Draco is fatshaming, I placed a warning because I rather over- than under-warn.
The effects of the Draught of Peace differ depending on how much is consumed. A table spoon of the draught relieves anxiety and agitation, and wears off within roughly three hours.
One could up to triple that amount without any risk; tripling the dose would of course leave unchanged what one's thoughts are about, but obscure any 'bad' emotions that these thoughts might bring.
A drinker of the draught could be on fire and wouldn't feel an inkling of concern, though they would feel pain and would know for a fact that it might be good to put the fire out.
The effect (of the draught, not of the fire) lasts roughly six hours.
Draco had never loved anything as much as he loved the Draught of Peace.
He could remember that he had awoken so distraught that he thought there would be nothing left of him if he took it. Its effect had been nearly instantaneous, washing away all the unpleasantness and leaving him only with arousal... which was far easier to handle.
Factually, he knew that that had been wrong.
That he ought to have felt shame.
Disgust.
But those were just words.
He factually knew that somebody had to have caused this 'dream'.
He no longer thought it was a dream, not really, but he had nothing else to call it.
He also knew that no witch or wizard his age could be capable of torture of this kind so whatever it was, it couldn't possibly have its roots in Hogwarts.
Perhaps some acquaintance had it out for him; his Father's friends were a bit typical so it wouldn't be a stretch to think one of them might enjoy the thought of him suffering.
He'd read about people like that.
But that would made it very odd to have this specific Beth-centred dream featuring one of his relatives.
Perhaps it was some kind of vision, after all?
And if it was, did it pertain to the future or to the past?
When he was home again he could just go to the room it'd happened in and see its current state, then check if the man was on any of the portraits and go from there.
It all seemed so easy now.
With his concerns not feeling actually concerning, the morning was bliss.
When he had woken up ridiculously early again, he first spent nearly an hour in the shower.
Then he took his time to neatly write labels for all the potions he had made. It was a time consuming task and he didn't really need it, as the draughts had very distinct colours, but it was a satisfying thing to do.
After brunch, when Pansy had awkwardly avoided him, he had decided to lounge in the Common Room.
Crabbe, Goyle, and himself were the only ones there; since the weather was good most students had gone outside.
Crabbe and Goyle were studying since he had told them to and he spent some time just looking out the window, enjoying the underwater view of the Great Lake.
Green-grey cloudy water stretched in all directions and the occasional shadow of an unidentified creature floated by, creating the perfect amount of entertainment.
He took up most of the sofa he had claimed, as he had swung one leg over its arm support and was therefore somewhat forced to lean against Goyle who was sitting beside him.
Draco never usually draped himself over furniture like this, the thought of being this 'indecent' made him uncomfortable and if his Father could see him he would be bodily corrected.
Surely there was some causation involved there.
The Draught was his best friend, he was sure of it.
He caught Crabbe staring up at him and he looked back, not feeling the slightest urge to break eye contact. Crabbe obviously did and dropped his gaze back to his book.
If Crabbe was actually smart, he might be of some use… Maybe a test was in order.
"How's studying going then?" Draco asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Alright," Crabbe answered softly.
"What do you suppose Trelawney was on about the other day?" Draco asked casually.
"Huh?"
That response meant that Crabbe had already failed the test, but Draco decided to give him another shot.
Why not? It was a good day.
"The incense and gale and all that, what do you suppose she meant?"
"Oh," Crabbe was quiet for a moment, looking at his Care of Magical Creatures book as if that would help. "Well, she doesn't know about Fata Morganas as well as you… "
Draco trained his eyes on Crabbe, willing him to elaborate.
Usually he would be perfectly happy taking a compliment and continuing whatever he was saying, but that wasn't what he was after now.
He couldn't remember the last time he had looked at him for this long.
After roughly twenty seconds Crabbe continued, clearly somewhat flustered: "Eurh.., I suppose she meant the gale was reality and all the ways it impacts our experience and how that influences us and all… So the ashes would be the ways that the gale becomes visible for us, since the gale itself is invisible until there's something in it to show us what it's doing, so… If something is what it is without symbolism, that'd mean the wind and the incense are the same thing."
It appeared Crabbe was getting more comfortable speaking, picking up the pace a little as he continued: "But I do think her imagery falls flat because in broader terms, the infinity of reality expresses itself in every instantiation in its scope, not influencing it but providing it, and the instantiations we are equipped to experience necessarily partake in it, since without reality we would neither have something to experience nor would we be able to experience it. But a stick of incense does not need a gale to exist, not in our world, anyway, so she got that as wrong as she was when she equated a Fata Morgana with an echo."
