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A Potion Named Desire	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 10877 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
Thanks again for all the reviews!

This is the last chapter of A Potion Named Desire. However, it will have a sequel, to be entitled An Alchemical Discontent, which will probably start in about a week.

Chapter Twelve—What Harry Needs The Potion For

            Draco lowered the newspaper slowly, frowning.

            On the one hand, it was just an article in the Daily Prophet, which half the time got the news it reported wrong, and a quarter of the rest of the time made lies up to render their articles more exciting. Draco could investigate and probably find out that the “truth” of this article was the result of a concatenation of exaggerations, miscommunications, emphasis, and inflections.



            On the other hand…

            He stared again at the article. Why had the Daily Prophet thought it important to announce, on their front page no less, than notorious independent apothecary Robin Lockswood was going “moral?” He had priggishly pinned up, on the front window of his shop, a list of potions he would no longer sell. That included love potions, philters that were supposed to make an insecure person look better in the eyes of a straying lover or critical parent, and “any potion that unduly influenced the psychological state of a person’s mind. You might as well call them second cousin to the Imperius Curse.”

            That last description—well, not the second sentence, of course, because Draco knew damn well Desire didn’t have any addictive properties, and no one could be forced to take it—fit their potion very well.

            Draco tapped his fingers slowly against the photograph of Lockswood standing with his arms folded outside his shop, an expression of pious “morality” on his face. Such men’s reformation was never permanent. Lockswood had just shut himself away from three enormously profitable areas of the market. He’d backslide soon enough, when he found public approval less tasty than the profits he was now missing out on.

            And he had been one of Draco’s competitors, not a distributor. Oh, Draco had put his name on the list of people he might contact about the Desire potion, but it had been far down that list. He had plenty of other people who would be interested in Desire and do a better job of selling it besides.

            Still.

            Very interesting. Especially since Lockswood refused to discuss exactly what had effected his conversion from black-market brewer to upstanding public man.

            Draco folded the newspaper, put it aside, and picked up Granger’s letter. She had suggested several improvements to the brewing process, ways that might make it take less magic and less time. It was a substitute for her actual presence, since she wouldn’t be there during the brewing this time, either. She was at the Ministry, convincing them she felt well enough to return to work.

            Potter had suggested they delay the brewing, but Draco didn’t want to. He wanted some extra vials of Desire on hand to tempt Cordelia, when she finally broke down and came back to him, and he wanted to have some samples to send on to the distributors he’d contacted, who had responded with cautious interest and a determination to see what the potion did before they’d sell it.

            And he wanted that deep, drugging connection with Potter again. This time, with the Desire in his veins clarifying his thoughts on the other man’s reactions and letting him anticipate some of those reactions at the same time, he might be able to ferret out the secret of what his potion, the base, did.

            And we’re friends now, aren’t we? He should have less of a compunction against telling his secrets to friends. Granger certainly knows.

*

            “What do you mean, he doesn’t know?” Hermione’s voice was so sharp that Harry knew her eyes would flay him if he turned around.

            So he didn’t turn around, but kept his eyes on the work in front of him. He had finally had to realize, forcefully, that his isolation with Hermione and Malfoy would have to end soon. Hermione was moving back to her own flat tomorrow, and Malfoy had owled to say that he had already made a few improvements to the brewing process which meant they’d have to spend less time together. Harry would take up his business of making film for wizarding cameras again. He had gone today to several shops in Diagon Alley and bought the latest ingredients he’d need.

            He had lingered by Malfoy’s shop, staring up at the shuttered windows, but finally forced himself to turn his back and hurry away. He’d see the git in a few hours, after all. No reason to hurry the meeting.

            Hermione’s hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around. Harry just barely managed to lay down the small pane of glass he held in time. He had forgotten what strength a recovered Hermione might have.

            “You have to tell him,” Hermione said forcefully. “Any changes to the brewing process could be dangerous, now that he’s taking Desire. And of course he’ll need to know it for the marketing, so that he can warn people who buy it.” She spoke now of the sale of Desire as a necessary, but regrettable, occurrence.

            “And then he’ll want to know other things,” Harry said, hunching his shoulders. “He’ll want to know exactly why I take it.”

