"Ah, yes. Harry Potter, our new… celebrity."
Uh-oh.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Silence.
Yikes, tough crowd. That was actually pretty darn poetic.
"Potter!"
Oh quaffle.
"What would I get if I added powered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
No clue. He does realize this is the first class, yes? And I read ahead but that answer wasn't in the first ten chapters of our textbook so it's clearly above my paygrade. If I knew the entire textbook walking in here what's the need for a potions' professor at all?
He bit it back though, because he wasn't stupid. Both of them ignoring Hermione's hand which was going wild at the side of the room.
"I don't know sir."
Truly Snape's sneer was a thing of marvel. He must practice in the mirror.
"Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything." He drawled, and Harry fought the urge to throw something at the man. Instead he sat there blankly, trying to emulate Draco's calm posture beside him. Or… actually, Draco was pretty damn tense so maybe he should be channeling Blaise here instead.
"Let's try again. Potter, where you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Score—I know that one!
Again, it was clearly fourth year material, but Draco mentioned it in some letter at one point, which prompted the curious thought of how good was Draco at potions again but decided that was definitely a later conversation he'd be having with the blond.
"In the stomach of a goat, sir." He did his best not to smirk back, especially when those dark beetle eyes narrowed at him.
"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" The man challenged, greasy hair and poor attitude when losing lowering him in Harry's eyes yet another five points. Especially when it was clear it was another tough question he wasn't expected to be able to answer.
Oh quaffle. Wait… I read this… somewhere… and going by the pattern of this being high-level stuff on purpose, it was probably one of those extra journals I bought. Wolfsbane though, why does that sound familiar… oh!
"They're the same thing, sir."
He was insanely proud of himself and it was hard to keep his face straight at the sour look on Snape's face. That one wasn't actually Draco though: Neville had been going over a Herbology book at lunch that a kind Ravenclaw had shown him after Harry made a scene about his plant-skills in yesterday morning's class. For once he had Harry's ear all to himself with Dean and Seamus off doing Lord knows what and spent a solid five minutes on terminology, and one of the examples he'd used was how one plant could have so many names, primarily aconite. Which apparently had twelve names, but Harry remembered thinking Wolfsbane was clearly the coolest of them all.
Snape was not nearly as amused, though Harry couldn't quite remember feeling so self-satisfied. Hopefully it didn't show on his face or he'd really be in for it.
"Sit down." The bat instead snapped in Hermione's direction, who'd been waving her hand with vehemence since the questioning started, and she did quickly. He sneered back down at the red headed first year with distain in his eyes. "For your information Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of the Living Death. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
There was a rustle of papers and quills as everyone hastened to do just that, and Snape finally took his eyes off Harry to scowl at the room at large.
"Weasley, Granger, Goyle—why are you not partnered up?"
Wait what?
Harry turned around as subtly as he could and saw that indeed, all three of them were sitting at benches alone. But he thought for sure Goyle would be with Crabbe since they'd literally never been seen apart from each other—but then he caught sight of Crabbe sitting blankly next to an even more blank Nott. Who was blank on purpose, while Crabbe just seemed stunned to be here. Meaning alive, really.
Huh, wonder how that happened.
"There's an odd number of people," Ron was dumb enough to speak up, earning a glare, which he stupidly glared back at.
"Ten points from Gryffindor for failing to follow the rules. Let's do some simple math here: three odd people means a team of two is still available." Snape drawled in a tone way better suited on some posh bully rather than a teacher, in Harry's humble opinion.
There was a brief pause, which Blaise took the precise moment to speak up.
"I don't mind working alone, professor." His calm voice spoke up clearly, and so filled with reverence and generality Harry thought for a split second he was offering his first-born child or something for the good of all mankind. Snape's dark eyes only flickered to the Slytherin boy, before nodding once.
"Longbottom, you're with Granger. Weasley, with Goyle. Mr. Zabini will work alone." He commanded, and Harry felt his head spin the same moment Neville jumped at being addressed, and then quickly scampered off to join Hermione at her table.
"But-"
"Ten points from Gryffindor for talking back, Mr. Weasley." The potions master hissed calmly, and Ron went five shades redder as he was forced to grab his bag and plop down at Goyle's table when the large boy made no move to join him and it was clear even to someone obtuse like Ron that Snape would only be overjoyed to take points off of the Gryffindor rather than the Slytherin for not following orders.
Harry turned around fully now because what the heck happened?
