This is a story about healing for sad panda Draco.

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Cupere

to long for; to desire

Chapter One

Songs of the Chapter: We Are Robots - VUKOVI and We Good by aftertheparty

x

Draco Malfoy was used to wanting things.

He was used to wanting things and never being good enough to have them. He was used to seeing the things that he yearned for being given to other people, doled out like Christmas gifts as a reward for simply existing. He'd grown accustomed to the feeling of envy, to the feeling of coveting everything that everyone else possessed, and punishing them for it. He wore the envy like a suit around his heart, and cloaked it in arrogance so no one would be able to see how lonely he felt. The things he wanted seemed like gifts to him, but to everyone else, they were rights. Things they felt they deserved.

Draco had grown up wondering when he was going to get his gifts, but had grown to learn that the reason why the fates hadn't deigned to give him the things he wanted were because he simply didn't deserve them.

"The last thing you're going to want to do is put it in her drink, Poe. She'll sniff it out from the entrance of the Great Hall."

Draco looked up from his novel. His eyes darted back and forth between the two Seventh Year boys that were sitting on the couch adjacent to his armchair.

One leaned back with one leg curled underneath him, running his fingers through his shaggy brown hair in continuous motions. The other sat perched on the edge of the cushion with his fingers interwoven behind his head, which had been shaved clean of hair.

"Then, what? You put it in her food? Won't she taste it?" Poe, the one with the shorn head said. He looked amused.

"Yeah, but it's not the same. See, it's like Amortentia. In drinks, it's too noticeable. But in food, it blends together with the whole situation, and then it adds to the flavor."

Draco carded his fingers through his own hair, scraping the cheek-length platinum strands back. After pushing his readers back up the bridge of his nose, he attempted to return his focus to the book in his hand. He had survived over half of his Eighth Year by keeping his nose inside of books and out of other wizard's business. It had taken a full month for students to stop accosting him in the corridors, constantly trying to pick fights. He had no desire to rile anyone up over a harmless love potion the night before Valentine's Day.

"How'd you even find the recipe for it, then, Richter?" Poe asked.

Richter's lips curved up into a smirk that only a Slytherin with way too many galleons in his Gringotts account could conjure up. "I didn't. I bought it off a bloke in Knockturn Alley when I went home for my gram's funeral."

"You spent your gram's funeral shopping?" Poe barked a laugh. "Why am I not surprised?"

Draco turned a page and shifted his position in the chair. He crossed his right ankle over his left. He remembered when he was younger, how flippant he'd been. He'd give anything to have a grandmother again. To have any sort of family besides a father in prison and a mother more focused on charitable donations than her own son.

Before everything got so fucked up.

Richter chuckled. "Funerals bore me. So I went to Knockturn Alley and wandered about for a little, and then stumbled upon a wizard selling potions. He said he had one that was perfect for Valentine's, and when I asked him what it could do, you won't believe what he said."

Draco glued his eyes to his book, but his ears remained open to the crackling fire in the hearth and whatever the boys were going to say next. They were in the Slytherin common room, but he knew that it wouldn't matter who walked in on the two younger wizards' conversation. Everyone knew to expect mischief from Poe, at the very least, and dodgy actions from Richter.

"What did he say?" came Poe's reply.

"It's called Cupere," Richter said, lowering his voice a couple of notches even though it was late in the evening. "It's a potion that is supposedly from Ancient Rome. Roman wizards used it on witches to make it simpler to get what they wanted, if you catch what I'm saying."

"You said it's like Amortentia?"

"That's just what the wizard who sold it to me said. That, and he told me what the side effect is, and you're going to shit yourself when you hear it."

"What, mate?"

"Orgasms. A lot of 'em. Three drops of it in a witch's food, and she's got a bloody good twenty-four hours ahead of her. Once it kicks in, all you've got to do is touch her skin, and she'll be screaming like a banshee. It only works when men touch the witch, the bloke said, and it gains power as the day wears on. By nightfall, she'll be ready to throw herself off of the Astronomy Tower, or fuck both of us at the same time, whichever comes first."