            “And are you going to hide that from him forever?” Hermione closed her eyes, every line of her face etched with frustration. “Harry, I told you, it isn’t as awful as you think it was—“

            “You weren’t there.”

            It had only been him and Ginny. It was one of the many, many things about the Incident Harry hated. If only he had invited Ron or Hermione, or both, to come with them on their way back from that pub in Diagon Alley. If only he had invited Dean, for heaven’s sake, whom Ginny was dating now and seemed happy with.

            “Then tell him about the side-effects without telling him about what happened between you and Gin,” said Hermione. “I don’t care. But he has to know, Harry. Promise me you’ll tell him before you start brewing today.”

            There was really no choice, Harry knew, and not just because Hermione was asking him to. He could be risking Draco’s life by keeping silent. He wouldn’t do that.

            “I promise I’ll tell him,” he said. “But if you come home and Malfoy’s gone to his shop and I’m drinking enough to drown my liver, it’s your fault.”

            Hermione rolled her eyes at him and glanced away. “From what you told me, Malfoy did worse things during the war, Harry.”

            “Only because he had to.” Harry stared unseeing at his hands. He was seeing, as always, Ginny’s face when she realized exactly how much danger she was in. She had been too scared even to speak. “It wasn’t because of the monster inside him, just the monster outside ordering him to torture people—Ouch!”

            Hermione had slapped him smartly upside the head. Harry rubbed his temple and stared at her. Yes, he knew the Desire potion was having an effect on her, but he didn’t know it would be that much of an effect.

            “You’re not a monster,” Hermione said lowly. “And much as I still dislike Malfoy, I think you’re trivializing his experiences during the war.” Her eyes flashed. “Tell him about the side-effects. If you take my advice, you’ll tell him about what inspired you to take the potion in the first place, too.”

            “You know he’ll only mock me.” Harry realized he was whinging, but he really couldn’t care. The mere thought of Malfoy discovering what he really was—or rather, what he would be without his potion—was enough to bring up self-loathing like bile in his throat.

            “I don’t think he will,” said Hermione. “And if he does, so what? It’s not the end of the world. That should just prove that he doesn’t consider this that big a deal. Which it isn’t,” she added sharply. “For God’s sake, Harry, it was five years ago and more. Ginny got over it. Don’t you think you should?”

            “She got over it the way you get over losing a limb, Hermione. Did you see the way she looked at me when we went to the Burrow the other night?”

            “Frankly, no, as I was dealing too much with the mountain in my mind at the time.” Hermione cast a Tempus Charm and tsked under her breath. “My appointment with Shacklebolt started five minutes ago. I have to go, Harry.” She swept towards the door.

            “I’m sorry,” Harry called in a muted tone after her.

            Hermione paused and looked back at him. Her eyes softened, and she said, “I know you are. And I’ll never think that you aren’t a good person, Harry. You took care of me when I most needed it.

            “But you ought to realize that striving frantically to be a good person at all times is silly. You changed your whole life around on the off-chance that something like what happened with Ginny might happen again. That says to me that you’re living in fear. And it’s the same thing with refusing to tell Malfoy what happened. You’re rendering it more significant than it actually was. And hasn’t it occurred to you that that will make him more curious?”

            Harry ducked his head and said nothing as Hermione shut the door of the flat behind her. She often said things like that, but this was the most open and sustained lecture she’d given him in some time.

            Of course it is. She’s had to deal with her own problems until recently.

            Malfoy knocked on the door then, and Harry looked up with a deep breath. He could do this. He would give Malfoy all the information in his notes about the side-effects. That ought to be enough. The Incident was no one’s business but his own, and Ginny’s.

            He had blasted Hermione for not being there, but in truth, he was glad she hadn’t been. It was one more face he didn’t have to look into and see blame radiating back at him from. Why in the world would she assume that he wanted to make Malfoy’s face one of those?

            Malfoy knocked again, sounding impatient this time. Harry started and moved to answer.

*

            Draco narrowed his eyes the moment he saw Potter. The idiot was pale, except for two high dots of color near his cheekbones. Draco stepped inside carefully, glad that he had chosen to float most of the new ingredients behind him instead of carrying them. If Potter suddenly snapped and attacked him, at least those ingredients wouldn’t be ruined.