After a few seconds Crabbe somewhat shyly peered up at him again and added "…I think so, anyway."
Draco was pleasantly surprised, though he supposed that was because any unpleasantness was impossible for him at the moment.
He also wondered whether he would be able to process that monster of an answer if he had it in print.
He got the point though; not every word, but he got message.
Like he had with the poem.
Suddenly his heartbeats felt heavier.
"Do you know French?" he asked apathetically.
He knew he'd be uncomfortable if he could be.
Crabbe licked his lips and nodded.
"So you-…?"
"Yes," Crabbe interrupted him, instantly turning red and looking down again.
Draco remembered the penmanship. "But the writing-?"
"Ambidextrous," Crabbe said to his book.
He got out some parchment and with his left hand jotted down his usual cacography.
Then with the right, he perfectly reproduced the elegant cursive that Draco recognised from the poem.
Draco's mind went blank — supposedly a surge of panic he couldn't feel.
"I don't know, I… It's hard to keep it up. It's unfair. I never wanted it to be, it just… How to broach it?"
Crabbe sounded helpless and Draco knew instantly that he wasn't talking about ambidexterity.
"There's never a good time, going along is comfortable enough and it's a nice challenge to fit the mold you offer because it's easier than uprooting everything…. " Crabbe trailed off and took a breath, sounding almost as if he was hyperventilating as he continued. "But now you have this problem… and I have been trying to keep my head down for so long, just.. Going along, but I think I could help you. If you'd let me. Because there is nothing I would rather do, I can't stand idly by as you are going through some Hell when I'm sat there, pretending I'm an ignoramus, pretending you are not the highlight of my life — because the poem is true. It's been true for years and I was so worried that if you knew, you would push me away. But now is the time, because you need me— or rather, I want you to know that I'm here in case you need me, so I'm telling you. Flat out."
Crabbe paused to take a breath. His eyes darted to Goyle and then back to Draco, and with a breaking voice he said: "Je t'aime."
There was no mistaken the outright declaration of love, albeit in another language.
Draco's numbed mind recognised a response was needed so he nodded.
After a few more seconds he sat decently, no longer leaning against Goyle.
In a daze he turned to him. "If you have anything to say to me, this is the time."
Goyle had looked at Crabbe in confusion, apparently unaware of what was going on.
"Any confessions?" Draco prompted.
Goyle looked from Draco to Crabbe and back again, suddenly looking very caught: "I took all the Frogs' Cards… I know you told me to put them on the table but…— they're in my trunk." He sounded very remorseful.
"Is that it?" Draco asked, a bit of relief trickling through the numbness.
A bit taken aback, Goyle added, "I'm sorry, Malfoy," sounding heartfelt.
Draco told him it was fine and that he should guard the entrance.
When he was out of earshot Draco cast a Silencing charm around Crabbe and himself and looked back at Crabbe, who looked miserable.
He couldn't remember seeing him like this before.
"Take a chair," Draco said graciously, trying to emulate his Father. "I suppose you're lucky I took -…"
"Draught of Peace, yeah I know — " Crabbe burbled as he rushed to take a proper seat.
"Don't interrupt me," Draco continued.
It was odd to experience uncertainty without negativity, it felt a bit like unwrapping gifts but milder.
"You could be the smartest person in the world but that doesn't mean you get to disrespect me."
He thought for a moment. What would his Father say in this situation?
"You've lied to me for years. By omission, but that doesn't make it better."
That sounded right.
Crabbe was repeatedly grabbing and releasing his upper legs, shaking all over.
"Why would I trust you?" Draco asked the question slowly, not just in emulation but also because he genuinely wanted to know.
Tears were streaming from Crabbe's eyes now but looked like he tried to stop them. "I've never tried to hurt you," he managed in a choked voice, "I never harmed you, I would never harm you, I just wanted to be with you and it got out of hand, I'm so sorry Draco, I'm — "
The use of his first name made this all the more personal and in his current state, Draco couldn't dislike it. He did feel particularly addressed though and it was odd to see someone break down in front of him without feeling empathy.
Was he angry and was the draught masking it?
Factually he knew that he should find it scary to not know whether he was angry.
His mind went a bit numb again — it was hard to think at all when it tuned out like that, apparently the panic clouded his internal processes even when he couldn't feel it.
His heart still pounded heavily in his chest.