Draco felt his heart racing a bit faster. He wrestled with himself for a moment. He could go to McGonagall. She was the only person at Hogwarts besides perhaps Granger and a couple of other Eighth Years who saw him as a human being. McGonagall would believe him.

One thing that Draco had always prided himself on, even during the war, was the fact that he'd been raised as a gentleman in a Pureblood wizarding household. Gentleman did not slip love potions to witches, and they certainly didn't slip potions that voided consent to them, either. This "Cupere" potion was little more than a bottled Imperius curse.

He hesitated and then turned a page. They'd have to be dense to slip that sort of potion to anyone. It sounded illegal, and post-war wizarding Britain didn't take dark magic lightly. Using a potion like that could result in expulsion or arrest. Being a Slytherin, Draco could understand if they had a personal stake in the usage of it, but there were much easier ways of asking after a witch.

Draco understood doing illegal things when they were harmless, but Cupere was not harmless.

He also understood that they were talking about this in the vicinity of him because everyone in the entire school thought he was a dark wizard. Even though he kept his Dark Mark heavily glamoured, he caught people staring at his arm multiple times per week. Poe and Richter were no different. Their families hadn't fought in the war, but they'd made their chosen side clear when they donated to the Dark Lord's regime. Both boys likely thought that Draco would condone their sinister plan.

It sickened him.

Poe said, "So we just tip the vial over her food, and then what?"

"We watch her make a complete idiot of herself. A prude like her, in the good graces of the Headmistress, walking around with her nose in the air like she's the best witch since Morgan Le Fay? I don't think so." Richter snorted. "The little Mudblood's about to get what's coming to her. Watching her squirm in class, coming every five seconds because some bloke accidentally touches her hand? It'll be worth every galleon the potion cost."

Draco's increased heartbeat stilled. He wasn't reading any longer. He drummed his fingertips along the top of the pages. He knew exactly who they were talking about.

"She's probably never had a good fuck in her entire life, the filthy golem," Poe said, and Draco heard the sneer in his voice. "And just for the record, I'm not fucking her, if that's what you're wanting it to come to. I'd rather not sully the line."

"Then you can hold her down while I do it." Richter sounded beside himself with glee. "Tomorrow's likely going to be the first Valentine's Day for Granger with a wizard paying attention to her, with that hair. But hey, if she wanted to keep the attention off of her, she should have thought about that before she gave us a month's worth of detention."

"I know that's right." Poe huffed. "The Golden Girl won't be so golden by tomorrow night, now will she?"

"If we wake up early enough, we can get there before her," Richter said. "She always sits in the same spot. It's Valentine's tomorrow, so she'll just think someone set her plate out for her."

"Like a secret admirer?"

"Yeah," Richter said, "and then we slip the potion in, maybe leave some conjured flowers to cover up the motions, so it looks like a Valentine's gift."

Draco contemplated the risks of hurling his book down, drawing his wand, and casting Unforgivables. He wondered if Azkaban was nice at this time of the year, and if they'd let him bring a blanket if his crime was based on defending a witch's honour.

Granger was a fucking saint. She and Potter were the only reason why he was at Hogwarts and not in a cell. Without their help, the Wizengamot never would have granted him parole. Over Draco's dead body, were they drugging her.

He was a Slytherin, and Slytherins - the right sort - were fiercely protective of the people who did them favors. Granger did him more than a favor. She gave him a gift he didn't deserve: his freedom.

No, he wasn't going to McGonagall. He was dealing with this himself.

As he started to close his book, a low fire beginning to smolder in the depths of his chest, a chill settled over him. What was he thinking? He couldn't crucio two Seventh Years in the common room. He didn't want to go to Azkaban after everything that had been done to keep him out of it. He would need to find another way to deal with this.

