
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/237674.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Draco_Malfoy, Harry_Potter, Horace_Slughorn
  Additional Tags:
      Hogwarts_Sixth_Year, Hogwarts_Era, Underage_Sex, Frottage, Hand_Jobs,
      Truth_Serum, Dubious_Consent, Confessions, Schoolboys, Smut, Alternate
      Universe_-_Canon
  Collections:
      The_Hex_Files
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-08-10 Words: 3475
****** Veritas ******
by tealeaf523_(ConstantComment)
Summary
     Veritaserum. Liquid honesty. Strongest truth potion known to
     Wizardkind. Invented in 1266 by Duther the Doubtful. Fiercely
     controlled by the Ministry. Painstakingly brewed over a period of
     one-and-a-half moon cycles. Veritaserum. The Advanced Potions
     assignment in preparation for N.E.W.T.s today, March 3, 1997.
Notes
     Dearest kitty_fic, here is the response to your prompt. We all know
     it took much too long, but I hope that you enjoy it all the more for
     the extra several thousand words I ended up writing. I fail so hard
     at 100-900 word ficlets. This story takes place immediately after the
     poisoning incident on Ron's birthday and very clearly veers off from
     canon as the story progresses. I would LOVE to hear feedback on this
     story. Constructive crit is very much welcome, but if you don't feel
     like doing that, leave me your snuggles and glomps!
Veritaserum. Liquid honesty. Strongest truth potion known to Wizardkind.
Invented in 1266 by Duther the Doubtful. Fiercely controlled by the Ministry.
Painstakingly brewed over a period of one-and-a-half moon cycles.
Veritaserum. The Advanced Potions assignment in preparation for N.E.W.T.s
today, March 3, 1997.
And in between plucking thyme from the pots by the windowsill, dropping Dead
Sea salt into the unction of peony pollen and Centaur blood (willingly given,
which for Merlin's sake had to be one of the most expensive ingredients on the
market these days next to unicorn hair), and avoiding thoughts of the Vanishing
Cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things several floors above but never far enough
away, Draco Malfoy silently thanked the appropriate deity for allowing him to
attempt the most challenging Advanced Potions class alone. Considering he
hadn't much time that wasn't focused on goals set by the Dark Lord, Draco was
pleased he could do something straightforward—something he enjoyed—without
someone else to muck it up for him.
It shouldn't have come as a surprise that Luck would drop Harry Potter in
Draco's metaphorical lap just when he was gearing up for a tiny (well deserved)
break in the year he was quickly recognizing as the worst of his life.
"Ron's out sick," Potter grumbled by way of explanation of his lateness and
resulting placement at Draco's side, head ducked and jaw clenched with fury as
Slughorn patted him on the shoulder and moved on to the front of the already
cloudy classroom.
Draco's heart stuttered frantically but he did not miss a beat when Potter
dropped his bag of books and slammed his ratty textbook on the table, causing a
mortar to wobble, the paired pestle rolling along the table until it rested
against Draco's cutting board.
"For once," Draco said, "I am sorry to hear that."
If Potter could glare any harder his eyes would probably pop out of his scarred
head. Draco made sure he knew that too.
"Fuck off, Malfoy," he spat, and then when he was sure Draco would not reply he
groaned silently, leaning on the table and folding his arms, the picture of
apathy with a side plate of teen angst.
Draco slid his gaze back to the herbs he was mincing, rechecking the
instructions in his own text and pretending he was alone. He looked around and
saw that most of the other students were behind him in the instructions, some
having diverged completely from the desired results already. Draco redoubled
his efforts. If he was going to be better this time, he was going to be much
better.
"This week couldn't get any worse," Potter muttered eventually.
Draco grunted, as the week surely could in his experience considering it was
only Wednesday, gathering the thyme with his gloved hands and depositing it
into the mortar.
"I quite fancy a drink of oak matured mead, don't you Malfoy?" Potter said
pointedly as he leaned into Draco's space, face contorted in something very
much like a sneer. "Get myself nice and drunk."