            But the chances of brewing the new potion may be.

            Draco put everything on the table as if he had noticed nothing wrong. The Desire potion was working in him now, telling him that Potter was on edge, anticipating a taunt from Draco. Draco would just have to wait for Potter to make the first move.

            It wasn’t an appealing prospect, considering how stubborn and reticent the other man could be, but it had to be done.

            “Malfoy.” A gulp, which Draco could hear from across the room. “Draco.”

            Finally. And it didn’t take that long, really, but I reckon it would have taken longer if I’d said something. This potion really is magnificent.

            Draco turned around, making sure to keep a mildly interested expression on his face. “Did you have something to say, Potter? I was under the impression that we were brewing a potion today.”

            “We are.” Potter scrubbed his hand across his mouth. His breath was coming shallowly, and Draco had a mild fear that he’d faint out of sheer anxiety before he got to the main point. But he lowered his eyes once, then glanced up and acted as though he were finally ready for a clash of opinions.

            “The potion has side-effects.”

            Draco forgot about self-control, and the compassion—or feigned compassion, anyway—that the potion was telling him to have. His lips drew back in a snarl, and he stalked a few steps closer to Potter, who shuffled his feet nervously but refused to back away. “What did you say, Potter?” he hissed. “I can’t have heard you right.”

            “I said the potion has side-effects.” Potter pushed a hand through his hair, baring the scar on his forehead, and then let his fringe drop back again. Draco briefly imagined that Potter was emphasizing who he was, but the theory was stupid. Draco knew perfectly well who he was, and Potter knew Draco well enough to realize he wouldn’t be affected by any such stupidity. “At least, the potion I take does, and I imagine that the Desire potion is the same way.”

            “And you never thought to mention this before now?”

            Potter nodded a little, looking as though he had anticipated this explosion and even welcomed it. “Be as angry with me as you want. I deserve it.”

            Draco swallowed the more pressing part of his anger. He was still too furious to do exactly what the Desire potion advised and calm down, but on the other hand, he would be a fool to alienate Potter by yelling when he could use this to get what he wanted. “I am angry,” he said, precisely. “So angry I can barely breathe. Do you know how much danger you’ve put me in? This entire project in?”

            Potter’s head hung like a broken daisy’s. “Sorry,” he whispered. “How—how can I make it up to you?”

            Oh, yes. And he’d even asked the question of his own free will, without Draco having to force him into it.

            “I want you tell me why you go to all this trouble,” said Draco, and made what he thought was an elegant and restrained gesture with one hand, but which in fact flew a bit wider than he intended it. Well, with Potter’s head bowed, he wouldn’t see more than the shadow of the movement anyway. “Why in the world do you take this potion? What made you want to restrain—whatever it is that you want to restrain?”

            Potter’s head snapped up at once, and his eyes blazed. “Oh, no,” he said softly. “I’ll tell you many other things. I’ll let you see all my notes on the side-effects, so that you can be sure I’m not leaving anything out of my account. But I won’t give you my most important secret just because you want it.”

            Draco narrowed his eyes and studied the other man for long moments. This was not going the way it should, and his Desire potion gave him little to no guidance. Potter’s jaw had set, so Draco knew he was angry. But he didn’t know why, and he didn’t know how to get past that barrier of stubbornness.

            “Listen,” he said. “Granger told me that whatever this was made you think of yourself as a bad person, unable to judge right from wrong anymore.”

            Potter’s jaw just got a little tighter, and he didn’t reply.

            “I won’t mock you,” Draco said softly. And he realized it was true even as he spoke the words, not just a convenient promise to make Potter talk to him. He wanted a friendship, the brewing partnership he’d dreamed of the other day. They couldn’t conquer the world if there were large gulfs of mistrust lying between them. “I won’t promise not to be revolted, because it could be a revolting thing, for all I know. But I think we should be more open with each other, yes. And that includes not just practical information like the side-effects. I need to tell you how much I’m in debt to Cordelia Nott. I need you to understand, and not just because we might both be in danger from her. And I need to know what happened to you, because I think it’ll help me understand you.” He dared to edge a step nearer. “Please, Potter—Harry?” A risky move, one that the Desire potion would have advised against, but acting like a Gryffindor around Gryffindors had benefited him in the past. And this wasn’t all about benefit, strange though that was to contemplate. “I want to know.”

