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flamboyantly-incompetent · 1 year ago

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OoTP, Chapter 3 - Your First Lessons

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: none?

Masterlist

Word Count: ~4,800

Note: the length of this one kind of got away from me, can't lie. usually my method of proof reading / editing is retyping the whole thing from my text editor to tumblr but this was taking me days with all the other stuff I have going on, so if there are more weird typos than usual that's why and I'm sorry

Saturday morning came, and you woke up and groaned at the ceiling. You hoped that if you pressed your pillow onto your head hard enough you could go back in time to stop yourself from offering tutoring to the biggest git at Hogwarts.

Wilbur sat down on your chest and started purring.

"Gff mrng," you mumbled from under your pillow. He began kneading your chest. You sighed and removed the pillow. "I suppose you'd like some treats." He pushed his wet nose into your face, so you pushed back your bed curtains to find an open bag. Donna was awake too, stretching in bed.

When she saw you were up, she said, "You getting breakfast? I think Yvette is already gone - she said something about Quidditch before passing out last night."

"Nah, I've gotta get to the greenhouses. I'm tutoring someone today."

"Who?" She sat next to you on your bed, scratching under Wilbur's chin.

You grimaced. "Uh, you probably don't know him. He's a fifth year. A Slytherin."

Donna laughed, then said, "Oh, you're serious? Well, ha! Good luck."

"Thanks. Keep him company, will you?" You pulled on a pair of jeans and a lime green and peach jumper your mum had described as 'hideous, but warm,' and headed out the door.

Before the greenhouses though, you needed to make a stop in the library if you were going to help Malfoy rewrite his self-fertalizing shrubs essay, which, thankfully, was about as easy to find as the great hall.

Halfway down the corridor you heard Peeves singing at the top of his ethereal lungs, "Saturday! Ink hooray! Why are you working? Saturday! Time to play! Good luck without your ink!" followed by the unmistakable sound of ink bottles shattering against stone. To be fair to Peeves, that was the nicest thing you'd ever heard him sing.

A Gryffindor came sprinting round the corner, dripping in ink, followed closely by the Gryffindor ghost.

"Oh, hey Ginny. Rough morning?"

She scowled, "I don't know why I even bother. Scourgify." She tapped herself with her wand, and the ink melted into the think air.

"I'll go get the Bloody Baron," the ghost said before drifting off into the wall.

"You don't happen to have any spare ink, do you?" asked Ginny. "I've procrastinated too much on that nonmagical transportation essay for Muggle Studies."

"Yep, s'all yours. Is the library...?"

"I'd wait for Nick to get back. Peeves has totally blocked the door. He's actually trapped a couple students and Madam Pince inside."

"Great." You peered around the corner; inside the library Peeves was doing a jig atop a toppled bookcase leaning against the door and throwing books with every kick. Madam Pince repaired them as quick as he could rip them apart. You watched, horrified and baffled, through the windows lining the library until the Bloody Baron appeared a few minutes later. He drifted up out of the floor and bellowed at Peeves incoherently, who then disappeared into the ceiling in a fright.

You ducked under the fallen bookcase and gingerly stepped through the books littering the ground, glancing at titles. You found a few that would suffice and stuffed them into your bag, and left to find your way back out to the greenhouse.

A few other students were already there, milling around with watering cans and bags of fertilizer.

Draco Malfoy waited for you by the vegetable patches, wearing a green argyle sweater vest over a pristine white button-down -why he chose that to garden in a mystery you wouldn't venture to guess- staring at his shoes.

He looked up and met your eye; his mouth fell open but before he could speak, you said, "Did you bring your essay?"

He nodded sharply. "I wasn't sure you were still coming."

"Oh? And why was that?" you snarked, walking past him to greenhouse 5. He trotted to keep up with you.

"Well, you seemed pretty mad the other day."

"Don't know what you mean. Sit." You held out your hand for the essay. At the top you saw, "T- see me" scrawled in Professor Sprout's handwriting, and you began to scan through. It was truly dreadful, not only was it several inches too short, it made the argument that the shrub bore fruit that, when it fell, turned into excrement that put nutrients back into the soil. "Where did you get this information? Don't tell me you made it up!"