Draco's hands started shaking so he took a deep breath and refocused on the
next step: pickled dove's eyes – 8 ½, add all after serum's aura has faded to a
bruised peach. He readjusted his dragon hide gloves with care and opened the
jar.
Draco dropped his knife, but did not respond, swallowing the guilt and panic
that bubbled up. Was this because of Weasley? How had he gotten hold of the
mead? He knew Slughorn hadn't given it to Dumbledore, but how Potter knew…
Grimacing, he scooped the bird organs out of the jar, preparing to cut one
delicate eye in half before Potter hissed:
"Maybe keep a bezoar around in case someone's tried to kill me!"
Potter must have been incredibly angry, to confront him like this instead of
following him around as per usual. Perhaps almost losing one's best friend
would change things a little. Draco didn't know by experience.
Potter growled incoherently and turned away when he was sure of Draco's non-
response, ruffling open the pages of his textbook, wondering aloud what potion
Draco was "so diligently working on."
Draco rasped, "Veritaserum," just as Slughorn shuffled up to the table again,
smiling falsely at—both of them?
"Potter, m'boy," he greeted, his smile too wide. "Playing teacher today? Mister
Malfoy, don't let him be too hard on you!"
"Oh, I won't, Professor," Draco said, smiling back.
"Veritaserum." Potter was staring dumbly at the side of Draco's head. "Doesn't
that take a full moon cycle to mature?"
Draco wondered incredulously how Potter knew that. Making a face, Draco dropped
the dove eyes into the concoction, which had just now emitted the first pulse
of an aura—
"Yes, Mister Potter. I have let each cauldron mature for one moon cycle in
order for your class to see the finished product, after the last thirty-four
steps have been conducted by—in your case—young Draco, here."
Draco held back a sigh.
"How will you know if it's effective, Professor?" Potter asked.
"Why, we'll test it of course! I will select at random—"
"I don't want to drink anything Malfoy's made," Potter said firmly.
Draco swallowed and looked down at his hands stirring the potion when Slughorn
blinked between the both of them.
"…Sir," Potter added.
Slughorn chortled oddly. "Oh, now, Mister Potter. You are a potions star," the
wizard said, "but we mustn't get too big-headed about it!"
Potter said nothing.
"Very well," Slughorn ceded. Then, glancing over at Draco, he added, "If that
is acceptable… Mister Malfoy?"
Draco clenched a fist around the whisk in his cauldron. "Of course, Professor
Slughorn," he choked out.
The absolute fool bumbled away to comment blithely on the Mudblood's work as
Draco counted thirteen anti-clockwise stirs.
"Which step are we on?" Potter finally muttered while frowning at Granger, who
was still choosing to ignore him.
"I have six more steps to go."
"Next is Cornish Pixie dust?"
Draco glanced at the dark, spidery scribbles in the margins of Potter's
textbook—this oaf wasn't actually a potions prodigy, was he? That chicken
scratch was probably all half-arsed poetry or something. Not notes on potions.
"I have eight more stirs to go until then," Draco said.
"Add one clockwise turn at the end—adds efficacy."
"Listen, Scarhead," Draco spat, fighting the urge to slosh the potion about
with his whisk, "the instructions say otherwise. Just because you're suddenly
everyone's favourite including the Potions master doesn't mean I'm buying into
your genius."
"Just do it, Malfoy." Potter folded his arms, forearms dusted with dark hair,
as his shirt was rolled up at the sleeves. "It's not like it'll be the end of
your world if this potion doesn't work as well as it should."
Draco watched him watch Draco. Then, Potter cocked a stupid eyebrow, grabbing
at his chapped lips with his equally stupid teeth, and Draco added a clockwise
turn. Like an afterthought.
Like without a thought, Draco grumbled miserably to himself, and watched as
Potter dumped the contents of the measuring spoon into the middle of the still
spinning serum.
The potion shone mockingly at Draco, who knew at once that indeed the potion
was more potent.
He could see a devilish smirk twitching at the corner of Potter's mouth as
Draco began to prepare the next ingredients in the two minutes they had before
the next step.
