Snape wanted to pair the two of them with other partners; but instead, he felt like a small child who couldn't be trusted around the better china.

"I assure you, I have no interest in being fair," the Professor stated. "Potter, you will pair with Nott; Malfoy, you will pair with Parkinson."

Malfoy set his shoulders and shook his head.

"You are on my last nerve, Mister Malfoy. Why on earth should I trust you and Mister Potter within twenty feet of a cauldron?"

"Because I want you to," Draco said.

"Pardon me?"

Draco looked at a loss for a moment before soldiering on. "I want you to see I can – I can do what we talked about. Sir."

Harry was surprised to see a strangely warm smile flicker across the Potions Master's features, so rapid he might well have imagined it. "Very well," he said. "But you do realize that this is a sort of Double Jeopardy, Mister Malfoy. If you manage to bollocks this again, my estimation of you is likely to plummet to heretofor unplumbed depths."

"I do understand that," Malfoy said, and then hurriedly yanked Harry back to their workstation by the sleeve of his robes, as though worried Snape might change his mind.

"What was that all about?" Harry demanded.

"Get out the purple loosestrife," Draco ordered, "and begin chopping it finely."

"No," Harry protested.

Malfoy opened his mouth to retort, a furious expression on his face, but then he paused, mouth opening and closing like a salmon flopping helplessly on shore. His features went through strange contortions as he did so, from frowning, to cajoling, to haughty, to exasperated.

Well, that clinched it. This whole Potion business had driven Malfoy mad. "Didn't take long," Harry muttered to himself.

"Very well," Malfoy replied coolly, his features settling on 'distainful'. "I shall fetch it myself."

Harry felt himself gape as well when Draco, the picture of graciousness, returned with a handful of the tall racemes like a lovely bouquet he planned on presenting to the cauldron. He presented the bouquet to Harry, instead, who gazed down at the flowers in something like trepidation.

"Please separate the flowers and leaves from the stem, and I'll chop them."

"No."

"Potter, you're not being very helpful!" Malfoy exclaimed. His features smoothed again, however, and without the facial gymnastics, this time. "Never mind it. I shall make the potion myself. Just – try not to get in the way –"

"I won't help you or stay out of your way until you tell me why you wanted us to partner," Harry snapped, arms akimbo.

Draco's brows lifted elegantly, and with perfect innocence. "Pardon?"

"Look, Malfoy, I helped you out yesterday, sure – but I'm not so naïve as to believe you're grateful," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "I need to know what your plans are for this potion, and I need to know now!"

"…plans?" Malfoy had the temerity to continue to appear puzzled.

"Yeah, plans!" Harry shot back at him. "The way I figure it, you wouldn't've partnered with me unless you wanted something bad to happen!"

Malfoy worried his lower lip between his teeth briefly. "All right," he managed, slowly. "You know I can't say anything but the truth as I understand it."

Harry nodded warily.

"Well I don't have any particular plans for this potion, save that it be done properly and well," the Slytherin continued slowly, "and that it prove to Professor Snape that he's wrong about me. I'm not spoiled and arrogant, and I can do what's right." His grey eyes stabbed at Harry, daring the other boy to contradict him. "I can."

"I didn't say anything."

"I saw you wanting to."

Harry saw no reason to deny it; Malfoy would hear what he meant, anyway.

"I can work with you, Potter – and you can work with me. Don't you want to prove him wrong – about the both of us?" Draco's features were set stubbornly, but his eyes pleaded with Harry.

Before Harry's mind rose a vision of Snape looking into his cauldron, not able to avoid telling him that it was well-done – Harry would know if Snape approved of the potion or not, no matter how critical his actual words were. His lips curled back from his teeth in what was half-grin, half- baring-of-teeth. "You're on."

"Separate the leaves and the flowers from the stems," Malfoy ordered.

Wryly shaking his head, Harry put his hands to work.


The last step of the potion was the trickiest, and Harry was convinced that this was precisely why Snape had chosen it out of all the many Potions that fit within the same basic criterion for cost of ingredients and approximate skill level: if a student screwed this one up, he had to start from scratch. Behind Harry and Malfoy, Lavender and Parvati had already done so; and Crabbe and Goyle had done so twice.

Harry and Draco had completed the process up until now in near-complete silence, broken intermittently by hurried questions or careful commands. They had set their Potions texts on either side of the cauldron, so that they could both follow along, catching one another's mistakes.