It must've been clear on his face because Blaise caught his eyes and gave a smirk so smug that Harry felt his hackles rise.
How did he do that?
Blaise just calmly went back to scrawling in his notebook with beautiful penmanship even using a quill and Harry got the feeling he'd be sticking his tongue out if he were the type to do that sort of thing.
He was prevented from asking by Snape whipping around and striding back to the front of the classroom, robes billowing like he wasn't aware that the whole school called him a dungeon bat for this exact reason.
"Turn to page 1 and begin reading the first passage--the instructions are on the board. Get to it, and don't blow anything up."
Okay, so potions was bearable if not anxiety-inducing, but the more concerning thing was whatever Slytherin political BS had just gone down and why Blaise seemed to be in control of it. He glanced at Draco who was already shaking his head to let it drop while shoving his already detailed notes under his nose with the silent order to get to work.
Fine.
But he had another reason to sit at the Slytherin table now, because he was going to figure this out if it killed him.
000
Snape was having a crisis.
He was going to ignore the Potter brat, he'd sworn to himself that was the most he'd do, perhaps take most of it out on the other pathetic Gryffindor dolts in the class, but the utterly moronic child had chosen to sit front and center—
--and suddenly it was her sitting there--
Green eyes—ha! Those vibrant eyes and her hair… her hair, the exact color he'd never forget no matter how long he lived. The color he'd admired, the color he'd wept over when he'd cradled her dead body in his arms, deceptively lively hair spilling over the floor like blood—befitting the brutal murder for what it was. He couldn't bear to look at it because all he saw was her.
And worse was that he could still see that asshole James Potter in there too—Lily's hair had been long and flowing, smooth and watery soft no matter what she did or how hard she played. The Potter scoundrel had wild, untamed hair that girls always thought dreamy—as if bed head was attractive. The brat's hair was hers, also long and burning bright like hers ever did, but it was wild and chaotic like only his father's ruffled top ever was.
The problem being that it wasn't enough to blind him to the fact it was his Lily's son sitting in his classroom at that moment. Even knowing this was Potter's offspring… the love he felt for his old flame warred with his past hatred of the man he loathed above all when he looked at this child… so fiercely. It would've been better if it were only her eyes he had— Severus could simply refuse to look at the boy's gaze. He could look down on the boy, no eye contact, and see only a mini James Potter and this would be easier. He would be free to hate the child for the menace he was, like father like son.
But he couldn't. Just glancing across the dungeon his heart beat slightly too hard to catch sight of the wild flaming red, just like it had every single potions class as a child, sitting in here as a student and glancing across the room—or just across the brewing stand—to see her hard at work with strands of that beautiful hair falling in her face, hand coming up to brush it away distractedly.
He had hoped to make it through these seven years by ignoring the child and taking out every ounce of frustration he had onto the boy.
But he suddenly found himself unable to; not when it was less the son of his enemy looking at him, and the son of the woman he still loved.
Less James Potter, and more Lily Evans smiling widely at his god son beside him. A smile with teeth slightly exposed and promising curiosity and fire and warmth. And Draco, not being afraid to smile back because he was at the front of the class and the only person who could see him break character like that was his godfather, who he trusted.
Who he trusted.
Snape wanted to take the bottles of poorly brewed first-year potions the students were handing him and down them all. They were so badly made they might just kill him, or simply turn him into an orchid, which might be preferable to this.
I am sorry Draco, but I'm a man. And I pray you will never understand how difficult this is.
000
"I swear to Christ Draco, if you say 'I told you so' I will hex you into oblivion."
Draco wasn't worried and grinned smugly as he put his quill down and greeted his dormmate entering the room with a guiltless look that no Slytherin would be stupid enough to believe. "I have no idea what you're talking about." He dutifully replied.
Blaise shot him a look that reminded him very much of Dalia Zabini and figured he should probably cool it with the teasing before the Zabini heir actually killed him. In his sleep or via poison at dinner—neither would surprise him and he definitely didn't think himself skilled enough to see it coming.
He'd met Dalia Zabini several times in the past and every single instance she'd scared him even more than before. She was positively the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on and only his parents' warning about her had prevented him for falling for her charm and calling her 'Auntie Da' like she'd insisted. His father in particular had gone over the dangers of that woman many, many times and while he knew a thing or two about dark families, he was not quite comfortable with the notoriously grey family who refused to take sides in the last war. Most families were forced to choose one way or another but there were only three old pureblood lines that had been powerful enough to abstain from the last war and for both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore to leave them be. Draco knew not to mess with those families on pain of death, and his parents had explained in very gruesome detail why.