If he went to bed now, he could wake up early, too. Then, he could go down to the Great Hall and plant himself at the Gryffindor table, hopefully before these two snakes did. He'd sit right next to where Granger sat, even though it would cause a consternation. The Gryffindors would likely try to hex him, but it was worth it. He'd never make amends for the past and they couldn't seem to go five seconds without bickering whenever they were partnered in Charms, but he wasn't letting Richter rape her.

If he tried, on Salazar, Draco would be going to Azkaban.

Draco closed his book with casual hands. He stood up, tucking the book underneath his arm. Richter and Poe's gazes snapped to him when he did, and Draco stared at them for a moment.

He was an ex-Death Eater, but that didn't mean he'd forgotten how to cast the Cruciatus curse.

"Gentleman," he said in a cold voice.

"Malfoy," Richter said while Poe offered Draco a curt nod. "Care to put in any input?"

Draco shook his head. If he was going to stay ahead of this, he needed to pretend he had no interest.

"No. Have a pleasant evening."

With fluid movements, Draco turned and crossed the stone floor, headed for the special dorm room the professors had managed to charm into the dungeons. He fought the urge to turn back around to handle the situation the Muggle way, muttering the password to the portrait of Salazar Slytherin. It swung open and he stepped into the small room that led to Pansy and Theo's doors.

Draco knew one was probably in the other's room and while he was happy for their bliss, he wished Theo was available so he could discuss this situation with him. Not that they "discussed" things related to Granger. As far as everyone knew, Draco still hated her. No one knew that things had changed for him. No one knew that the moment she walked into that courtroom to speak on his behalf, was the moment he stopped hating her and started hating himself.

It took a lot less energy to want to tear himself into pieces, than it did thinking of insults to hurl at her just to keep her at arm's length.

It wasn't long after the beginning of the school year that he started noticing things about her that he hadn't noticed before. That her hair had gotten so long that the curls relaxed themselves against the small of her back, soft and shining golden brown when they caught the light the right way. That when she smiled, it made her honey-colored eyes sparkle like stars were reflecting from within them, and her teeth were near-perfect. She was bossy and swotty, but he found that it didn't bother him as much as it used to. Oh, he still snarked at her, and they argued like no one's business, but he did it out of adoration, not cruelty.

He was fairly certain she knew none of this, however, and he had no plans to tell her. He fancied her, yes, but he wasn't interested in anyone finding that out. In all the years he'd been going to Hogwarts, he'd made sure everyone knew he was the one you went to for a quick fuck, and that was it. Not that he cared much for portraying an image. He simply didn't want information leaking out that he had any sort of weaknesses. He didn't know why, he just didn't want anyone to know.

He couldn't think of anything worse than Granger storming up to him and telling him she wouldn't fancy him if he were the last wizard on Earth, even if he wouldn't be surprised if she did.

As Draco closed himself inside of his room, he felt the familiar twisting in his gut that he felt whenever he thought of Granger. His self-hatred reared up to mingle with his lust. He'd just heard Richter and Poe planning something awful, and Draco had possessed the gall to feel aroused by the thought of her.

He felt disgusted with himself.

What would a witch like her want to do with a wizard like him? She was the brightest witch of their age, and she'd saved the wizarding world from a madman with a demon's will. Draco was just the poor sap who'd been given the impossible choice between failure and death. Draco had nothing to offer anyone except for the horrible things he'd done during the war - things he couldn't escape the nightmares of.

But as usual, his disdain for himself was not enough to quell the raging fire that burned through his body that night. As he removed the pieces of his suit, folded them neatly, and set them atop his dresser, he felt his resolve faltering.

He wanted her and since he would never have her, he was left to pine.

Later, when he lay in the darkness on his back, he conjured up the mental image of Hermione Granger telling him he was worth something.

He didn't get to sleep until the moon had started its descent.

He knew the second that his eyelids cracked open that he'd slept through his wand alarm.

"Fuck," he cursed, rolling onto his side and pressing the heel of his palm to his brow. "Fuckin' shite."

Another reason why he was a terrible person.