Harry withdrew the small, clear glass phial on their table and peered at the vibrant orange anthers within.

"Saffron is very volatile," Draco stated.

Harry stared. It was the first piece of information that the other boy had offered that wasn't strictly necessary to their shared task. "Why?"

"Why is it volatile?"

When Harry nodded, Draco paused, as though he were considering whether he ought to answer or not. Harry could hardly blame him; they seemed to argue when – well, when either one of them opened his mouth.

"Roots are stable. They have heavier elements in them, metals, strong, tightly bound energies. When you release their magic, it's powerful but slow – comes out at a trickle."

Harry blinked. "So a flower…"

"Has less heavy, deep energy – more light, volatile energy. And it releases its magic all at once because it – sort of doesn't have a good hold on the magic it does have."

Harry's lips parted in sudden surmise. "Is that why we have to powder it super-finely?"

Draco nodded. "If we don't, it won't combine with the mixture properly. Each big clump of saffron would release its magic in some parts of the potion and not in others, and the cauldron could –"

Harry glanced back at Lavender and Parvati's table, which was splattered with half-finished potion; although luckily this potion in particular was not toxic, and quite inert towards the end of its brewing. "That's interesting," he said, meaning it.

Malfoy swallowed. "I am? I guess – maybe. So are you, though."

Harry had no idea what Draco had just heard him say, but he suspected he'd complimented the Slytherin. He shrugged.

"I never – I mean I hadn't thought of what I'd do after school. Except –" Malfoy flushed.

"Take up the family business," Harry filled in, used, now, to the strange shifts in conversation precipitated by the workings of the potion.

Draco frowned. "Let's not talk about this – unless you really want to end up covered in potion again."

Harry shook his head. "How much longer?"

Draco looked up at the hourglass he'd tipped. "Two more minutes or so."

"Better get to powdering this." Harry uncorked the phial of saffron anthers and tipped them into the Potions classrooms' smallest mortar-and-pestle set. He worked on them assiduously, twisting his wrist to make certain that the anthers powdered properly. It was harder work than he'd suspected; the anthers were supple with their own oils even though they weren't fresh; and they didn't seem particularly interested in becoming powder.

Professor Snape swooped around to their cauldron, staring at it, wafting the fumes towards his considerable nose and generally glaring as though the cauldron had insulted his mother. He swept away without a word.

"I think Professor Snape believes that if you can't say something nasty, don't say anything at all," Harry quipped, handing the mortar and pestle off to Draco.

Malfoy snickered under his breath as he hunted down any remaining recognizable bits of anther with the pestle. The last grain of sand fell from the top of the hourglass, and both Harry and Draco sprinkled pinches of saffron into their brew, ever-so-carefully.

Harry held his breath.

Ever-so-slowly, the contents of the cauldron tinged a vibrant gold, the gold of sunflowers and lightning bugs and cloth from India. Draco's breathing hitched, and he took a hasty step away from the cauldron. Harry, darting an anxious look to his partner, rapidly followed suit.

A series of little pops sounded from the cauldron; a few drops of potion landed on their shared table, gently splattering Harry's text with bright and vibrant colour. Then there was a quiet hiss.

Harry and Draco sidled up to the cauldron.

"It's right," Draco said as they stared into the cauldron at its slowly-congealing contents. "Sweet Merlin, Potter, it's right! Quick – douse the flames!"

Harry fumbled for his wand and did so. He stared in disbelief for a moment at the ointment forming in the cauldron. It was actually – attractive to look at, a more mellow gold than it had been before, now that the beeswax and lanolin base was solidifying. And it didn't smell half-bad.

Harry realized for the first time that he was looking at something akin to Scaradicate Salve, just like the kind Madam Pomfrey had on hand all the time. "Wow," he murmured.

"We are Potions geniuses," Malfoy intoned, looking up and unthinkingly sharing a triumphant grin with Harry.

"I shall be the judge of that," Professor Snape intoned, leaning in over their size six cast-iron.

Harry decided that if he hadn't been watching closely, he could easily have missed the expression of incredulous surprise that flitted across his professor's features. But he could hardly have missed what Professor Snape said next:

"See me after class."

Harry slumped, and sensed Malfoy beside him doing the same. What had they done wrong? It looked exactly like the one in their textbook! Harry sneaked a glance over at Hermione and Neville's potion. Even theirs didn't look so very smooth and perfect.