"She gave us homework the first day!"

"So did everyone else, small wonder this is so bad. I have brought actual, real sources for you to pull from in your new essay." You ripped the old one in half with a flourish. "And we'll never speak of this one again."

Draco huffed, "How is anyone supposed to come up with a foot of yammering about a shrub?" You shot him a dark look, your patience wearing thin. "Fine, fine. Where do I start?"

You handed him a tome entitled Carnivorous Flora - Reversal in the Food Chain and said, "Chapter three."

"Carnivorous?"

"Read," you commanded, pointing firmly at the book, "and we'll talk after you've got the broad strokes. I'm going to get some things set up for your snapdragons; Professor Sprout may be lenient and regrade that as well. They'll be on the O.W.L. anyway." You found the snapdragon; it wasn't difficult since the tips of its petals were still discolored from the acidic soil, and pulled down the limestone, as well as powdered moonstone, ground horsefly wings, and gargoyle blood. Draco was still skimming, so you took a moment to fill a watering can from the pump outside again, not willing to fail at that bloody water creation charm in front of him.

"Well?" you asked, setting the water down.

"This is absurd. These things eat people. There's a whole section about how to keep them from eating you."

You pointed at your bag, "In Travels with Trolls there's a fairly detailed account of an accidental encounter with one while Gilderoy Lockhart was searching for trolls in the caves of Sweden. There are pictures in that one there - Flesh-Eating Trees of the World - for reference."

"God, that's disgusting."

"Yep. Am I safe in assuming that you've written a passable essay before?"

Draco scowled. "Well, yeah, but where do I even start with this? I can't very well write a foot on how to survive a flesh eating bush attack for Herbology."

"Ok," you sat down next to him and pulled out some new parchment and a quill. "We can start with an outline, and you can do the writing on your own." You walked through the important sections - climate, soil quality, how best to care for the plant - and picked out various bits of helpful text.

You continued, "If you need more length after that, it's always nice to not why someone would want to cultivate a species. These produce seed pods that are rich in iron, used in various medicinal concoctions, see here?" you pointed to a page in the potions textbook for second years. "Otherwise, once you've covered the basics of having the thing in your garden, just find something about it that interests you and expand on it. That should get you to a foot of parchment, and at least an A."

You stood up and stretched a bit before moving onto the snapdragons.

They were whining in a weak, rather pathetic way. Draco watched with a creased brow as you explained how their petals acted as a pH test, and you could tell his soil was too acidic based on the green tinge around the petals' edges. You pointed to the things you'd pulled out and said, "The limestone is the gentlest way to raise the pH, but I think for you the moonstone should do fine. You want purple edges, if they turn blue you've gone too far - add some gargoyle blood. Works as well as leaf mold, but these things love blood."

He took a pinch of the powdered moonstone and sprinkled it close to the base of the stems. "How do you know so much about this?" The petals lost their sickly hue and softened into yellow.

"My mum runs a potions supply shop. We grow almost everything we've seen in class."

"And that's why you're in Herbology 5?"

"Yeah, Professor Sprout convinced Dumbledore to let me skip ahead a bit because I kept interrupting her in first year." Draco continued to sprinkle the moonstone on his firebreathing snapdragons, and their leaves finally turned the right shade of purple. "Stop! That's perfect. Now you want to annoy them until they start glowing red, then be ready to douse. I'll go get a bottle." He managed to rather cleanly bottle beautifully plum smoke right up to the brim, and despite your lingering distaste, you bloomed with just a little bit of pride at his success.

The sun had been climbing steadily during your activities, and by the time the bottle of smoke was tucked into Draco Malfoy's bag, along with the reference books you pulled for him, it was obviously noon by the way the rays beat down through the greenhouse's glass roof and the way your stomach rumbled with fervor. He thanked you rather brusquely, the conflict of Thursday apparently remembered, and strutted back off into the castle.

The next Herbology lesson rolled around, and while Draco refused to meet your eye during Professor Sprout's lecture on the screechsnap, on your way out the door you heard, "Y/N! Hang on!"

