Chapter the Ninth: In Which Draco is Blond

Disclaimer: The fanfiction writer does not profit from this exercise in creative demented writing.

Warning: If you find fandom one-liners amusing, you may want to put down the refreshing beverage until the end of the chapter.

Draco arrived at breakfast the next morning dressed in soft lavender robes with pink velvet collar and cuffs, every hair fixed in place with scented gel (that also served to keep the entire business clean, since even with elf magic, washing and drying was a massive undertaking that Wormy could only manage once a month at best.) He ate peacefully, if somewhat sparsely, sighing over his favorite strawberries (dipped in rather terrifying amounts of sugar.) Between bites, he checked his reflection in the teapot, pinching his cheeks in a somewhat hopeless attempt to impart some color, (mostly) playfully fired brightly colored ribbons and soap bubbles at Wormy, and prated about which Quidditch players looked most like princes, not really caring that Severus answered in noncommittal monosyllables.

Apparently, certain things cannot be unseen. Really, Severus could have kicked himself for not realizing it sooner.

The boy was only a few minutes late to the laboratory for his day’s work, having taken the time to change into a relatively conservative blackwork-embroidered olive green robe, which he seemed to admire in conjunction with his rust-colored lab apron. Severus made no comment but kicked some trailing coils of braids out of his way, noting with grim satisfaction that the platinum cable was at least good for dusting the laboratory floor.

“As the stars are not well aligned for the production of healing potions, we shall have to find another subject,” Severus announced, “preferably one that is almost as lucrative.” Light eater or not, Draco’s upkeep wasn’t free.

“Can we make Beautification Potions?” Draco asked eagerly.

“No.” Severus refrained from berating the boy. Last night’s incident was still quite fresh in his mind, and he wanted to stay as far away from related topics as possible. (Which was a damn shame; Beauty Potions were fairly reliable sellers, even in a meager wartime economy.) Now that he knew Draco’s roundabout inquiries regarding the birds and the bees actually concerned the bees and—well, other bees—he was even less inclined to answer them. Clearly, his standard response of ‘write your parents’ had been ignored, as the tower was not besieged with Howlers from either of the elder Malfoys.

“What about Felix Felicis?” Severus didn’t trust those bright, hopeful gray eyes for one minute. Especially not when the little twit fluttered his lashes like that.

“If you were ready for that, I would send you for your exams today,” Severus spoke more wistfully than sarcastically. Some noble would doubtless pay through the nose—both nostrils—for Felix Felicis. “Prepare a cauldron for Unctuous Unction, and tell me to whom its invention is traditionally credited.” They could still squeeze a few galleons out of noble purses with a little bottled flattery.

Draco mumbled his way through the correct response and set up the workspace in an unenthusiastic, albeit more or less proficient, manner. Soon, all was quiet chopping, stirring, and simmering. It lulled Severus into quite the false sense that all would not go to shit that day.

Cauldrons were bubbling and colors were changing quite nicely when Draco just had to open his mouth.

“Sir, is today’s potion suitable for use as a sexual lubricant?”

Severus dropped the stirring rod—right into the cauldron—for the first time in his potions-making career. “GO. Go to your room, this instant! And don’t come back until you have written, ‘I will not ask my Potions Master’—THAT question—five hundred times!”

Draco threw his cutting board across the room. “NO! I won’t write lines, and I don’t want to go to my room, it’s BORING there! You won’t teach me any useful spells or fun potions, and if I have to be stuck in this rotten, cramped, claustrophobic tower all the time, I want to do something INTERESTING.”

“Ungrateful brat! There is no better laboratory in this kingdom or any other in which to learn the exact art and subtle science of potion-making! You may practically do without spells if you master it as I have! And since it seems to have escaped your notice, this is a two-bath, two-bedroom (at the expense of my observatory, I might add), seven story FULLY EQUIPPED wizard’s tower! All the elves at Hogwarts could inspect the kitchen and find nothing wanting! The library alone would keep a wizard of any decent intelligence engaged for YEARS! To say nothing of the bloody two-story conservatory! We’re practically rattling about! There are wizards who would kill to have a tower like this one! In fact, if I’m not mistaken your father—Well, that’s neither here nor there. All events, you are stuck here either until you are qualified or until some prince rescues you, and that is that!”

“Then I want to be rescued RIGHT NOW!” Draco fled the room, slamming the laboratory door shut behind him. Sounds that bore a suspicious resemblance to sobs accompanied the rapidly receding sound of feet on stairs.

“That makes two of us!” Severus shouted at the closed door. A sudden gurgling sound caught his disaster-tuned ears. “Bollocks!” He extinguished the fire beneath the cauldron and contemplated the ruined mess that was now, indeed, probably only suited to be a lubricant of some sort. He took a deep breath rather than commence a profanity-filled tirade, however warranted. At the rate they were going, Severus would exhaust his supplies of exclamation marks, capital letters, and sanity long before he could fashion a reputable potion-making professional from that heap of hair and hormones.

Severus Summoned the document responsible for this massive cock-up and began to read frantically. “There has got to be a loophole in this contract.”

Anyone remember those LJ icons blazoned with 'Things I am no longer allowed to do at Hogwarts'? Yeah, I could only remember one that pertained to potions.