(!) "So … you're in love?" he asked, not completely sure where he was going with this line of questioning. He knew — for a fact — that he had occasionally been disgusted with Crabbe just for being himself; his size, his appetite, basically his features. There was no way this could lead anywhere.
Crabbe nodded fervently.
"Since when?" Draco asked flatly.
"… your eighth birthday party," Crabbe sniffled and Draco handed him a tissue. He didn't feel any disgust at the tears and snot, but he would rather quell it now anyway before it expressed itself in nausea or something.
"I always liked you, but that was when I really saw you interact with many different people, saw how you thought before every word you said, that you behaved a bit differently with everyone — and I just recognised something in that, in the way you calculated every move, that you constantly pretended… Maybe you'd always done it, but that's when I really saw it."
Crabbe paused and intensively used the tissue.
"Before, I thought your parents were great, but then I noticed that you seemed intimidated by your father, that you kept glancing over at him when you spoke to adults; and when it was just us children you could let go again and just say what you wanted." Crabbe looked up as if to ask for permission to continue and Draco stared straight back.
His mind had blipped out again.
It was taken as encouragement: "That's… the same for me. You know my parents aren't really… Well, they try. But especially my dad, he's not quite so…. intelligent. And I know with your father, it's mostly about image and respect and ultimately about influence. But with mine, it's confirmation. He just wants to be good enough and if his son would be smarter than him he'd consider himself inadequate. I don't want to do that to him so I just started… Pretending."
This caused more tears but they were different. They flowed calmly, from an older and deeper pain.
"My parents think I peaked at age seven."
Draco had no response to this.
Some creature floated by the window and apart from Crabbe's sobbing the room was silent.
Draco's heart still beat heavily, he could feel his body rock the slightest bit with every thump.
Crabbe regained some composure and continued. "So… When I realised how much you needed to lash out, I was glad to take it; I felt we had this secret, you and I — or rather; you had the secret and I secretly knew it. And you didn't question it, nobody did. I mean Gregory, he gets the same at home, he doesn't know better, but for me it's an honour."
The word 'honour' had some positive connotation which was good, because the numbness was too… odd.
"Why not tell me?" Draco asked apathetically. Apparently his ability to inflect had died with the potion.
"I tried a few times but I never really worked up to it. I can't just go 'Hey Draco, I'm smart', I mean; you'd have just laughed and if I'd have proved myself, you'd freak out. So there were a few times where I dropped hints, but you always quashed them. Things like 'oh shut it' and 'don't talk above your worth', so…. And over time, I just… the feelings just… Nobody knows, I've never told anyone, you're the first and it's been maddening."
Crabbe seemed to bolster himself a bit before continuing. "You're so important to me Draco, you're the only good thing in my life. Please, I don't want to lose all I have — …"
"You've got nothing." Draco noticed his hand was shaking as he took a sip of water so he put the glass back down. "You got close to me under false pretences and now I know."
Crabbe was sobbing again.
Draco made no attempt to mask his disbelief. "What did you think would happen when I found out?"
He considered calling him 'Vincent' but he dismissed that quickly; it might be taken as an invitation of intimacy and he had no need for that.
"I hoped if the idea could grow on you, you'd give me a chance." There was desperation in his tone.
Draco sighed and realised the thumping of his heart was lessening. He opened his mouth to say something but then noticed he had no idea what. He sighed again and decided to just pronounce his thoughts.
"Look; I'm never going to be interested in you like that. And for being smart and all — why would you put yourself in that position? I mean; I get that you want to keep things alright with your father but if he's an idiot then why would you throw away your life for him?"
Crabbe physically bristled at the insult at his father but didn't mention it. There was fervour in his tone: "What else do I have? My parents love me, I love you, and you all want me as this… oaf! You're comfortable with it, my parents too, so if I'd come out now I would ruin everything like I have with you."
Then, more exasperated: "Do you realise we've never had an actual conversation before? It's something I always wanted, just to talk to you as myself, have you answer and not be — … I don't know. Not be angry, I suppose. I know it's just because of the draught but I think this may be the best day of my life, being able to share with you without pretending."
"That's pathetic." Draco took another sip of water and this time his hand wasn't shaking.
Good, he'd kind of wondered whether he'd been heading for a heart attack.
"What you said earlier, about reality and such, do you really think like that? Or were you putting it on?"