And, despite himself, Draco had listened to every suggestion Potter had—the
want for approval and recognition somehow overweighing the need to keep his
darkest secrets—until they were peering into a cauldron of what looked like
purest, stillest water, Potter thumbing through his textbook smugly while Draco
took off his gloves, forcing himself to breath calmly.
Draco's heart galloped when Slughorn announced that it was now time to test
each cauldron.
"You must try to resist answering truthfully!" Slughorn said, passing out tiny
salt spoons made of glass. "This amount will allow your partner to ask three
questions of you before the effect wears off. Do try to ask non-invasive
questions limited to the answers 'yes' or 'no.'"
Draco took his spoon and stared at it while Professor Slughorn waxed
sycophantic about Potter's potions skills. It was only when Slughorn gripped
him on the shoulder that Draco looked up into the eyes of a vaguely
uncomfortable-looking Gryffindor.
"Quite sure you don't want to test out the fruits of your labour, Potter?"
Draco asked shakily.
That disconcerted look faded quickly. "Positive," Potter said shortly, biting
again at his lips.
Draco dipped the little spoon into the potion and brought what he'd gathered to
his lips. He knew the stuff had kicked in as soon as it hit his tongue because
otherwise he'd be tamping down bubbling dread in the pit of his stomach. In
place of the dread had settled a niggling calm, like boredom. He rolled his
shoulders.
"Feeling it yet, Malfoy?"
The niggling feeling churned and morphed into a prod behind his eyes, getting
steadily worse the longer he struggled not to answer. As soon as the prodding
turned into outright nausea, Draco shuddered out a quiet, "Yes."
Potter realized his mistake immediately. He'd wasted one of three questions
already. He ran a hand through his hair.
They both jumped when a pair toward the front of the classroom shrieked in
laughter, having realized that their potion made the dosed witch answer
backwards.
Potter swore under his breath, then muttered, "Muffliato," as he whipped his
wand through the air and holstered it in one blink.
Then, Potter began pacing.
"I knew from the start that you were up to something. You don't bother with
anything else anymore. And then the mead, and you disappearing off the map, and
you hanging out with all those random girls…"
Draco didn't know exactly which angle Potter was coming from, but even through
the haze of the serum he could feel how close Potter was circling to the truth.
He only had to ask. He could ask so many questions. All of them would be
devastating.
Draco rubbed at his face, the bored feeling making him antsy, on the verge of
panic, heart speeding without any questions to fulfil the potion's purpose.
"Stop, stop moving—I'm going to—" Draco sucked in a gulp of air. "Oh, Merlin…"
Potter was on him so fast—crowding him against the counter, craning up into
Draco's face—that Draco momentarily forgot to breath. The frustration was
vibrating off of Potter. You could literally feel the angry magic in the air.
Draco's hands scrambled for purchase against the sleek wood of the table,
knocking the jar of pickled dove eyes over and spilling the contents.
"You—you have to ask me something. Potter, please!" Draco gasped, eyes darting
away and back again. "I'll be sick."
"Do you want to get out of the mess you're in, Draco?" Potter asked, voice
quiet and controlled.
The question was so unexpected that the answer startled out of him, ripped from
his throat on a sob.
"Yes."
It was the right answer, for any version of the question Potter had asked, and
Draco experienced a bit of clarity followed by a rush of vertigo, like
breathing in too-thin air, and collapsed against Potter's chest.
He didn't realize tears were leaking from his eyes until he felt the sodden
mess of Potter's button-down.
"Circe…" Draco whispered, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his robe.
Potter was close, looking down at him, as Draco was rather dramatically letting
him hold all of his weight. Potter's lips were an abused red, and his eyes
greener than ever. Draco felt Potter's hands fist tighter in the fabric of his
robes, two knots against his shoulder blades.
As Potter leaned down, his face tilted and eyes hooded, Draco reached up to
trace a finger over Potter's collarbone. Draco's stomach wound tight, brow
furrowing, wanting, leaning up and then—
"D'you fancy me, Malfoy?" Potter husked out, breath huffing in the millimetre
of space between their lips.