This could still be salvaged. Looking at the grandfather clock in the corner of his dorm room, he saw that breakfast had only just begun. There was a slim chance the boys had lost their nerve. If they hadn't, perhaps Granger hadn't made it to the Great Hall yet. If he hurried, he might make it in time to go through with his plan to sit down beside her.

Circe, I'm gonna look barmy as Hell, he thought as he scrambled to his bathroom to brush his teeth. Sitting next to Granger? At the table?

As each second went by, he felt his panic growing. He couldn't do that, he couldn't sit next to her at the Gryffindor table and act like they were even acquaintances. The outrage that would sweep through the Gryffindors would be more than he could handle, and Granger would not be kind to him.

During their last Charms class, they'd argued so badly over the "right" way to cast the mirror conjuration charm that she'd snapped her quill in half. He'd covered up his anxiety with a sneer, but he was so sure that she hated him that he'd almost considered dropping Charms altogether. If he sat down at the Gryffindor table, she might just dump her plate onto his head.

Draco tried to catch his breath, his lungs squeezing in on themselves. He was going to have to rethink everything. His original plan was defunct. What if the boys were just talking? Draco remembered being a boy, sitting in the common room, making "plans" with Crabbe and Goyle for how to "ruin" Potter and his friends. "Plans" that had never come to be. What if Richter and Poe never went through with their plan? How foolish would Draco look, sitting at the table for absolutely no reason whatsoever?

He set his toothbrush down. Instead, he would sit at the Slytherin table, like normal, and just watch her. Then, if she showed any signs of having been drugged, he would either go to McGonagall, hex the bollocks off of both Richter and Poe, or take Granger to Professor Slughorn for an antidote.

He'd just have to ensure that he carefully avoided touching her bare skin.

After a mild panic fit, Draco took a long look at himself in the mirror. His platinum blonde hair, which was trimmed short on the sides but long up top, fell forward into his eyes, and he had stubble that was a few days old. His silver eyes blinked back at him with the sort of exhaustion that always assailed him after one of his fits, and he stared at his chest. The mottled scar that bisected his flesh was the only thing that disgusted him more than his past choices.

Running his fingers along it, he suppressed the revolted shudder that wanted to ripple through his body. Sometimes, it terrified him how much he despised himself and the way that he looked. It got overwhelming.

Turning away, Draco went to get dressed. He put on a pair of black trousers and a white long-sleeved Oxford, choosing to wear a black vest instead of a blazer that day. He was finishing up his tie when a knock came at his door. As he always did, he bottled up his destructive emotions and masked them behind a smirk.

"Theo," Draco greeted, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. "Shouldn't you be wooing your strumpet?"

Theo, whose wavy brown hair was pushed away from his face, returned Draco's expression. "It's Valentine's Day, not our anniversary, tosser. She can manage breakfast without me. Are you coming?"

"Yeah," Draco said, and then he went back into his dorm to retrieve his satchel and wand.

"No robes today?" Theo asked as they walked to breakfast.

"Nah," Draco said. "I hate those sodding things. I'm too tall for mine."

"Why didn't you just go buy some? Hell, you could walk to Hogsmeade right now if you wanted to!"

"And walk outside in the snow and cold? My perfect alabaster skin, Theo. Please."

Theo threw his head back and laughed. "Fuck me, if I forget how precious your complexion is."

As they stepped onto the moving staircase upward, Draco sensed Theo's mood changing. The two of them leaned against the banister side-by-side, and Draco slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers to mask the way his hands were trembling.

"Heard from your parents, then?"

Draco looked blankly at the walls and other staircases full of students. "No. They don't write much."

"Ah. Well, I'm sure your mum's got you on the mind."

"Mm."

There was a bit of an awkward silence that stretched between them, which Draco knew was entirely his fault, and then he reached up to rub the back of his neck as though it needed a massage.

"How's your da?"

Theo shrugged up at him. "Same as yours, I s'pose. Azkaban doesn't have varied cells, mate."