Crabbe seemed to deflate a bit, probably at the change of topic. "Bit of both… About some things I think like that — mostly about concepts and theories, but I don't generally think in words. You were obviously onto me though, so I figured 'why not blow him away'?"
"I was only onto you because you let me…" Draco trailed off.
Crabbe took the invitation to elaborate: "Yeah… I'd wanted to show you the poem for a long time, like I said, but I know how badly you've been sleeping lately and then with what you asked Trelawney, and the potions — it's obvious there's something going on; nightmares or something? I just want to help you Draco, and I -…"
"Stop saying my name, it's jarring."
Crabbe pressed his lips together and hung his head. He remained silent.
"Since you're all that clever and so into me… How do I know that you didn't cause the problem just to swoop in and save me?" Draco didn't actually think Crabbe caused it, but he was curious about the answer.
Crabbe looked back up at him, clearly hurt by the implication: "That I'm smarter than you thought doesn't mean I'm evil — I'd never knowingly harm you, Dra—… I wouldn't. I just want to help you, I swear. You can give me Veritaserum if you like or I'll take an Unbreakable Vow; I'd do anything — I'd die for you."
"I might hold you to that," Draco said flatly, curiosity unfolding within him.
Just how smart was Crabbe?
"And I might believe you… But tell me; how would you have done it? If it were you?"
Crabbe silently looked at his lap for a moment, then stroked a hand over his face and sat more upright. "Right," he rolled up his sleeves; "Hypothetically. If I would have gone out of my way to create a problem for you that I'd 'swoop in and fix', I would have been very thorough. And…— just so you know, I would never. I respect you far too much for that."
Draco scoffed and surprised himself with it. He hadn't felt un-Peaceful but the sound was out before he knew it.
Crabbe gave him an odd look. "I-… I do, why wouldn't I? Nothing I said would make any sense if I didn't."
There was something brewing inside of Draco, a gnawing feeling akin to a word being on the tip of his tongue but then in the back of his head. He tried to speak over it though, hoping it would go away. "How can you respect me - or even… 'love' me… when you're so much smarter than I am?"
Crabbe seemed taken aback. "I guess you're different in this respect… but I don't look down on people because of their intelligence."
He caught Draco's eyes and Draco caught himself wanting to look away.
Was the draught wearing off?
"It's the way you apply your wits; you carry yourself more thoughtfully than anyone else. Over time it's become more internalised I suppose, but I see your facial expression change the moment you turn away from someone nearly daily. And the way you present yourself to people you find important is so admirable... You portray perfection, what you think perfection would be in their eyes — or at least perfect enough to get what you're after. You know what you want and how to get it and you have no patience for what gets in your way. You're aggressive, dominant, a little bit sadistic…"
The way Crabbe listed those made it seem like they were admirable qualities.
"Also, that you'd put your birthday sweets for all Slytherins to take, I know that's not generosity; it's image and it's so thorough, so refined... "
Crabbe got a distant look in his eyes and visually pulled himself together. "But it's not just that, it's also what you do when you're off guard. The past few days, with how you spat at Trelawney and spoke to Snape, and your face after you released the Chocolate Frogs the other night… Your composure's just gone. But you're handling it. Whatever's bothering you, it has to be awful with how it's affecting you, but you're studying and working around it and I just love-… I admire that."
The thing inside of Draco cast a blanket of displeasure. Most of what Crabbe said had been strange to hear, but there was one word that seemed blatantly misplaced.
"Sadistic?" Draco narrowed his eyes, trying to focus despite the feeling. "I suppose, maybe, but how is that a good-…"
The answer hit him as he spoke: "Ah. That's your... 'thing'."
Crabbe nodded awkwardly, if somewhat hopefully.
Draco was at a loss for words and the growing feeling turned to gloom. "Right, well-… You realise that now I know all this, I can't just pretend I don't. It's too much."
The gloom was building, growing tendrils of concern.
Draco stood up; it was time to end this conversation and take more of the draught.
Crabbe nodded anxiously, clearly desperate for him to continue.
"For now; while we're in Hogwarts, just be normal — how you usually are. After the O.W.L.s are done I'll -…"
Draco's voice broke - a lump formed in his throat and the edges of his vision blurred. The concern grew stronger.
Crabbe had been nodding in relief but now looked worried.
Concern turned to dread and Draco heavily sat down again, feeling faint.
"Eh…" he tried to push through, putting a hand to his head.
His heart pounded his thoughts away and he wasn't sure what he seeing anymore.
Breathe in for three seconds, out for four, in for five, out for six…
