Hermione was looking forward to Potions with a great deal of excitement.
Everything was set for the prank of a lifetime. Severus had indicated, by a
short nod to her mute query when she entered the room, that the necessary
charm had been cast on Draco. Neville had apparently been easier to
persuade to take part in the joke than she had expected. When she had
queried it with the boys, they had both looked uneasy and asked her to
leave it alone. She had a horrible feeling she knew why, but she had no
intention of crystallising that into a certainty.
She looked sideways at Neville and shuddered. There were some things friends should keep to themself. She smiled; that was probably exactly how the boys felt about her and Severus.
Severus was swooping around the classroom in his usual fashion. It had been nearly three days, four hours, and eighteen minutes since they had last had a chance for some extra-curricular activities, and she had decided to extract maximum enjoyment from the class by pining. It was a shame she couldn't be more overt about the whole business of pining, as she suspected that Severus would enjoy the thought of her mooning over him, just not when it would cost him his job.
From the faint smile that passed over his lips, it appeared that Severus had been using Legilimency on her again. She ought to object more, but the advantages of having a lover who knew exactly what you wanted and how you wanted it, outweighed the disadvantages. Even if the perverse git made you wait for it sometimes; actually, especially when the perverse git made you wait for it.
Severus was looking entirely too smug for her comfort, so she dwelled in loving detail on their last encounter when she had finally had the courage to try her hand at some teasing of her own. He really did beg quite nicely.
"Miss Granger," came a voice across the classroom, "Pay attention to what you're doing, or do I have to give you detention."
She muttered, "No, sir", dutifully, and put her head down. She could imagine what he was thinking about, all 'you've been a naughty girl and you need to be punished' – he was keen on discipline – but if anyone was the naughty one, it was him. She carefully built an image of Severus, naked, bent across her knee, being spanked.
There was a startled squeak from his direction, which he quickly turned into a complaint about the quality of Harry's potion, and then he retreated behind his desk. He looked at Hermine with dark amusement, before turning his attention back to the rest of the class. Oh ho, so he liked that idea did he? She carefully filed that away for future reference, and then turned her attention to Neville and his potion.
He was, for once, doing a splendid job; it was entirely the wrong colour for the potion he was supposed to be making but entirely the right colour for the one he was making.
This was going to be fun.
It was fun. Of course, the most amusing aspect of the whole business is that Draco knew there was something up from the moment he was selected to try Neville's potion. His suspicions were only confirmed by the predatory grins bestowed on him by Hermione, Harry and Ron as he walked to his doom. A quick glance at Snape showed that there was no hope of reprieve there, and with a sinking feeling he realised that there was no way that Snape would have allowed this to happen without ensuring his silence first. His biggest bargaining chip – the threat to expose them – had gone.
Bugger.
He was high and dry and had no choice but to drink the potion and hope that nothing too drastic would happen as a result. After all, he had got them laid!
He swallowed hard, eyed the potion with a jaundiced eye, then knocked it back in one swallow. He braced himself for a reaction and – nothing! He couldn't resist a smirk. Of course, Neville couldn't brew a cup of tea properly; he must have made some mistake, and Draco was going to get away with it after all.
"So, Mr Malfoy, how do you feel?" asked the Professor.
"Smug," came the reply. His eyes widened in horror. He tried to say that he felt sick, and he needed to go to see Madam Pomfrey but the words wouldn't come. Dear god, no, not a truth potion – not only was he forced to tell the truth to a direct question, it seemed that he couldn't tell a lie either.
He was fucked – he couldn't even find the words to describe how fucked he was. He was dimly aware that Professor Snape had sneered at Neville for producing a defective potion, and then he was directed to return to his seat.
"Are you alright, Draco?" hissed Pansy.
"Of course I'm not alright," he snapped.
"There's no need the snap. Honestly, anyone would think you didn't like me, the way you go on."
There was a brief moment of thinking 'oh bugger', and then the floodgates opened. "Of course I don't like you, you pug faced disaster of a woman."
Pansy looked at him with an expression split equally between fury and shock, as the rest of the Slytherins looked on in amazement.
"What do you mean you don't like me?"
Draco may have been backed into a corner, and Draco may be forced to tell the truth, but Draco was also a Malfoy. If he was going to have to tell the truth, he was going to do it in style. Seven years of dislike came boiling to the surface; if nothing else at least he would never have to speak to Pansy Parkinson once this entire fiasco was over. So it wasn't entirely a bad thing after all. "I would have thought that was obvious to the meanest intelligence, even a Gryffindor would have grasped by now that I do – not – like – you – Pansy."
"But – but – but-"
"But nothing," he sneered, "I'd rather sleep with Neville than have anything to do with you. You two-face, backstabbing little creep." The potion had made him admit rather more than he intended there, but at least no one else knew that it was a truth potion. They just thought that after seven years of Pansy's solicitousness Draco had finally snapped.
Draco didn't like the interested look that Neville was sending him. Unfortunately, the truth serum stopped him from lying even to himself, so he had to admit he DID like the interested look that Neville was sending him.
Dear god, could it get any worse?
It could, and it did. First, when Zabini objected to the way that he had spoken to Pansy, and he had treated the lad to a detailed description of her morals and present conquests that seemed to bode ill for the future of Zabini's relationship with her. It appeared she had over-estimated his willingness to share.
Then, when taxed with the suggestion that he was a hypocrite of the worst type, and who did he think he was criticising Pansy when he had slept with most of Slytherin, and he heard himself admitting that he hadn't actually shagged most of the girls at all, and only a few of the boys.
The destruction of his carefully established reputation for being a Slytherin Sex god was more than he could take. Whenever someone came near, he would start snarling abuse at them; if he could stop them asking a question, he might be able to survive the rest of the lesson with his sanity intact.
