Chapter Twenty-three
Love Poems and Root Beer
Draco had listened carefully to Snape's story, which had described the ingredients and potion-brewing process before detouring off to tell about how, just as he was sitting down to start the potion, he'd received a letter from the object of his affection (Harry kept involuntarily gagging through most of this part) and had sat down immediately to write his reply to Harry's mother, whose name he still had yet to reveal to the rest of the class. The story was becoming funnier and funnier; Draco, however, sat fuming in the back corner throughout the whole story. The more Snape talked, the more convinced Draco was that this was all some elaborate joke designed to fake Draco out, and the more convinced he was to prove that Snape was lying.
Draco had memorized the entire process and had gathered all of the ingredients for the potion, save one. Where, exactly, was he going to find a can of Muggle root beer?
There was, obviously, no root beer to be had in the classroom. Wizards didn't stock Muggle soft drinks, so he wasn't sure if he could get it at all in Hogwarts, but he had to try. He vaguely recalled the Muggle Studies professor mentioning that the elves got him Muggle drinks occasionally, so he might have a chance if he went to the kitchens, especially now that Dobby was working there. Hopefully, Dobby would either have some or know where to get some—but how to get to Dobby?
Draco's hand shot up into the air. "Professor!" he called loudly, cutting off Snape. "Granger and I have to go to the bathroom!"
Hermione shot him a startled, what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you look as Snape looked over at them in surprise. "You're excused, Draco, Hermione," he said, and went back to his story.
Draco leaped out of his chair, grabbed Hermione by the back of the shirt, and dragged her bodily from the room. Hermione had time for one startled glance at Harry before they were out the door. Every Gryffindor and Slytherin turned to stare at the door, then at Harry, who looked slightly cornered and shrugged, not understanding it himself.
"What are you doing?" Hermione hissed, shoving Malfoy off of her the moment they were out of the classroom.
Draco bit his lip, having no time to come up with an even slightly plausible explanation. So he settled for the truth.
"We're going on a secret mission, Granger! We're off to regain my sanity!"
With that, he darted off down the corridor, heading back for the entrance hall, his eyes shifting about nervously for signs of trouble, hugging the wall and moving so fast that Hermione practically had to run to keep up with him. The whole time, she grumbled and scolded him.
"What the hell are you doing? Where are we going? I've got news for you, Malfoy, there's no regaining it. Your sanity is gone for good. Stop going so fast! Malfoy! What's your problem?"
Draco refused to answer her as he half-dragged her to the entrance hall and through the door that led to the Hufflepuff dormitories and the kitchens.
They stopped in front of the door to the kitchen. Draco tickled the pear while Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "All this because you were hungry?" she said incredulously. "Couldn't you have just waited until class was over?"
Draco pulled open the door and stepped in, then hurriedly shut it in Hermione's face. "Hey!" she exclaimed, and reached for the handle. Draco seized it to hold it still and pressed his body against the door, doing his best to keep her from getting in. The last thing he needed was for Hermione to ruin his plan.
"Draco, sir!" came Dobby's familiar squeal. "Have you come to visit Dobby, sir?"
"Um… actually, I need your help," Draco said apologetically.
"Anything, sir!"
"Listen… have you ever heard of Barq's Root Beer?"
Hermione twisted the doorknob, her shoulder shoving hard against the door, but it was no use. Malfoy was too heavy for her to move.
"Draco Malfoy!" she shouted through the door. "I don't know what you're up to, but so help me, if I—"
The door suddenly swung inward, and Hermione, who'd been leaning heavily on the door and pushing hard, lost her balance and stumbled forward, nearly colliding with Draco, who had opened the door and now stood there, giving her a smile that turned into a smirk when he saw her fall. She glared up at him as she righted herself.
"Come on, Granger," he said, "we're missing class." With that, he walked away, Hermione staring daggers at his back as she trailed behind him.