            The other man shook his head, but his eyes had gone soft and uncertain, and he rubbed his brow with his hand again, as if to force away a headache.

            “What would it harm to tell me?” Draco was now only a few steps away. He could reach out and touch Harry’s arm if he wanted. “It would benefit us both greatly. I’ll tell you my part of the truth right now. I’m twenty thousand Galleons in debt to Cordelia Nott. There are other creditors to whom, combined, I owe even more, but she’s the biggest single one. I’m not proud of that, but there you are; I had to have money to establish my shop. And now I think she’s moving against us, because of some things I said to her whilst under the influence of the Desire potion. We need to come up with plans to work against her.” He paused. “Now. Will you tell me your truth?”

            Potter’s jaw worked, and he kept his eyes averted. “What if I refuse to, even though you took a risk?”

            Draco kept his temper with difficulty. “I won’t force you, but it will make it that much more difficult for us to work together.”

            Silence.

            “I don’t think it’s anything completely revolting or terrible,” Draco said. “Because you’re obviously ashamed of it, and you went out of your way to brew a potion that would keep you from doing anything remotely like that again. That tells me it’s revolting to you, a Gryffindor, but probably not to other people who weren’t there.” He paused, and then managed to mingle command and entreaty when he spoke again. “Tell me.”

*

            Harry’s heart had never had such a battle against his will in five years.

            He wanted to talk. He’d wanted to do that before, to mention it to other people who weren’t Hermione or the Weasleys, usually his girlfriends. But practicality and reluctance had kept him silent, hugging his secret.

            Now he could talk about it. Now he could loose some of the blistering poison and, at the same time, show Malfoy that this was serious, not some Gryffindor obsession. Maybe Malfoy would understand in a way Hermione hadn’t. Maybe he would support Harry in his own brewing and agree he needed the potion to stay a good person.

            Harry would do a lot to have that.

            “All right,” he said at last, softly, unsteadily, forcing himself not to listen to his own words. He would get horrified and stop if he did. “The side-effects first. It lessens my control of my magic. I can still keep control, but it acts wild. You’ve probably noticed that during the brewing. I’m—in closer touch with it, maybe. Some barrier usually present between a wizard’s magic and him is broken in me.”

            Draco said nothing at all. Harry couldn’t tell what he was feeling from the sound of his breathing, and he refused to look at the other man’s face, either. There would be frustration and anger there, and Harry had enough for both of them.

            “Like I said, it’s potentially dangerous. Doing delicate brewing whilst taking the potion for the first time wouldn’t be a good idea. And yes, I did plan to tell you that before we started brewing again, the moment I realized you’d taken Desire.”

            Silence.

            “Do you have questions?” Harry asked, mainly to force Draco to speak.

            He wasn’t rewarded. From the corner of his eye, he saw the shadow of Draco’s head shake. Not about that part, hung clearly as words in the air between them.

            And Harry took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, and plunged into his story. There was so much he’d never be able to put into words. It might be better this way, though, telling the tale to someone he knew would be unsympathetic.

            “I was dating Ginny Weasley for more than a year after the war ended. I always expected we’d get married someday. We weren’t passionate all the time, but there was just something there, you know? That kind of steady presence you can count on more than you can count on an infatuation that lasts a few glorious months and then wears off. And I knew I loved her, because I was so worried for her whenever she hurt herself, and there were times we never went anywhere, just stayed home and cuddled together. We could be in the same room and not speak and still be perfectly all right—“

            “Harry.”

            And Draco was right, Harry acknowledged miserably to himself. He had to hurry out of the happy time and into the darkness. It was the only way that the story made any sense.

            “There was just one problem, the way I saw it. Ginny was good friends with Dean Thomas, whom she’d dated in school. Hell, I was good friends with Dean. But she always flirted with him, and spent a little too much time with him, and laughed at me when I got jealous. Secretly, I think she liked my jealousy. She went through periods where she liked the way things were between us, and periods when she wanted some more excitement.”