Draco closed his eyes, the uneasy feeling drowning out the desire coiled deep
in his belly. "Yes," he said as the prodding-behind-the-eyes began again.
Potter's absence was almost stronger than his presence.
Draco scrubbed at his face before turning and salvaging what he could of the
wrecked ingredients then put a Stasis charm over the surface of the
Veritaserum. Potter removed whatever spell it was that he'd cast and reported
what he supposed was a success to Professor Slughorn. Draco then drifted out of
the classroom, dragging his book bag like it weighed a tonne, the effect of the
potion fading out of existence as he reached the door.
Everyone in the class had apparently been oblivious to what had transpired at
his and Potter's counter. They were all chatting happily or blushing furiously
from the secrets they'd divulged, filing out behind him in one great cluster.
Draco just felt empty.
"Ow, fuck!"
And now Draco felt pain. Pain at the back of his skull where someone had
grabbed him from the hallway and slammed him against a stone wall in a nook
near the stairwell. He had only time to spot two bright green eyes behind round
glasses before he was being shoved up against the wall again, what felt like a
blanket falling over him, and lips pressing insistently against his own. Draco
gasped against those lips, and let an equally insistent tongue lick into his
mouth.
Potter swallowed Draco's undignified moan and brought his hands up to cradle
the back of Draco's skull, mussing the neat hair with his fingers. There was a
thigh between Draco's legs, pressing up against his cock and wringing hurt
sounds from his throat.
"Fu—" Draco whimpered, wrapping his arms around Potter's shoulders and grabbing
at his clothes.
Potter's hands were all over, flitting, grabbing, scratching across Draco's
arms and shoulders and neck as his lips were fixed, suckling at Draco's Adam's
apple like a man starved. He'd have an angry mark to show for it, but he
couldn't bring himself to care.
"Potter, Potter, Potter," he found himself chanting under his breath instead of
pushing the boy away.
"Mnh," replied the boy, grasping Draco's jaw and forcing his tongue back into
Draco's waiting mouth.
Draco was harder than ever, finally giving in and thrusting against Potter who
gasped happily, his cock hot and dripping in his pants. Draco reached down and
rubbed a palm against the wet spot on Potter's denims, unzipping the fly when
Potter asked brokenly for him to touch.
"Yes," Draco said.
"You," Potter said—of course he'd be this incoherent and yet command every bit
of Draco's obedience—and Draco unbuttoned his own trousers. His cock twitched,
leaking precome when Potter grabbed for it, wrapping his fingers tightly around
the shaft and rubbing his palm against the head. Draco blanked out of a moment
or so, feeling tingly and warm as Potter worked him up. After too long a moment
Potter nudged Draco's chin with his nose and whined impatiently, reminding
Draco he wasn't being quite fair. Draco searched out Potter's lips and lifted a
hand to them, waiting only a second before Potter understood and licked his
palm, making sure to suck at the tips of Draco's fingers before reaching for
Draco's mouth instead. His unoccupied hand slipped up Draco's shirt and
smoothed across his stomach, pushing the fabric up until his palm rested
against Draco's heart.
Draco gripped his slick hand around Potter's cock on a low whine, picking up
the pace to match Potter's hand on his own cock. The feeling was building up
from his spine, white hot and making his toes and thighs and arsehole twitch
with want.
"Potter," Draco whimpered, hand quick on Potter's cock, feeling the beginning
of Potter's orgasm in the rolling of his hips.
"Oh, God—" Potter choked out, going stiff as a board as he painted Draco's
fingers white.
Draco's orgasm ripped from him, startling both of them as it coated both their
hands and a bit of their stomachs.
It was quiet save for their gasps.
When he felt like he could breath properly again, Draco fished out his wand and
Vanished their mess, head knocking back against the wall to look at the ceiling
through the invisible fabric that rested against his forehead.
"I can get you out, Draco," Potter said, hushed.
"What?" Draco asked quietly, pulling his pants back up over his hips while
contemplating a crack in the vaulting above them, buttoning his trousers with a
snap of his fingers.