"So then, the last part of the potion calls for an incantation, if you can believe it—which is rare in potions, as I later discovered, but increases their potency. Anyway, I was rather surprised that the last step was to visualize the person I intended the potion for and speak aloud a love poem. It had to have three four-line verses, every other line had to rhyme, and most importantly, it had to be composed by the person who was brewing the potion. As you can imagine, this took quite some time. Writing poetry was never exactly my strong suit," Snape was saying some time later. He chuckled, as did several of the students. Gradually, the seventh years had started to relax, once it became apparent that Snape's lapse in character was not a warning that he was about to get out his wand and perform the Killing Curse on anything that moved. After all, the sight of Snape in a Christmas sweater and Snape telling them a story about something to do with his crush on a Gryffindor was bound to wear down their fear and replace it with humor.
Draco, meanwhile, was the only person who wasn't the least bit entertained (with the possible exception of Harry). Draco's potion, carefully brewed via the instructions in Snape's tale, was almost complete, and when it was finished, he would prove that it was not some botched love potion but something else entirely, thus proving that Snape made the whole thing up, which would mean that Snape was, in fact, still an evil Slytherin bastard, which would mean that Draco would regain some small shred of the sanity he'd lost on the day he'd spiked Granger's pumpkin juice.
Unfortunately, it looked like if he really wanted to be certain that Snape was lying, he was going to have to follow the last few steps, as well—and that meant composing a love poem.
Draco almost decided to scrap the idea right then and there.
After much internal debate, however, he decided that it couldn't be THAT hard to come up with twelve lines of poetry. People did it all the time, right? Let's see, he thought, frowning at the murky pinkish-red potion. What sort of thing goes in a love poem? Stuff about… um… oh, who cares, I'll just throw in a bunch of girly words and call it a day. Girly words… cute, adorable, pretty, sweet—sweet, there we go. "Sweeter than…" What sort of things are sweet? Um… puppies, I guess, and chocolate… what the hell would rhyme with chocolate? Focklut? Hock a lot? …Okay, I just won't use chocolate. What about puppies? I hate puppies, screw that…
Draco frowned; the love poem was going to be harder than he thought. Still, he reasoned that if it was this hard for him, it must have been a lot harder for Snape, and as such Draco was far more certain that Snape had never actually done any of it and in about twelve lines Draco could definitely prove that Snape was, in fact, a devious little jerk. Draco resolved to think harder, but the potion smelled absolutely foul, which was interfering with his concentration and making him wish he had bothered to learn an air-freshening spell… wait.
"Sweeter than air-freshener!" No, "sweeter than AIR!" Air rhymes with everything! Sweeter than air… what else rhymes with a lot of stuff?
Draco glanced around the room for inspiration. Parvati was taking notes in the row in front of him and giggling with Lavender. Hermione was watching Snape with both amusement and thoughtfulness, as though trying to figure out what had happened despite how funny it was. He glared at Hermione, reminding himself that whatever it was that had gotten into Snape probably had something to do with her. Everything was all her fault, after all.
As his anger with her boiled to the surface, a sudden image of Hermione during the food fight sprang into his mind, her foot on his chest and a bottle of honey in her hand… and he grinned widely, causing Hermione to shoot him a funny look and remind him that he was staring at her while looking happy.
"Honey!" he thought happily, turning away from Hermione quickly. "Sweeter than air, sweeter than honey… now I just need something that rhymes with air! Fair? Bear? Hair? Mare? Glare? Pair? Maybe. Share? Care? Wait… wait… Aunt Andy's wedding picture, what was the inscription on it? She and Uncle Ted always had those little poems written all over pictures and cards and stuff… god, what did that picture say? Dare, the last word was "dare!" Yeah! "A love that I dare!" I remembered it because I didn't understand it in the slightest… okay, that's three lines. "Sweeter than air, sweeter than honey, a love that I dare…" what was the rest of that poem? It had the word "shall" in it… "Shall be my…" my… what? What rhymes with "honey?" Money? Funny? Bun… oh, god. I am not using "bunny." I absolutely refuse! Bunnies… evil little rodents… I'll never look at one again without being embarrassed, thanks to Dumbledore. Can't believe he took my suggestion—what suggestion? It was a JOKE! A sarcastic comment! And he knew that, I'm sure he did… I REFUSE to use the word "bunny!" That's it. They're all against me. Granger, Potter, even Snape! That's why I'm brewing a supposed fudged love potion to prove Snape wrong and trying to convince myself not to use the word "bunny." Well, they won't win. I REFUSE to use the word bunny! REFUSE! There are more words in the world; they won't get me with this one...