            Draco made a considering hmmm noise in the back of his throat.

            Harry swallowed. “We went to a pub in Diagon Alley one evening. Never mind which one. I got a little pissed—no, I won’t lie, I was really pissed. And then Dean came in, and Ron was talking to me about something else, and I got distracted and didn’t look around for Ginny for a few hours.

            “When I did, I saw her kissing him. I thought for a moment it was just a brother-sister kiss, or one of her little displays to get me jealous again. And maybe it was. It probably was. Ginny always said later that it was—“

            “Harry.”

            “Right. Sorry.” Harry took a deep breath and rubbed his hands on his trousers. He thought he should probably open his eyes and look at Draco; that would be less difficult than watching the images playing out on the back of his eyelids. It was also impossible. “But it didn’t look that way. I marched over and wrenched her off him. I hurt her arm. And I gave Dean a look that made him practically run into the back of the pub.

            “We came home. I started snapping at Ginny, drunk with—well, drink, and with my jealousy. And she told me that I worried about it too much, and she could basically do whatever she wanted, it wasn’t like we were married or something, and kissing Dean was just a harmless bit of fun. She hinted that maybe we should separate for a little while, so she could ‘have fun’ and I could see if there was another woman I liked better, too. She said she was bored with me and wasn’t sure she wanted to be with me permanently anymore.

            “I—lost it.”

            That was no phrase for the darkness that had risen in him, and stormed through him, and reached out towards Ginny. His lust and his jealousy and his rage, all three of them had blended, and then together all three of them had infected his magic. Ginny had fallen back, eyes wide, but his shadow and hers had joined together like chains and bound her arms, preventing her from moving. Harry had advanced on her, and he had wanted nothing so much as to devour her, ensure that she could never leave him, that she wouldn’t even think about Dean again.

            He hadn’t said the words, but his magic and his expression had told Ginny the truth. She was too terrified to make a sound, but she had begun to cry, hopelessly, silently. Not even that had stopped Harry. It wasn’t until he had taken her arm and wrenched it around again and she had closed her eyes in despair that he had finally seen what he was becoming.

            And stopped. He had dropped to his knees, the shadows melting away and the magic subsiding back into his body, as Ginny had run away up the corridor and then Apparated to the Burrow. Harry had felt pain at her going, but of far more importance was the new burst of self-loathing.

            So that’s what I am. That’s what I’m naturally like.

            “What do you mean by ‘lost it,’ Harry?”

            Draco’s voice pulled him back to the present. Harry forced his eyes open, his throat dry, his voice raspy, but steady. He had lived these memories so many times that they had lost some of their power over him. The memory of his horror at the end was stronger than the memory of Ginny’s face. “I nearly hurt her. Badly. Lust and jealousy and rage.” He laughed without humor. “Did you know that Muggles think they’re three of the seven deadly sins? Well, they’re certainly three of mine. They came through my magic, and then I physically hurt her, and God knows what would have happened next. Rape, maybe. I could have beaten her, quite possibly. I remember wanting to eat her, consume her, swallow her alive. Isn’t that what monsters do?

            “We broke up the next day, of course. And then I set out to find a way to control myself. God, I’m a monster without this potion.” He turned his back to Draco, unable to bear any kind of close contact, even that which came from facing towards him. “It suppresses some of my emotions. Not all of them. The ugly ones. And even though it also weakens my control over my magic, it doesn’t destroy it. Besides, I’m less worried about my magic than about those emotions. I’m not dangerous as long as they’re gone.

            “So.” He cleared his throat again. “You know what my story is, now. Anything else you wanted to ask?”

            He heard soft footsteps crossing the floor behind him. He tensed, wondering if Draco would walk through the door of the flat and be done with him. That would be bad, worse than the reactions he had already predicted.

            Then Draco’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. And he whispered, “Has it occurred to you that you didn’t hurt her?”

            “Yes, I did,” Harry said fiercely. “Grabbed her arm and jerked her, and, more than that, shoved her face-to-face with a glimpse of darkness that she isn’t ever going to forget. Taught her there’s still horror in life with Voldemort gone. That’s almost worse than the physical pain, Malfoy.” He was recovering now, pulling himself backwards, preparing again to fight the battle that he had fought over and over again with Hermione. He hadn’t thought Malfoy was sympathetic enough to decide he didn’t need the potion. “I won’t chance that again, not with any woman I want to date.”