"Whatever you've gotten yourself into, I can get you out." Potter leaned in,
fiddling with Draco's collar.
Draco's stomach knotted up. "You can't," he said.
"Whatever he's making you do…"
"He'll kill them."
Potter removed his hand from under Draco's shirt, lingering only a little
before tucking himself in and zipping himself up. He backed away slowly,
leaving Draco feeling simultaneously lighter and heavier, taking away the
lingering high of orgasm. An orgasm that Potter had given him just a moment
ago. The thought wasn't horrid enough to keep his stomach from clenching with
want, cock taking a fuzzy, sex-hurt interest. He glanced at Potter, watching
him lick his puffy chapped lips as he watched Draco right back. He wondered if
the same thoughts were floating through Potter's head. He wondered if Potter
would revisit the last few minutes in his bed tonight. Draco took a breath and
refocused on the conversation.
"He will kill them, Potter," he said again.
"Look, Draco…" He ran his fingers through his hair and pushed his glasses up
the bridge of his nose. "Meet with Dumbledore—"
"Potter."
"Meet with me and Dumbledore and we'll figure it out."
"Fuck. That is not how things work! You cannot just fix every problem—"
"I can," the boy said determinedly.
Draco rolled his eyes.
"I can if it means that you will stop trying to kill for a man who is not
likely to keep his promises." Potter glanced out into the corridor for a
moment. "If you want to save your parents' lives, you can do that without
whatever deal you made."
"You have no idea…" Draco murmured, shaking his head.
"I promise you have options."
Draco stared hard over Potter's shoulder.
"Please, Draco," Potter said after several quiet moments.
"Stop calling me that."
"What?"
"Stop calling me Draco—it's weird."
Potter chuckled, pressing his shoulders into the wall. "Does it make your dick
twitch?" he joked.
"It's distracting," Draco conceded, leaning down and kissing him quickly before
shoving him away and tossing the cloak at him. "Have Dumbledore summon me for
detention or something. I can't just trot on up to the Headmaster's office of
my own volition."
"Yeah. Yeah, good idea."
"That's right; it is a good idea."
"Oh, stuff it Malfoy," Potter said, wrapping the shimmery fabric up and
stuffing it into a pocket in his robes.
Draco smirked, even though Potter's grin made his heart beat like a rabbit's.
"Owl me."
"Burn it after reading it," Potter replied.
"Of course. I'm not going to keep your scribbles under my pillow; don't worry."
"I'm not worrying!"
Draco peeked around the corner and, when he saw no one in the hall, looked back
over his shoulder. "I'm not going to apologize for what I did," he said.
Potter's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
"I did it for my family, Potter." Draco looked down at his boots. "You
understand that, don't you?"
Draco stepped out into the hallway, ears buzzing strangely for a moment. He
frowned when Potter's response was garbled and hard to understand.
Potter followed him into the corridor and spoke again, quietly. "I'm not sorry
I used the Veritaserum like I did." He stroked his wand through the air and
slipped it back up his sleeve, just like earlier.
"It was rather Slytherin of you, actually," Draco admitted, redirecting their
attention away from his bruised pride—his stinging embarrassment that had the
buzz kill of a violent train wreck. "Too blatantly manipulative, but passable."
"I made sure no one would notice."
"That sounds like an apology to me," Draco said, unconsciously brushing his
fingers over a red cheek.
Potter shrugged. "It's a rationalization, just like yours."
"You think you're so clever."
Potter eyed Draco, shoving his hands into his pockets, too casual. "Clever
enough," he replied.
Draco snorted.
Potter quirked his eyebrows and said, "We weren't too bad together, just now."
Draco looked at Potter. At his green eyes behind the ridiculous round glasses.
At his crumpled robe and trousers and hair. At his determined demeanour and
hopeful expression.
"I'm going to go now," Draco said finally.
"Yeah," Potter laughed nervously. "See you around, then."
Draco walked away, letting just a little bit of Potter's hope to catch and bury
itself deep in his chest.
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