A/N: Same legal technicalities still apply!

Chapter 12: Denial and Draco

Draco woke up, feeling groggy and in pain. He slowly lifted his eyelids, feeling as if a cat had attacked his body during the night. He lifted himself from the black sheets and noticed his arms and chest contained innumerable scratches upon the surface. He gently poked at a dark red splotch on his left pectoral. It felt like a tender bruise, but the teeth marks on his shoulder indicated...

He jolted from the bed as if it were on fire. A hickey? On his chest... was a hickey?

The blond professor ran to the wardrobe over by the right side of the room and wrenched it open. Inside the door ran a full-length mirror. Inspecting himself carefully, he traced the bite marks from his shoulder to the hickey that branded his neck, to the other hickey that left it's mark on his pectoral, and to the countless scratches that twirled from his back to his abdomen. He ran a hand through his unusually matted hair and sank to the floor on his knees, at a loss of what to think.

WHAT WAS I THINKING?

Well, if he had to be honest with himself, he had been drinking last night. The thought of that brought up the memories as if he were looking into a pensieve. He let his face fall into his hands, his cheeks a startling shade of red.

Oh Merlin, what had he said last night? Did he pour out the darkest desires of his heart to his enemy? What did Potter think? Does he even remember..?

He groaned. Of course he remembered. If Draco did, so did Potter.

Suddenly, a bell rang within the school with a loud cacophony of sound. The Potions Professor bolted to his feet and dragged out his clothes for the day, regretting having slept in and missing breakfast. That was okay, though. He could always order the house elves to send him his meal to the classroom later.

After he was properly garmented, he snatched his wand up from the bed and waved it to put the candles out as he exited his chambers.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

He arrived at the Potion's dungeon, not looking forward to teaching the sixth year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs that awaited his arrival. The sounds of chatter died instantaneously when he strode through the threshold and shut the door behind him.

"Alright class, you will be working on Hammotha's Brew that you had started last week. It should have steeped sufficiently by now and you should have acquired a thin cerulean consistency with indigo flakes floating in it. The only way you can be positively sure that it has achieved a satisfactory amount of time steeping is to note that it smells like peppermint.

"However, I don't advise you to drink it... It's creator, Riley Hammotha, had a sick, twisted humor back in her days and would entice people to drink that foul brew. It may smell like peppermint," he continued, "but it tastes like ashes and excrement." At this, the students in the class expressed their disgust. "And, as you should all know the purpose for this brew, it's meant to bring forth obscure knowledge and dreams. Although, if it's taken in high doses than the recommended amount, it will bring forth nightmares and render the drinker unable to recollect any recent learned knowledge."

The class was silent as he instructed them. With a tap of his wand on the black board, a set of instructions appeared.

"Now, I want you to continue with the lesson today. We are about two-thirds of the way done with it. At the end of class, you should have achieved an opaque, aquamarine color with your potions and it should still smell of peppermint. If it comes up odorless, then you would have made a vile poison, in which you will receive no marks for the entire lesson. Any questions?"

He looked around the room, expecting the usual absence of hands. When none were forthcoming, Professor Malfoy turned from the class and had just thought of what to order from the kitchens for his late breakfast, when he spotted a couple of suddenly raised hands in his peripheral.

Sighing inwardly, he addressed them. "Yes, Miss Roan?"

"What happened to your neck, Professor?"

He blanched, whatever remaining color in his cheeks fading instantaneously. "What does that have to do with the lesson?" He asked in turn, trying to breathe properly.

"Well, I just couldn't help but notice that it looks like a bruise, Professor..."

At that observation from the insufferable Hufflepuff, several of her classmates began taking a keen interest in his neck, craning their own to get a better look.

He gritted his teeth. Bloody Hell!

"That, Miss Roan, is none of your business. Get to the lesson or I'll take points."

He turned to the other hand that was still raised in the air. The blond allowed the boy to speak.

"Is it a hickey, Professor Malfoy? Do you have a girlfriend?"

Draco slapped a hand over his eyes. Really?

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mister Wells. I told you to get to the lesson. Is that understood, or shall I have to hand out detentions for a week?"

The boy slumped in his chair, defeated. "Just asking..." He pouted under his breath.

A girl in red pigtails spoke aloud next. "Well, do you, Professor?"

"Another ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Lane, for talking out of turn and prying where your nose doesn't belong!"

From there, the rest of the class left him alone, but as many students walked towards the ingredients cupboard, he could hear several students talk about the mark on his neck. He unconsciously put a hand to the bruise to cover it, slightly embarrassed.

This was just not his morning.

A/N: Sorry for the long-awaited chapter! Hope to spin out some more hilarity soon! R&R as always...