Stupid, Draco thought, admonishing himself.

"Yeah," he said instead. "Thought I'd ask."

It was difficult speaking with Theo. They were still friends and had been since they were in their nappies, but things were so different since the war ended. The trials had taken the entire Summer, and Draco had been held on strict house arrest at the Manor by himself for three months straight. No owls, no Floo, no contact with anyone.

To top that off, Theo had only picked the wrong side. Draco was the one who took the Mark. Draco was the one who attended the Dark Lord's Revels. Draco was the one who'd felt Voldemort slithering through his mind, filling it with poison. He felt like he couldn't talk to anyone about anything anymore. None of them understood what it was like to have nightmares that felt so real that he could feel the Dark Lord's crucio tearing his flesh as if it were real.

Draco hadn't had any real mates since Sixth Year, and he'd come to terms with it.

"I'm off to sit with Pansy," Theo said in the Great Hall. "I'll see you in Defense Against the Dark Arts, mate. Cheers!"

Theo traipsed off to join Pansy at the far end of the Slytherin table with some Seventh Year girls, leaning down to give her a quick peck on the cheek. Draco watched him sit, and then he looked at Richter and Poe, who were sitting near the middle of the table. They were talking to one another, but they didn't look more or less suspicious than they usually looked.

Draco's eyes bounced about, taking in the Valentine's decorations that were strewn about all over the place. There were glittering, non-corporeal hearts raining down from the ceiling, confetti hearts decorating the tables, and each table had bright pink and red place settings. It smelled faintly of sugar.

He shook his head. No doubt Head Girl Granger had a hand in this. She'd been going mental for the past two weeks planning the Seventh and Eighth Years' combined Valentine's Day party, and the Great Hall was no exception to her maniacal interior decorating.

His gaze landed on her for a moment, lingering. She was standing, talking to Luna Lovegood in the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables, and she didn't look to have sat down to eat yet. She was dressed differently today, festive in a pastel pink dress that flattered her body in a way that caused the tips of Draco's ears to turn pink. It was made of chiffon, had long sleeves and a tight bodice, and a flowing skirt that stopped just above her knees. Her shoes were simple, sensible one-inch pumps, and her waist-length curls were pulled back with gold clips at her temples.

Draco nearly tripped, stopping in the crowded entryway to stare openly.

She said something to Luna, smiling one of those smiles that made her eyes glitter. She let out a laugh that he heard ringing out like a melody over the sounds of students conversing, turning to sit down to eat. She tucked into a plate that was either already there, or that she had made before talking to Luna. Draco watched her eat even as students around him for blocking the doorway, and he wondered why it had taken him so fucking long to realize how stunning she was.

And then Draco remembered the reason why he was so anxious that morning, and he felt queasy.

He was a complete and total idjit. He was such a fucking git.

She'd already eaten the food.

Fuck! Draco thought, full of anger at himself. I suppose I'll just have to watch closely. If she shows any signs, I'll decide what to do then.

Just more reasons why he was an absolute rubbish person.

Draco watched Granger while he ate, sneaking surreptitious glances at her to see if there was any change in her disposition. He alternated between eyeing her and casting quick glances down to Richter and Poe, trying to see if they were watching her, too. As far as he could see, Granger was carrying on as normal, chatting in an amiable fashion with Seamus Finnegan and a few Sixth Years. Richter and Poe were barely even sparing her a second glance, and they left the Great Hall before Draco was even finished eating his eggs benedict.

Right at the end of breakfast, she dropped her fork onto the floor and he stiffened. Did it mean something?

He waited with bated breath, eggs poised halfway to his mouth, while she held up a finger to her friends. She leaned down to the side, to retrieve the fork, her hand pressing to the table. Then, she sat back up. As she did, Draco saw her the side of her palm brush against Finnegan's.

Draco gulped.

But nothing happened. She just smiled and continued to speak.

Maybe . . . Maybe they were just talking out of their arses? Maybe they didn't slip her anything after all?

Draco certainly hoped so.