…Still, even if I did use it, it's not like Potter and Granger would know I refused to use it, so they wouldn't know they'd won, and that's the whole point, right? …NO! I still won't do it! Oh, they're good with their games, even turned my own mind against me! But I will NOT use "bunny!" "Bunny" is out! They'll never get me to utter that demonic word outside of that wretched password ever! I still REFUSE! I refuse to use "bunny" or "love" or… wait; I already used "love." Well, it IS a love poem… damn it, why can't I just say a bunch of crap about shagging?
Ten minutes later, however, Draco had failed to come up with anything better than "bunny." Reluctantly, he started memorizing the first four lines of his poem, then moved on to compose the second verse.
Gods above, this potion reeks… come on, brain, think… who else do I know with a love poem I can steal from? Hah, that's a laugh. Um… damn this smell, it stinks worse than limburger cheese… hey, wait, that could be a line! "More smelly than—" no, I can't use smelly, that's not mushy… um… synonyms, come on, let's think… smell, scent, fragrance… "More fragrant than cheese!" Cheese'll rhyme with lots of stuff… please, fees… how would I use them? Um… fleas, sees… Seas! Yeah, girls always put something about the ocean in poems, don't they? So what would be a good line for after cheese? Cheese, what goes with cheese… spaghetti? Damned if I could make that rhyme… wine? Wine! Wine… rhymes with mine… ah-ha! "More fragrant than cheese, more tasty than wine," and then… um, as… as… er… love? Lovely! "As lovely as the seas, shall be only mine!" Hey, this isn't so hard. It sucks, but he didn't say it was supposed to be a good poem, now, did he? Wait… aren't poems supposed to have a… beat, or something? What did Mum call it, meter? Oh, who gives a damn, it'll work. It sort of does have a beat, anyway… duh-duh-duh-duh, duh-duh-duh… my god, I'm singing a love poem in my head. That's it, I need a few lines about liquor, or Quidditch, or… hey, this is MY poem, why can't it be about shagging? That's sort of like love, right? From a girly view, anyway. Okay…
"Let's shag by the…" something that rhymes easy… "Let's shag by the…" something else that rhymes easy… and then two more lines, and I can finally show him what for! HAH! Let's see, where do people usually shag? Who cares, not like it matters… stupid Granger, she ruins everything. I could've gotten some this weekend, but nooooo… Hmm, maybe I'll just bring girls up to the guest room. I'd just have to get the drop on Potter and Granger… God, this is all Granger's fault. I'm going to be stuck to her for who knows how long… she's interfering in my social life! Argh! How much more will I have to suffer? Why must Granger ruin everything? Why couldn't I have gotten chained to someone who I could shag? Not that Granger's bad-lo—AAAAHHHHHHH! Draco clamped his hands over his ears and shook his head vigorously, as though there was some evil external force about him that was causing his thoughts and if he just closed all passages to the brain, he could get it to leave. No, he moaned mentally, she's horrible-looking, she's a troll… damn it, I KNEW looking at her naked would scar me for life…
"What are you doing?" hissed Hermione, and Draco looked up to see her staring at him oddly. "Trying to keep a thought in? Not that you have many…"
"Ha, ha, Granger," he snapped, glancing around to make sure no one else had noticed (and quickly letting go of his ears, just in case the thought did do what Hermione had suggested). Not even Harry had seen Draco's strange display; Harry was too busy convincing himself that he had to remain vigilant in case Snape snapped at any moment, so he didn't quite catch Draco's rather erratic movements. Not that he would have cared, anyway. Hermione had only noticed because Draco had disturbed her arm via the chain.