Zabini wasn't actually an English name or bloodline—they'd come from the old Roman empire and the wizarding community that existed in this country some five centuries ago, however they could trace their family line back past the point of there even being a record that England had wizards. They were also descended from a series of nine lines that could claim direct lineage from old-world Emperors and Conquerors, so while in English history they were still gaining status, the status they did was foreign and intensely respected amongst purebloods. The Dark Lord would've made a terrible political move in killing the Zabini family when they claimed neutral in the last war, since it was commonly accepted even amongst the most fervent blood purists that Zabini blood was one of the purest there was—the Dark Lord would've lost followings (even if just silently since few were brave enough to actually defy him) if he disregarded his pureblood rhetoric by wiping out one of the most prime pureblood families in the UK.
Not to mention the family in question still had a great deal of relatives they were on close speaking terms with back in Italy, and the one thing the Dark Lord had not risked was making his war international. If he'd won and gotten control over magical Britain, who knows what might've happened then, but even at the height of his power he'd never dared provoke Italian wizards from jumping the boarders to defend some of their own. They were unknowns to him and part of an older society than even Britain's was, so it wasn't worth the risk.
What all this meant is that the Zabinis are practically untouchable, politically speaking. But it also meant they abstained from pretty much everything politically too—they didn't make strong stances or come out in support of anyone, and on the most part kept to themselves. They were traditionally Slytherin too, since they were vicious businessmen and women, which was likely the reason for coming west from Rome in the first place. If Draco wasn't mistaken, Blaise had relatives that had made the jump to America roughly two hundred years ago to continue the line further west (which was yet another reason not to mess with the bloodline—Italian wizards were some of the oldest and most powerful, however American wizards were entirely unpredictable). The main point being that the Zabini line was infectious and well-connected globally, and they were only moving farther with every passing generation.
And Dalia Zabini was, most likely, the worst of all the ambitious, vicious businesswomen Draco had ever held witness too. She was a lawyer and an investor, she owned businesses and trades alike, and she'd tripled her family's wealth in her lifetime. And the Zabinis were still an old wealthy family even before her era, so that was really saying something.
Aside from her cut-throat business practices though, her main method of income was that she was nearly world-renowned as a Black Widow. Back to the fact she was insanely beautiful, she was also clever like a knife and so fiercely intelligent and devious that most never stood a snowball's chance in hell when she set her eyes on you. She was on husband number eleven, if Draco recalled correctly; his parents had been invited to all her weddings, although they'd forbade him from going. It meant that he had heard plentyabout the British Zabini branch family, and had up until starting Hogwarts always planned on giving that family a wide berth.
Which was why suddenly finding himself roommates with the Zabini heir to be… interesting.
Slytherin wasn't like the other houses in that each room was optimized to give them space, security, and studying room. Each room only held three, with a small entrance room to leave one's shoes connecting to a bathroom, and then another door into the main dorm that was a horseshoe shape: one bed area in front of the door, and one each to the left and right. Each area was an alcove of sorts, a large semi-circle with a wardrobe, bookshelf, and full desk area towards the front, and yet another alcove at the back that could be blocked off with black curtains where the bed was placed. The main perk being that the whole of Slytherin was underground, boarding the lake, so each bed had a large circular window twice Draco's height that showed out into the underwater lake—magically enchanted to be light enough to see the seaweed sway in the currents and fish swim by occasionally. The upper years said sometimes the squid would drift by, but it didn't often like to come too close to the castle.
First years were given whatever rooms were available, but once settled this would be their space for the full seven years, so they were actually only four levels down since this was where last year's seventh years had left open, but Draco knew there were deeper levels closer to the lake floor that other years must've had. He kind of liked being mid-way because it was a nice view, and he didn't have to crane around a tall bush of seaweed to see out, nor was the sunlight threatening his area like it'd be closer to the surface.
The original plan was to room with Goyle and Crabbe, since his family had alliances with them. Neither Vincent nor Gregory were all that bright so his father had arranged a 'follow my son around and guard him' sort of deal that both families had been fine with—it got them on the Malfoy's good books, and the two's parents figured Draco was going to be climbing the ladder, so to speak, and so to come along for the ride couldn't hurt. Neither set of parents had much faith their sons would be doing any social climbing on their own after all, so wanted to do what they could for their children while they had the chance before sending them off to Hogwarts. Both were dark families though, and with the Malfoy's switching to grey his father had negotiated a different deal—something to do with the three families' businesses and the Crabbe and Goyle parents weren't thrilled with the lost advantage their sons had, but were soothed by the increase in wealth coming into their vault.
Money fixed most things for the Malfoys, after all.
So, with Crabbe and Goyle not bothering to come look for him since their parents had told them not to anymore, he'd been free to pick and choose which room he wanted—there were only five Slytherin boys this year and six bed spaces in the two rooms of three, both rooms having a spot open. Since he was from a newly grey family and Zabini was the most infamously grey family there was, it was an easy choice.
When he'd followed them into their chosen room that first night, Blaise had given him a pointedly raised eyebrow but didn't comment. Nott didn't even look at him but set about putting his things away, ignoring both his roommates with an impressive amount of calculated apathy. Nott in general was a little out of place as being from a dark family yet bunking with two now-grey families. One would think he'd choose the other room with two known dark heirs to be with his own alliance, so to speak, or at the very least in a quieter room as he seemed entirely withdrawn into himself and unwilling to speak to either of them and at least Crabbe and Goyle aren't talkers like he and Blaise were. Somehow though, he was here, and he kept to himself mostly, ignoring his roommates even as Draco found himself talking to Blaise more and more.
Blaise seemed unwillingly to get chummy at first, be it the Malfoy reputation or something else, but he was a chatty person and he had a sharp wit that couldn't be contained, and so Draco was his only outlet. By default it got them on speaking terms at least, if not even on reasonably friendly terms too.
Draco wasn't an idiot: being "friends" with a Zabini meant watching your back, so he was careful even while he found himself enjoying the tall boy's presence and sarcastic comments. While Blaise was his age and still learning like all the first and other younger year Slytherins still were, he was also Dalia Zabini's son and she'd clearly been giving him lessons. Draco knew the second Blaise hit puberty he was going to be in critical danger (a Black Widow in training and the heir to literally the most wealthy family in Magical Britain sharing a dorm room— also known as a recipe for disaster) and so he needed to play his cards right and keep on guard no matter how much he was starting to like the guy.
And really, he was just so much fun to mess with.
And read, too, since Blaise had the unique position of being essentially politically immune to most Slytherin shenanigans so long as he kept his cool, and therefore had no need for a lot of the masks most of them wore. He could be open if he wanted to, without any ramifications, and as he settled in at Hogwarts he seemed to be picking and choosing who he wanted to affiliate with. Draco was thankful he seemed to be making the cut, but also a bit pleasantly surprised that someone else was too.
Particularly, a red headed Gryffindor.
And not the annoying Weasley one, but the pretty one.
"You failed to tell me Potter had that in him." Blaise complained, nose in the air pompously and still managing to pout somehow.
"I told you you'd end up liking him. That wasn't enough?"
"No." He huffed, dropping his bag down and turning to face him properly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did I mention my fondness for homicidal tendencies?"
Draco rolled his eyes and returned to copying down his note, refilling his quill in the inkwell as he did so. "No, but I could figure that out for myself. I have met your mother, after all."
"Precisely, you've met my mother. Who raised me. And yet you still managed to leave out that critical detail." Blaise wasn't letting it drop.
"To be totally honest, I was surprised by him threatening to shove a wand up Weasley's nose too. Although he did threaten to push me off the train platform for saying 'mudblood', so maybe there's a pattern." He paused, realizing the trend he was really hoping wouldn't become a thing.
"Mudblood is an antiquated term anyway; I'm a fan of coming up with something more creative than our parent's rhetoric."
Rhetoric? He's eleven, who even is this guy?
"But really? Even you, who he clearly picked as his favorite from day one. I've decided, he's acceptable for a Gryffindor and you may continue to hang out with him."
"Thank you for your gracious permission, but I was going to do that anyway." Draco rolled his eyes again and didn't bother looking up.
"You think I should go for it now or wait until we're both well into puberty before making my move? I don't want to go in too early and have him tire of me before we graduate."
At that Draco's head snapped up in half alarm, half rage at such a suggestion—but whatever he'd opened his mouth to say was cut off at the self-satisfied smirk the tall boy was giving him. He scowled.
"Oh ha, very funny."
Blaise chuckled happily, clearly please with himself. "As if you could be any more obvious! Maybe I should be asking you if you're going to wait for puberty or not."
"Shut up."
"Oh, very eloquent."
Eloquent? I'm going to need a dictionary if I'm going to be roommates with this guy.