He had jogged out into the sprinkling rain, bag held above his head, and handed a roll of parchment to you. It was his rewritten essay, a hastily written "E" and smiley face at the top.

"She accepted the smoke too." Though good news, his expression remained rather stoic. You cocked an eyebrow. "I owe you one."

"Don't worry about it," you said before turning to walk away.

He followed you into the castle, "No, really, I owe you. I don't understand why else you'd offer-"

"Because I could. Is that not good enough?" You shook your robes off in front of a fireplace, eyebrows knit together. "And you desperately needed it. If you need any help with the screechsnaps let me know - they can be a bit nippy."

His mouth opened and closed a few times, a bit like a fish out of water. "You clearly don't like me though, no accounting for taste, but I don't-"

"I like you fine when you aren't being a git or ignoring me for no reason. Besides, this has nothing to do with-"

He got quieter, glancing around at the other students walking through the hall, "I just don't want anyone to know - just if my father found out I need help in Herbology, from a fourth year in Hufflepuff-"

"And what's that supposed to mean? Nevermind, I don't care. I have to get to Potions. Goodbye." You huffed away from him, fuming and damp, asking yourself repeatedly why me?

Though you had a sinking feeling that every conversation with Draco Malfoy would be a contentious one, Saturday morning after the third week of the academic year you were inhaling a muffin on your way to greenhouse 5. You weren’t sure if it was a good idea to continue tutoring, or if Draco would even show up, and your stomach was turning over at the thought of it. Yet, once you sat down at one of the benches, you saw that silver-blond hair glint harshly through the tinted glass and the knot in your gut loosened. He jerked open the door and paused.

You gestured at the bench across from you. “This time I wasn’t sure if you were showing up,” you joked weakly.

“Well, as you so deftly pointed out, I desperately need help.”

The morning was tense as you explained the homework - getting the screechsnaps to sing and harmonize - but by the end you thought you may have a way to lighten the mood. You just hoped you were right.

“So,” you began slowly, “you still owe me one?”

Draco’s eyebrows narrowed. “Yes.”

“I think I’ve thought of something. Do you know the water conjuration charm?”

He pulled his wand from his pocket unceremoniously, tapped the nearest empty pot and commanded, “Aguamenti.” The pot filled to the brim with perfectly clear, almost sparkling, water.

“I’m absolute pixie piss at Transfiguration, but I’ve had to use the hand-pump outside since forever, and I wondered if you could help me with it?”

“This is the favor you want from me,” he said, deadpan.

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound casual. “That way no one owes anyone, and no one has to know.”

“And you’re ok with that all of a sudden?”

“Well I don’t love the idea, but it’s not like we need to be friends, right? This is just a mutually beneficial academic exchange.” He raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, I just can’t tell if you’re angry or not and I use big words when I’m nervous. But I can’t think of a reason why you would be angry, so I’m confused too. You gotta give me something here.”

He sat back on the bench and exhaled heavily. “No, I mean, I just thought, nevermind. Yeah, you’ve got a deal.”

“Great.” You shifted and looked at him expectantly, hoping he’d take the hint and teach you how to do the spell that’s been giving you grief since you read about it. McGonagall kept telling you it was “advanced” and you shouldn’t worry about it, but you’d show her.

Draco blinked a couple times. “What, now?”

“If you have the time, please.”

“Uh, alright.” He tossed the water from the pot onto the greenhouse’s floor and plunked it in front of you. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

You took a deep breath, pulled out you wand, and cleared your throat, then said, “Aguamenti.” There was a long pause while nothing came out of your wand. You knit your eyebrows together and tried again. “Aguamenti.” There was another long pause and heat crept swiftly into your cheeks. You shrugged and looked at Draco as if to say, “See?”

“Don’t be offended by this, but have you ever transfigured anything?”

“How could I possibly be offended by that,” you said in disbelief. The absolute audacity. Though you hated to admit it, there was some truth there as you thought back to last year and your inability to ever correctly transform a teapot into a tortoise. “Like I said. Pixie piss.”

“Maybe we should start with something simpler. What was the last thing you did that seemed easy?”

