Work Text:
The war changed a lot of things.
People.
Ambitions.
Prejudices.
Pointy, blonde gits.
But Harry's dislike for Potions... well. If death hasn't managed to change that, then Harry thinks it's a lost cause.
It doesn't help that the classroom is stifling. Nor does it help that his Potions partner isn't letting him do any work to take his mind off the heat.
He unclasps the top button of his shirt. His sleeves are rolled above his elbows but his forearms are still moist with perspiration. "You know, this would go a lot faster if you let me help."
Beside him, Draco tips some meticulously shredded roots into their cauldron. The potion bubbles, and another gust of moist-sticky-heat is sent their way. "And receive another meager grade? I think not."
"You can't expect me to just sit here until class ends."
"Of course not," Draco agrees, "You sit there and behave. Maybe look pretty, if you can manage that."
"Draco—"
"No. I'm still amazed at how badly you botched up our last potion. I'm not risking another one."
"You're exaggerating,"
"The potion was supposed to be cerulean blue, Harry. Might I remind you of the shade of yellow you turned it into?"
"No," Harry mutters. He feels the sweat collecting at his nape. "In my defense, it was too hot to concentrate."
...and Draco's leg pressing against Harry's was quite distracting but he didn't need to know that.
As if to prove Harry's point, Draco's knee nudges against his as his partner reaches over for some bottled Fairy Wings. Beads of sweat trail down Harry's chest and Harry swipes at them with a disgruntled huff.
"Precisely. What makes you think you can—" Draco looks over at Harry, mid-clockwise stir, then snaps his mouth shut. Maybe the heat was making him see things, but Harry thinks Draco's eyes linger at his exposed skin—a second too long— widen, then dart away.
Before Harry can think too much of pink-tinged cheeks and red-tipped ears, there's a clatter and a clang and Draco's suddenly soaked in an orange-hot-gooey mess.
Harry blinks. "I'm pretty sure the potion's not supposed to, um, do that."
Draco paws at the things poking out of his hair in silent horror. Something nudges Harry's cheek as he rights the cauldron.
"You're— I mean it's purr— ah, pretty."
Draco groans. "Kindly shut the fuck up, Potter."