The rest of the potions class passed in silence. No one wanted to speak to Draco when he was in that kind of mood, and so he managed to make it to the door – ahead of everyone else – when class was finished without any more accidents. Now all he had to do was lie low until the potion wore off.
She looked sideways at Neville and shuddered. There were some things friends should keep to themself. She smiled; that was probably exactly how the boys felt about her and Severus.
Severus was swooping around the classroom in his usual fashion. It had been nearly three days, four hours, and eighteen minutes since they had last had a chance for some extra-curricular activities, and she had decided to extract maximum enjoyment from the class by pining. It was a shame she couldn't be more overt about the whole business of pining, as she suspected that Severus would enjoy the thought of her mooning over him, just not when it would cost him his job.
From the faint smile that passed over his lips, it appeared that Severus had been using Legilimency on her again. She ought to object more, but the advantages of having a lover who knew exactly what you wanted and how you wanted it, outweighed the disadvantages. Even if the perverse git made you wait for it sometimes; actually, especially when the perverse git made you wait for it.
Severus was looking entirely too smug for her comfort, so she dwelled in loving detail on their last encounter when she had finally had the courage to try her hand at some teasing of her own. He really did beg quite nicely.
"Miss Granger," came a voice across the classroom, "Pay attention to what you're doing, or do I have to give you detention."
She muttered, "No, sir", dutifully, and put her head down. She could imagine what he was thinking about, all 'you've been a naughty girl and you need to be punished' – he was keen on discipline – but if anyone was the naughty one, it was him. She carefully built an image of Severus, naked, bent across her knee, being spanked.
There was a startled squeak from his direction, which he quickly turned into a complaint about the quality of Harry's potion, and then he retreated behind his desk. He looked at Hermine with dark amusement, before turning his attention back to the rest of the class. Oh ho, so he liked that idea did he? She carefully filed that away for future reference, and then turned her attention to Neville and his potion.
He was, for once, doing a splendid job; it was entirely the wrong colour for the potion he was supposed to be making but entirely the right colour for the one he was making.
This was going to be fun.
It was fun. Of course, the most amusing aspect of the whole business is that Draco knew there was something up from the moment he was selected to try Neville's potion. His suspicions were only confirmed by the predatory grins bestowed on him by Hermione, Harry and Ron as he walked to his doom. A quick glance at Snape showed that there was no hope of reprieve there, and with a sinking feeling he realised that there was no way that Snape would have allowed this to happen without ensuring his silence first. His biggest bargaining chip – the threat to expose them – had gone.
Bugger.
He was high and dry and had no choice but to drink the potion and hope that nothing too drastic would happen as a result. After all, he had got them laid!
He swallowed hard, eyed the potion with a jaundiced eye, then knocked it back in one swallow. He braced himself for a reaction and – nothing! He couldn't resist a smirk. Of course, Neville couldn't brew a cup of tea properly; he must have made some mistake, and Draco was going to get away with it after all.
"So, Mr Malfoy, how do you feel?" asked the Professor.
"Smug," came the reply. His eyes widened in horror. He tried to say that he felt sick, and he needed to go to see Madam Pomfrey but the words wouldn't come. Dear god, no, not a truth potion – not only was he forced to tell the truth to a direct question, it seemed that he couldn't tell a lie either.
He was fucked – he couldn't even find the words to describe how fucked he was. He was dimly aware that Professor Snape had sneered at Neville for producing a defective potion, and then he was directed to return to his seat.
"Are you alright, Draco?" hissed Pansy.
"Of course I'm not alright," he snapped.
"There's no need the snap. Honestly, anyone would think you didn't like me, the way you go on."
There was a brief moment of thinking 'oh bugger', and then the floodgates opened. "Of course I don't like you, you pug faced disaster of a woman."
Pansy looked at him with an expression split equally between fury and shock, as the rest of the Slytherins looked on in amazement.
"What do you mean you don't like me?"
Draco may have been backed into a corner, and Draco may be forced to tell the truth, but Draco was also a Malfoy. If he was going to have to tell the truth, he was going to do it in style. Seven years of dislike came boiling to the surface; if nothing else at least he would never have to speak to Pansy Parkinson once this entire fiasco was over. So it wasn't entirely a bad thing after all. "I would have thought that was obvious to the meanest intelligence, even a Gryffindor would have grasped by now that I do – not – like – you – Pansy."
"But – but – but-"
"But nothing," he sneered, "I'd rather sleep with Neville than have anything to do with you. You two-face, backstabbing little creep." The potion had made him admit rather more than he intended there, but at least no one else knew that it was a truth potion. They just thought that after seven years of Pansy's solicitousness Draco had finally snapped.
Draco didn't like the interested look that Neville was sending him. Unfortunately, the truth serum stopped him from lying even to himself, so he had to admit he DID like the interested look that Neville was sending him.
Dear god, could it get any worse?
It could, and it did. First, when Zabini objected to the way that he had spoken to Pansy, and he had treated the lad to a detailed description of her morals and present conquests that seemed to bode ill for the future of Zabini's relationship with her. It appeared she had over-estimated his willingness to share.
Then, when taxed with the suggestion that he was a hypocrite of the worst type, and who did he think he was criticising Pansy when he had slept with most of Slytherin, and he heard himself admitting that he hadn't actually shagged most of the girls at all, and only a few of the boys.
The destruction of his carefully established reputation for being a Slytherin Sex god was more than he could take. Whenever someone came near, he would start snarling abuse at them; if he could stop them asking a question, he might be able to survive the rest of the lesson with his sanity intact.
The rest of the potions class passed in silence. No one wanted to speak to Draco when he was in that kind of mood, and so he managed to make it to the door – ahead of everyone else – when class was finished without any more accidents. Now all he had to do was lie low until the potion wore off.