You grimaced. “The match to needle spell in first year.” He snorted rather derisively, his cold grey eyes rolling in his stupid head. You crossed your arms, indignation rising hot in your gut. You blurted out defensively, “At least I’m not just a lazy, entitled muppet-”

“Now, see here-”

“No! Why is my inadequacy any funnier than yours?” He stood up, still gripping his want tightly, eyes angry and flitting to and from the door. You held your hands up in surrender, “Look, I’m sorry. But this is never going to work if we take turns insulting each other’s intelligence - it’s just school, so it’s normal to need help, right? Though I stand by lazy, I think that’s accurate.”

He sat back down in a huff. “How so?”

“You could’ve passed the essay if you’d done any research to begin with - it’s clear you aren’t stupid, but asking Professor Sprout to curve your grade because of whoever your parents are instead of just doing the work is my definition of lazy.” He mumbled something under his breath. “What?”

He grumbled, “I sort of see your point.”

You grinned cheekily, “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I did. Now, are you going to teach me how to conjure water or not?”

He rolled up his sleeves and cited the transformation formula - bodyweight, viciousness, wand power, concentration, and a fifth unknown variable - before gesturing to his own wand. “Hawthorn, unicorn hair. Sufficient wand power. What’s yours?”

“Oh, uh, chestnut, unicorn hair.”

He nodded, “Bodyweight and viciousness has nothing to do with you, so it must be the concentration component.”

You huffed, “Well that’s not helpful.”

“Would you just relax?”

“Sorry,” you grumbled.

“Transfiguration almost always works for me,” you rolled your eyes, “because, my theory anyway, I almost always believe it will. And I stay focused. So, instead of concentration, try confidence and focus.”

You squinted doubtfully; how could you possibly convince yourself that the spell which hadn’t worked would suddenly? Though, you had to admit it made some amount of sense. And Draco seemed to have some idea what he was talking about. The spell worked for him after all. A transfiguration spell. Wasn’t it just transfiguring air into water? Steam found its way and dissipated into the air all the time. Surely the things were related.

“Ok,” you said to yourself, “I’m ready.” You squared your shoulders and readjusted the grip on your wand. Draco nodded once, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “Aguamenti.” You couldn’t believe your eyes. A healthy stream fell from the tip of your wand into the bucket. But then you looked up, excited, and it sputtered out.

Draco smiled smugly, “You lost focus. But better.” He stood up. “I think this will work. But if we can avoid it I’d rather not meet here every Saturday. I’ll find somewhere more secluded; I don’t want to have to explain what I’m doing in the greenhouses to every Hufflepuff pruning some vegetable.”

At first you were prepared to protest, but looking around, there were only going to be more people here on weekends as the term advanced - especially O.W.L. students. “Ok, some days we will need to be here, though. The conceptual lessons only go so far; Herbology is very hands-on. And I can’t imagine where would be a secluded place at Hogwarts on a Saturday that won’t be overrun with couples.” He waved a hand, “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

“Alright, let me know when you’ve figured it out then.” You stood up to gather your things.

Draco, at the door, turned around and asked, “By the way, I never asked - did you make the team?”

“What? Oh, Quidditch. No, I’m a substitute though.”

“Ah, too bad. You’re a decent flier.” He left you standing dumbfounded in the greenhouse, uncomfortable and flighty heat flooding your cheeks.

The next Saturday Draco found you leaving the great hall after breakfast. He had been lurking behind the beveled arch of a window, and you yelped when he materialized from the shadow. He shushed you and pulled you around under the arch with him.

“Are you insane?” you whispered, poking your head out, wondering if Yvette had seen. It looked like her early morning Quidditch practices were doing you a favor - she seemed totally unawares as she slumped away back to the common room.

“I’ve found a place,” in addition to his usual school bag, he was carrying two boxes - one wrapped like a package, the other with holes poked in the top - he continued more quietly, “Meet me on the Quidditch pitch, at the base of the Professors’ stand, in fifteen minutes.”

Before you could ask any questions, he hopped through the open window and strolled out onto the grounds. Despite your confusion, you did arrive on the Quidditch pitch and found his head poking out from under the checkered cloth covering the stands.

He waved at you hurriedly, “C’mon! Under here!”

You followed him under, asking, “Here? What if we get caught? We’ll get in so much trouble.”

“Nah,” he said, brushing off his trousers and pointing to the pin on his lapel, “We won’t - I am a prefect, after all.”

Under the stand, a fairly large if short space, very little light filtered through the cover and the bare ground was patchy and hard, not to mention freezing. The first rafter nearly brushed the top of Draco’s head. “Oh, ok…” you said, rubbing your arms and trying not to shiver.

Draco smirked and picked up the box wrapped like a package. “My mum sent this to me this morning.” Inside was a perfectly round stone, which he set on the ground in one of the corners. “This should do the trick. Lapis Ignis.” A faint light grew from within the stone, and the air was warmer immediately - the light became a tiny, crackling fire trapped behind a thin layer of the stone. “It’s a portable fireplace. I told her I’d been getting cold at night. Our common room’s under the lake, so.”

The tenseness in your shoulders relaxed with the warmth. You set down your bag on the ground thoughtfully. “This could work. Next time I may bring a picnic blanket though.”

“I was getting to that. I did say I’d take care of it, didn’t I?” He pulled a large green and black checkered quilt from his bag that looked far too nice to be putting on the ground, and tossed it into the air. You tilted your head to your right shoulder sharply. Draco didn’t miss a beat. He whipped out his wand and muttered something, and before the quilt started to fall it opened in ripples and settled itself neatly on the ground.

The borders on the quilt were all embroidered with little silver snakes.

“You really bleed Slytherin, don’t you?”

“It is the best house.”

You laughed, until you realized he was not at all joking. “Well, everyone thinks their house is the best house, don’t they?”

“They might think that. But, really, there’s no contest.”

Well, you disagreed there pretty strongly, but given he’d turned his attention to whatever else he brought with him, you decided there was no use in arguing. You rolled your eyes, “Anyway, do I wanna know what’s in that box?” You pointed to the one with holes poked into the lid.

“Right, this is for Transfiguration. I borrowed it from McGonagall this morning.” He opened the box and coaxed the thing inside out onto the blanket.

It was a hedgehog.

“Don’t worry, I’ll return it when we’re done here.” It’s cute little nose was working overtime, snuffling around on the quilt.

You knelt on the edge of the quilt across from him, careful to keep your shoes off of it. “Poor thing looks nervous. You didn’t bring any treats, did you?”

“Why would I have brought treats? We’re gonna turn it into a pin cushion, not invite it over for tea.”

“No need to get snippy,” you said, trying to rub a bit of your scent onto the quilt. Draco watched dubiously. Softly, to the hedgehog, you said, “No, no need to get snippy. You’re a cute tiny thing, aren’t you? Yes, of course.”

Draco cleared his throat.

“Right, sorry. We’ll start with Transfiguration, then?”

An hour later, you had succeeded in turning the hedgehog’s quills into pins, matches, and threads, but the hedgehog remained a hedgehog and never a pincushion. Draco’s brow had knit together furiously and he tried with growing fervor to explain the spell to no avail. Finally, he sat back on his heels and sighed, head thrown back.

“Well,” he said before a long pause, “it’s an improvement at least. Shall we move on to Herbology?”

“Oh thank heavens.” Your spine relaxed as you waved your wand and the hedgehog’s pins turned back into quills. “Professor Sprout tells me we’ll be getting to fanged geraniums soon; they’re not complicated but forgetting a step can get you bitten and that will scar no matter what Madam Pomfrey puts on it.”

Another hour passed, and you had taken off your shoes to sit cross-legged on the quilt, open book in your lap and happily napping hedgehog under a fold of your cloak. Draco had begun tapping his wand against his knee in frustration. “Remember,” you said, “they’re sentient beings. They really don’t want you to take their fangs - you have to reason with them.”

“How?” he said hotly, “How do I ‘reason’ with it?”

You shrugged. “A trade typically works. I’ve got one at home who likes acorns to decorate its pot. Or you could convince it that you need the fangs more than it does, like in Wandering with Werewolves.”