Draco forced himself to act naturally and shove thoughts of Hermione out of his head. He had to finish the poem. He had to prove his teacher was still a Slytherin, so that Snape would rejoin Draco's side and smack down all those pansy-ass Gryffindors once and for all!
I'm cracking up, Draco realized, and sighed heavily before returning to his poem and struggling to finish it. "Let's shag by the..." Hmm… people shag in beds… and on floors… and in empty classrooms—no, that's too long—and in the common room, and in the shower, and in the forest, and in the locker rooms, and by the fire if it's winter—fire! Fire rhymes with plenty of stuff! Okay, where else? I'll need a second verse… by the forest? Girls write a lot about nature… I think… um… the lake? No, that only rhymes with "fake" and "make," neither of those would work… well, it does rhyme with "shake," but I am going to have to say this aloud… god, I'd better be as quiet as possible… what about "river?" No, that only rhymes with "shiver." Um… "pond?" What rhymes with pond? Bond, fond? Wand! WAND! Ha! I'm so good at this… Now, what rhymes with fire? Tire, mire, dire—no, it's all too depressing… squire? Sire? AH! Desire! Yeah, that's good for a love poem... now... hmmm...
Searching the classroom for more inspiration, Draco couldn't help but notice Snape. The potions master, whom many a student feared, was now sitting at his desk, feet propped up, chair tilted back, hands clasped behind his head as he told his story, which was still not over by the sounds of it. "So then, I took the porcupine quills, said the poem, and added the last line, 'because I love you,' and then tossed the quills in—"
"…Explore our desire." Eyes widening slightly, Draco cringed both outwardly and inwardly as the thought popped into his head, causing Hermione to look at him oddly again. Images of Snape and Hermione together were now coursing through his head, and it wasn't too pleasant. He gagged slightly, shuddering.
"It was simply ghastly," Snape was saying. "A thick green smoke started pouring from the cauldron, much to my dismay, and a smell like you wouldn't believe came with it..."
It's now or never, Draco, Draco told himself, and seized the handful of porcupine quills he'd set aside earlier.
"And then the most horrifying thing came out of that cauldron!" Snape continued. He paused, laughing. "Oh, it was absolutely dreadful."
"More than sweetest air," Draco said shakily, as quietly as he could and still be even vaguely audible, "more than sweetest honey, a love that I dare, shall be my," a bitter taste filled his mouth as he reluctantly forced himself to continue, "love bunny."
"What's gotten into you now?" Hermione whispered, rolling her eyes. Draco swallowed and continued, doing his best to ignore her, but her gaze was making him nervous and his voice shook slightly; for the first time, he wondered what might happen if Snape was telling the truth.
"More fragrant than cheese, more sweet than grape wine, lovely as the seas, shall be only mine—"
"Malfoy?" Hermione said, staring at him in disbelief. "Are you saying a LOVE poem?"
That caught even Harry's attention; he looked over curiously. Draco could hear Snape say, "So there it was, three feet tall, evil as can be—"
"Let's shag by the fire—"
"What the hell are you doing?" Hermione whispered more urgently.
"Let's shag by the pond—"
"A horrible, foul-smelling—" Snape said.
"Explore our desire—"
"Do what?" Hermione and Harry demanded together.
"Cheese Spirit," Snape concluded dramatically.
"Let's forget our wands!" Draco finished.
Draco moved to throw the porcupine quills into the cauldron and realization dawned on Hermione. "NO!" she shrieked, jumping up to knock his hand away, but Draco was too quick, hopping out of his chair and sidestepping her.
The entire class spun to look back at them; seven years in a potions classroom with Neville Longbottom teaches a strong sense of alertness to screaming. Thirteen pairs of eyes fixed on Hermione and Draco, just as Draco shouted, in a voice filled with triumph (about proving Snape a liar, mostly, but hey, no one else knew that), "BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!" just as Hermione threw herself forward—
"NOOOO!" shouted Snape, leaping to his feet and drawing his wand, but it was too late.
With a wide, victorious grin, Draco tossed in the porcupine quills.