Harry stomped over to the front of the room to gather up glass jars. He and Malfoy did their best to ladle the completed potion into them before it set. Harry attempted to rub the splattered potion away from his text, but only succeeded in rubbing the cheery gold into the entire page more or less evenly. He and Malfoy packed up their things and waited.

"Do you really think I'm a good teacher?" Draco inquired after two whole minutes of utter quiet.

Harry snorted. Likely, that had been a personal best for Malfoy. "When did I say that?"

"When I was talking about the magic in roots and flowers, Potter, of course." He sighed in realization. "You didn't say that."

"No," Harry agreed.

They sat in stillness for another few moments, while Draco's discomfiture grew.

"…but I must have meant it," Harry tacked on. "I mean, I had to've. Snape sure never told us that stuff. Where'd you learn it?"

"Private tutors," Draco commented.

"Oh."

There was another, shorter pause, before Malfoy spoke again: "I am grateful, by the way."

"Huh? Grateful for what?"

Malfoy wet his lips and examined the scuffed and potion-stained floor. "You said that you're not naïve enough to suppose I'm grateful to you for what happened yesterday. But of course I am. You helped me – I owe you."

Harry giggled a bit, nervously. "You should hear yourself – you can't know what you're saying."

"Of course I do," the blond Slytherin snapped. "Don't you recall yesterday? I can't lie anymore, and I hear –" He winced, eyes trailing up to his Head of House. "I hear everything."

"Then why – ?"

"I have to tell the truth, Potter. Maybe for the rest of my life. I think I'd better get used to it; don't you?"

Harry examined the other boy in the dim light of combined wall sconces and ambient magic. Draco looked – pained, but determined to make the best of things. Harry knew that feeling very well.

"And haven't you noted how little we've misunderstood one another?" the other boy continued. "You're getting used to it too, aren't you?"

Harry swallowed, but his throat was dry. "Used to what?"

"To speaking the truth. Around me anyway. Right?" Draco pressed.

An anxious feeling fluttered in Harry's gut, although he wasn't certain why it was causing him worry to admit this to the other boy; it obviously wasn't anything that Draco hadn't already worked out for himself. "Y-yeah," he stammered.

"Right," Draco stated confidently.

Harry had been so wrapped up in their conversation that he hadn't noticed that Potions class was over until someone's robes rasped against his cheek as they strode past. He shook off the strange feeling and stood out of habit before realizing that they were meant to stay and speak with Snape.

Once the classroom had completely emptied, Snape swooped over to the pair. He picked up one of their filled jars and tossed it into the air, catching it one-handed. "Five points to Slytherin," he said. "Five points to Gryffindor." He glared at them. "I won't be saying anything else, so get out of my sight."


In the hallway outside of Potions, Ron and Hermione waited for Harry. Hermione was chattering on about the state of her potion, obviously thrilled to have been able to work on such a finicky and useful brew. Ron occasionally cut in.

"Yes, Hermione, that's the most boring thing I've ever heard."

"…and then I thought I might've added just a shade too much comfrey – that, or too little –"

"…which is now officially the second-most boring thing I've ever heard."

"…so I thought I might counter it with some Hydrastis, and –"

"…for Merlin's sake, Hermione – you're such a swot."

Harry flushed on the bushy-haired girl's behalf. Ron really didn't mean that –

Except that he has to. He does – he must.

Draco elbowed roughly between Ron and Hermione, and by the time he passed through the closely-knit trio, Ron was nursing a jabbed rib and a mangled foot. "What the hell is his problem?"

Harry, hiding a smile, thought that Draco's problem was also his problem, and Snape's. He slung an arm across Hermione's shoulders and grinned at her.

Hermione blushed and peered at him from underneath thick brown lashes. "Aren't you in a good mood?" she commented slyly.

Harry thought on this. "Weird Potions side-effects aside, I'm having a rather remarkable day."


Author's Notes: Hi, everybody! I hope you're having a marvelous January.

To skywisechan: remember that Harry is hearing what *others* mean as they speak - therefore his own reply would neither have emerged differently nor have been heard by him in any way other than precisely as he said it. It's Draco who is consigned to speaking the truth, not Harry.

To Howl: yes, Hermione realizes what's going on - but only to a certain extent. She can't tell when Harry is hearing something different and when it's coming through properly.

To all: thank you so for reviewing - it's really great to see so many familiar 'faces'! :)

Sorry this one's a bit later than the others. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing.