Stress Potions
Blaise followed Draco out into the hall. He knew it wouldn't be pretty, trying to get Potter and Pals to work with Draco, but knowing and seeing were two very different things.
He saw the edge of Draco's robes disappear around the corner, and started off to follow.
Walking much faster than proprietary would have allowed, damn Draco and his inhumanly long legs, Blaise finally managed to catch up, "Do you truly already know where the first Horcruxes are?"
"No, don't be ridiculous," Drace sneered, still reeling from the earlier argument, "But Salazar damn me if I don't find them first."
Blaise sighed, why Draco and Potter couldn't let go of this ridiculous rivalry even in the midst of war baffled him, but he supposed he would be more worried if Draco didn't see everything Potter did as a personal affront, "He will be useful, eventually."
"Oh I know, the prophecy has been allowed to progress too far. Potter will need to be the one to kill him now. But that doesn't mean I can't cut the bastard off at the knees and do the heavy lifting for Potter. Incompetent fucking Gryffindors, I can't belive-"
Draco's angry muttering proceeded to get more and more incomprehensible as Draco yanked open a door Blaise was 90% sure did not exist beforehand and walked in. He continued to scowl and murmur increasingly vicious and uncommon threats while pulling potions ingredients from the shelves and assembling what looked to be a very old cauldron.
Blaise blinked, apparently they were at the "stress brewing" stage of things.
Wait, had he said?
"What prophecy?" Blaise asked.
Draco growled, eyebrows screwing up into such an intent look of rage the bundle of sticks he was holding literally burst into flame, "The same prophecy that Dumbledore so kindly set into motion. The same prophecy my father lost his favor with The Dark Lord over. The same fucking prophecy that says Potter must be the one to kill The Dark Lord."
He sniffed at the on-fire branches he was holding, and the flame doused itself immediately.
"Well," Blaise drawled, not particularly surprised, "That's world shattering information."
"I know!" Draco cried, turning to Blaise and throwing his hands up, "Everyone knows prophecies are utter bull! But oh-so-great Dumbldedore- '' He paused, his face draining of all colour "Oh my Merlin. Oh fuck."
He sat down heavily on the stool, burying his face in his hands.
Blaise immediately pushed himself up, coming around the workbench to put a hand on his fiancés shoulder, "Draco?"
"He knew." Came the hoarse reply, "He fucking knew and-"
Draco looked up harshly, "Dumbledore grew up magical. In a magical community, Blaise. The Board of Governors would never have let him be headmaster if he wasn't. He's not a muggleborn, ignorant to divination magicks."
"Oh fuck." Blaise echoed, heart thudding, "You think he knew prophecies are entirely preventable, and chose to let it play out?"
Draco shut his eyes tightly, bending his head down so his forehead touched his clasped palms, "It's smart."
"It's horrific. Not to mention wildly unethical." Blaise replied, sinking down onto the stool next to Draco. To force a prophecy like that, just to have some guaranteed plan of attack, was one of the oldest tricks in the book, and a large part of why divination was considered a serious dark magic by most purebloods.
Most average wizards looked at it like a joke, but anyone with family from the Blood Wars, who still remembered Merlin and Morgana, knew it was far darker than that. Prophecy magic was dangerous. To presume the fate of another, living, breathing being of free will was a great violation.
Draco had taken divination, at the behest of his family, and gotten top scores. Trelawney had even pulled him aside to offer additional mentoring, something about being a 'beacon.' Draco refused to even entertain the idea.
"It's Dumbledore." Draco bit back, completely hunched over. "Fuck."
He looked up, staring at some unidentified point across the room, "We can't tell him."
"What? Draco, how could we-"
"Not yet." Draco interrupted, "I will tell him. Eventually." He licked his lips, chewing on them slightly, "But, Love, imagine it from his perspective. He obviously looks up to Dumbledore, probably sees him as family, at this point, you know how Gryffindors are, to find out Dumbledore let his parents die?" He shook his head, "It would crush him. Not to mention Sirius and Lupin."
Blaise sat back, considering what Draco had said. It was true, Potter would be crushed to find out Dumbledore had basically forced him into his fate, anyone would. It was one of the worst things you could do to someone, absolutely vile in every measure.
"You'll tell him?" Blaise asked.
"I will," Draco replied, "But I need to look into some things first. As much as I hate him, Dumbledore is smart, and he'll have other plans. I need to know what they are before I come stomping in like a hippogriff. Morgana knows what Potter will do if I don't have sufficient evidence."
He stood, going back to his potion ingredients, "Salazar, why is everyone so obsessed with fate and prophecies and adventures?" He muttered, scowling at the innocent root in front of him.
Blaise snorted, at least some things were constant. He politely ignored the fact that Draco, as a child, had once longed for adventure and fate and prophecy.
He emptied his mind of problematic Gryiffindors, and let himself fall into the familiar habit of watching Draco.
Blaise loved to watch Draco make potions, it was strangely domestic, the closest they would come, anyways, as neither of them cooked or did any other household tasks.
Because Draco had learned nearly everything there was to learn about potions from Snape, including safety, when they were alone, Draco wore goggles and an apron.
It was the dorkiest thing imaginable, and Blaise loved it dearly.
Especially when Draco would take a break, and push the goggles up into his hair. The steam and heat from the cauldron already caused the smoothing charms to fail and his hair to curl wildly around his face, making the resulting style wild and half-feral.
Blaise would never tell Draco, but he preferred Draco’s hair as it was naturally, with his mother’s soft waves and curls. The Black Family genes had become unfashionable in recent years, for obvious reason, and so Draco applied a strict regimen of spells and potions to keep it straight like his fathers. Just another strike against the man, as far as Blaise was concerned.
Now, snarling at his potion ingredients, hair a wild mess and an apron tied snugly at his waist, Draco had never looked more like his mother.
Truthfully, it saddened Blaise, that his fiancé would be so far removed from his family, as many problems he had with the Malfoy-Blacks. Draco loved his family, and Blaise loved Draco, thus, he had been at nearly every family event he could from the time he was old enough to be formally a part of Society. Not to mention all the time he spent with Draco informally.
It was that informal time Blaise reflected on now, as Draco butchered some leaf or another while managing to preserve it perfectly for potion making. The time Draco and Blaise spent alone was vastly different than the time they spent in the company of adults, and even around their friends they were more subdued, hyper aware that every move could be reported back to their parents.
Not that any of the Slytherins would tattle, but as perfect as they were, every wizard lost track of their information at least once, telling the wrong person the wrong thing. Blaise honestly had no idea how Draco managed now, working as a double agent.
But perhaps he wasn't managing as well as he'd like Blaise to believe, given the way he snarled at the potion ingredients in front of him.
"If you're going to stare like a creep, you can help. Get your lazy arse over here and chop this ashwinder." Draco huffed, looking up at Blaise from where he was hunched over the cutting board. He stepped back and crossed his arms, hip cocked.
"Yes Dear." Blaise drawled, with a smirk only half mocking on his face. He stood, walking around the counter and behind Draco to take the knife from his hand, "Making your poor fiance do all of the work. I see how it is."
Draco raised an eyebrow, "Well, only one of us recently got maimed on several fronts. I've already lost my looks, could you imagine if I developed calluses?"
The words were obviously meant to be joking, but they held a bitter undercurrent only Blaise could hear.
"Draco," He began, setting down the knife and turning around, "You haven't lost anything."
His fiancé scowled, "Don't lie to me. We both know what's going to happen. I'm just lucky you and Severus are the only ones who know."
Blaise felt the words like a knife, "It's not all you are."
"Isn't it?" Draco asked, voice more tired than angry, "Blaise, I-"
"No." he interrupted, "No, Draco. I'm not going to let you think like this."
"Let me?" Draco snarled, face twisting in anger. He stepped forward, shoulders already drawn up
"Yes, let you." Blaise snarled right back, "You are a massive fucking idiot if you think-" Draco made an indignant noise, "That I could ever, in a million Merlin-damned years, think you anything less than absolutely perfect."
Blaise stepped forward, taking Draco's still-angry face into his hands, brushing his thumbs over the invisible lines of Draco's scars, knowing their path even under the glamour, "I could never hate you. I could never see you as anything less than beautiful, not because of your name, or your family, but because you're Draco, and I love you."
"I love you. You absolute prick. Not because of your face, or your father, but because I wake up in the morning and choose to."
Blaise set his jaw, "Do I make myself clear?"
Draco set his hand over Blaise's, leaning into the hand as irritation slowly drained from his face, "I want to get married."
"What." Blaise blinked, taken off guard at the sudden shift, "To who? Right now?"
Draco's mouth curled into a fond smile, "Idiot. To you. When this war is over, The first thing I want to do, is marry you."
"Oh." Blaise said, still reeling from how fast Draco could jump from topic to topic, "Well, that's fine with me."
"I wasn't asking for your blessing." Draco replied, like this was a normal conversation, "It's inevitable at this point, you have no choice."
Blaise allowed himself to smile, "I don't?"
"No, I think not. You've spent all this time seducing me with your unending loyalty, I've swooned. No going back." Draco grinned, "Now come, I've got to finish this before tomorrow."
He turned his back to Blaise, pulling down a silver spoon, and Blaise thought he might have been offended, but when he tried to summon the irritation at being thrown so far off balance, it wouldn't come.
No one could ever say dealing with Draco was easy.