“This is absurd. I feel silly.”

You smirked, sensing a foothold. “And you’re going to let that stop you? I thought you wanted to be a… something?”

“I thought it could be fun to be a curse-breaker. For Gringotts.”

“Ah, and when you’re breaking curses all over the world, and you miss a trap because your tie gets crumpled and you need to make a blood-replenishing potion or you’ll bleed out, are you going to hesitate asking for a trade from the nearest fanged geranium? Or will you feel too silly?”

He paused. “You’re kind of an ass, you know?”

“Says the kettle. What do you do?”

But Draco never had the chance to answer, as the curtain began to lift. You shared a panicked look for a moment. A large eagle-owl came tramping into the space, feathers ruffled, carrying a letter on its leg. Draco held out his arm for the bird, “Here, Montague.” Montague settled himself on Draco’s shoulder and began preening, clearly affronted, and Draco plucked the letter from his leg. The parchment was gilded on the edge and sealed with inky black wax. His brow furrowed as he read. “I have to go,” he said, looking up quickly, “Now. I’m sorry.”

“That’s ok,” you picked up the hedgehog to return him to his box. “I can return him to McGonagall for you, if it’s urgent.”

He nodded, “Same place next week?” He tapped the stone and the light went out, the chill creeping back into your bones at once. You stood up and helped him fold the quilt before he stuffed it back into his bag along with the stone.

You sat back down next to the hedgehog’s box to pull on your shoes. “Sure. But don’t think we’ve moved on from fanged geraniums.”

He laughed shallowly, silver hair falling limply on his forehead.

“C’mon Montague.” He lifted the curtain and stooped to climb out, then looked back rather regretfully. “Sorry, thanks, uh… bye.”

“Bye,” you said to the closed curtain. “Lumos,” you whispered, and your wand lit up so you could tie your shoes. That was strange, wasn’t it? You brushed some dirt off your jeans as you stood and picked up the hedgehog.

The week following crawled on agonizingly slowly, and, to make matters worse, the stairs seemed particularly driven to keep you from any and all destinations. It had put you in a rather sour mood. So sour, in fact, that when Professor Umbridge made an unexpected appearance in Arithmancy, and proceeded to interrupt Professor Vector every two minutes to ask her to repeat herself in “more general language,” after class you couldn’t help but complain about it the second she was out of earshot.

“It’s like she has no understanding of the subjects she’s evaluating,” you moaned to Luna, the both of you on your way to Charms. “She doesn’t even have a grasp on her own subject, I’d bet any number of galleons on it.”

She nodded thoughtfully, “It does seem that way. But I don’t think Fudge cares much about her being a competent teacher.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well she’s clearly meant to be a competent spy.”

“Hey - Luna. Oh, hi Y/N,” Ginny came hopping up from behind, swinging an arm through each of yours. “Where’re you off to?”

“Charms,” you grumbled.

Luna’s eyes sparked with her sly smile. “Professor Umbridge sat in on Arithmancy. We’ve been discussing-”

“We’ve been complaining, Luna, tell it how it is.”

“Well it’s funny you mention her,” Ginny started, lowering her tone as other students passed. “How do you feel about the current quality of your education?”

Luna replied, “Not good.”

You said, “Pixie piss.”

“And how would you feel about learning from a more practiced source?”

You cocked an eyebrow, “Who?”

“Harry Potter.”

You let out a laugh, “Excuse me?”

Luna thought for a moment, her eyes glazing over, then said, “He should be a font of experience, theoretically. To survive He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named not once, but twice is quite a qualification.”

You felt Ginny’s gaze before you met it, her eyes searching and only a touch wary. You sighed, “Well I don’t know what happened last year but I don’t think he’s a murderer, or crazy. So I guess I believe him. What’s this about?”

Ginny, apparently satisfied, leaned in closer. “We’re having a meeting. This Saturday at the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade. At noon. Just to talk things over.” She shrugged. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

~~~ Taglist ~~~

@yeolsbubbles

@ronslovergirl

@snickersmee

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy #harry potter #slow burn

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