            “That’s the reason you shoved me away when we brewed the potion together, isn’t it?” Malfoy asked.

            “Yes.” Harry swallowed. “I was feeling lust. God knows what would have happened next.”

            “Nothing.” Malfoy gave him a little shake. “Don’t you see? You had the self-control to hold back in the face of everything. I don’t think you need the potion because you stopped.”

            “But I intended to—“

            “Intentions matter less than actions.”

            “I can’t agree to that.” Harry was finally working some saliva into his mouth. He moved away from Malfoy’s hand, because the touch was weakening him. “Look. I’ve done fine on this for five years. It’s not something that should matter when we brew, because now you know the truth, and we can both end the connections before I feel something too—evil. Your curiosity should be satisfied now, too.” He turned around, and finally dared to lift his eyes to Malfoy’s face, which was oddly blank. “There’s no reason for this revelation to change anything else, unless you decide to walk away.”

*

            Draco wanted to reach out, grab Harry’s shoulders, and shake him into sense. The idiot was so blind it was aggravating. Why didn’t he see that he had held himself back, and that was more significant than feeling his desires in the first place? Why didn’t he see that so much worse could have happened?

            Draco had thought, for once, that Harry was justified in keeping some deep and dark secret. And now it turned out, surprise, to be as unjustified as every other worry the Gryffindor had.

            He opened his mouth to say that—

            And then he closed it again, and thought very hard. Maybe it was the Desire potion telling him this, but Draco hoped not, because he was getting off the damn potion as soon as he could, and never taking it again. He simply couldn’t afford not to have complete control of his magic when he brewed.

            He wanted Harry off the potion, yes, both because it was ridiculous and unnecessary and he valued common sense in his friends, and because he wanted what had happened between them when Harry licked his wrist the last time. Draco himself enjoyed being pursued, enjoyed his partners being jealous over him, enjoyed someone so overcome with lust that he or she just couldn’t wait to take Draco to bed. Maybe it would never come to anything more than friendship and business partners with Harry, but Draco would not mind if it was more, either.

            But berating Harry would accomplish nothing. He too obviously had defenses honed and ready for that, thanks to what Draco did not doubt were Granger’s frequent lectures. He had to hold back and be patient, if he really wanted Harry out of this bind he’d put himself in, this utter terror of his own passions.

            Besides, wouldn’t it be better if Harry stopped taking the potion of his own free will, because he had finally seen the light? Maybe with help, yes, but it had to be his decision.

            Draco blinked. Wow. I really do think of him as a friend, don’t I?

            As casually as he could, he said, “Shall we discuss the next marketing steps for the potion and the threat from Nott and Diggory, then, since we can’t brew today?”

            Harry spun around and stared at him with his mouth hanging open. Then he blinked, and smiled, and Draco could see the relaxation going deeper than he probably intended, since he had been braced to expect a collision.

            “Yes,” Harry said. “I would like that.”

            And then he stepped up, and shook Draco’s hand firmly.

            Draco smiled down at the top of his overly oblivious head. We’ll see if we can’t solve your problems at the same time as mine, but there’s no reason to rush this.

            “To a long and profitable association,” he said, and didn’t need the potion’s advice to leave pleasurable out of it. There were some things you just didn’t say to someone in the wake of a confession like that.

            Harry said fervently, “I hope so.”

            “Action is worth more than hope, too.” Draco moved most of the ingredients on the drawing room table gently aside and leaned over the list of improvements on the brewing process Granger had sent him. “Let’s see which of these will make good advertising copy.”

Finite.

            As I said, I’ll start posting the sequel in about a week. Thanks for reading!

*

            Thrnbrooke: Cordelia will be a very big problem.

            Amiyom: Thanks for reviewing!

            Mangacat: Draco definitely won’t take the potion now that he knows about the side-effects.

            Lilith: Well, both jealous and liking jealousy!

            rAiNwAtEr: Thank you so much! I hope this chapter fulfilled your urge to read more.
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A Potion Named Desire