The Little Potions Boy - Chapter 3
I’m so sorry that chapter 3 took me so long to finish, but tumblr gate happened and it just sucked all my motivation right out of me. And then the chapter just kept getting longer and longer, but everything is relevant to what is going to come. So here it is!
Read Chapter 3 under the cut or on AO3 đź’š Chapter 1 can be found here
Thursday, 3 December 1998
“You take care of yourself and come back safely, alright?” Draco stroked the snowy owl over her beautiful head before sending her off on her long flight across the ocean. Seeing Susan always reminded Draco of the snowy owl of a certain Gryffindor, and how said Gryffindor’s face used to light up when he saw her at breakfast.
Draco took a deep breath, put his gloves back on and went back to work. Thinking about Hogwarts wasn’t a good idea. He had so many regrets; things he shouldn’t have done because he should have known better, things he did even when he did know better… And with the regrets always also came the memories of his friends, the good ones when they had all been together, laughing in the Slytherin common room, and the bad ones when he had lost them one after the other. Vince in the Fiendfyre. Greg and Theo, who would be in Azkaban for another year or two. Pansy and Blaise, who had both been shipped off to some relatives abroad, waiting for … what exactly? For time to pass? For people to forget about their association with Him?
Draco sighed and continued filling up the water bowls. No, thinking about Hogwarts didn’t do him any good. He couldn’t change his past and he was stuck in a present where he couldn’t even afford to write to his mother without saving up, so letters to friends were unfortunately out of the question at the moment. Ironic for someone working in an owlery… But at least he had “his” owls for company.
This close to Christmas, the owls of the Owl Post owlery were working overtime. Merchants, customers, friends or family members: everybody was using them to order products, deliver goods and presents, or send letters. Owning just one owl was simply not enough at a time like this, and so a steady flow of customers kept everybody at the Owl Post office busy. This day had been especially long. There were currently 97 owls in the owlery and a few dozen should return from their errands during the night. Taking care of all them was a very time-consuming task, even with magic. On top of that, Mr Willis had held one of his famous “You’re a Death Eater, this is a punishment, work harder” speeches which had cost Draco even more time, so now he was once again the last to leave.
Heavy snowfall greeted him when he locked the old oak door of the owlery, and he was just walking into Diagon Alley through the narrow passageway which led around the building when he heard weak chirping to his right. Draco knew that birds were very good at hiding any sign of injury or illness, so he had learned over the last few months to observe all his feathery friends very closely and notice the smallest irregularities in their behavior. A distressed sounding bird, even with a tiny voice like this, was like an alarm signal to Draco’s ears, something he simply couldn’t ignore.
He held himself very still and listened for the sound, hoping he would be able to make it out again despite the wizards and witches still strolling through Diagon Alley now that the shops were closed. There it was! The weak chirping seemed to be coming from the entrance of the Owl Post office. Draco walked closer and continued to listen.
Two little box trees with Christmas decorations and fairy lights were in front of each shop, giving the Wizarding district a festive look, especially with all the snowflakes whirling around. Under one of those small evergreen trees, Draco found a tiny dirty bird, shivering in the icy cold and chirping miserably.
“Oh, you poor little thing,” Draco whispered and crouched down. “Let me warm you up first and then we can check if you’re injured, okay? Don’t be afraid, it’s just a bit of magic.”
With very slow, deliberate movements, Draco took his wand out of his winter coat and whispered a warming charm, pulling his magic back as much as possible. The bird was so small that he didn’t want to overheat it or cause burns.
Next, he cast some diagnostic spells he had learned during his first few days working at the owlery. Mr Willis might have been a grumpy old man, but he knew how to take care of owls and had taught Draco the basics.
“Hmm… these readings are worrisome, little one. Your wing is injured and you have a slight concussion.” Draco looked at some of the readings which were still floating through the air. The bird seemed to enjoy the warming charm and cocked its head to the side, following the floating numbers with a curious gaze.
“High stress levels, that’s understandable. Hmm… but this here’s not good; it looks like the beginnings of pneumonia. How long have you been sitting out in the cold?” Draco waved the readings away with a flick of his wand.
“Okay, tell you what. We’ll try a tiny numbing spell for your wing, all right?” Draco explained to the bird exactly what he was doing. Of course, he knew that birds couldn’t understand wizards as well as magical owls did, but he had noticed that the owls always reacted to the tone of his voice, so he kept whispering soothingly.
“Now that you aren’t in so much pain anymore, I can immobilize your wing for easy transportation because we really need to get you out of the cold.” A murmured spell and another flick with his wand, and … “There, that should do it.”
Draco put his wand away, opened his coat further and took his left arm out of his coat sleeve. Now he could take the bird carefully into his gloved hands, while one arm was inside his coat. The bird looked like a ball of admittedly very dirty feathers and fit perfectly into his palm. It didn’t seem to be afraid at all, looking at Draco trustingly.
“Merlin, you are filthy.” Draco was chatting with the bird, cradling it to his body. He held the winter coat closed with his right hand and hoped it would offer enough protection from the icy wind and snow while he walked back to his flat on Knockturn Alley. “Were you dragged through the mud by a cat? Or did you hit something in flight and fall into a puddle? The first thing we’ll do at home is get you cleaned up, and then we’ll have dinner. Does that sound like a plan?”
Draco’s flat didn’t really deserve to be called that. It was just a run-down single room with adjoining bathroom in the cellar of a shop on Knockturn Alley. Slippery, uneven stairs led down to the entrance, but before he could walk those down, he saw frantic movement in one of the first floor windows. And sure enough, a few seconds later his landlord stormed out of the house, clad in a thick woolen robe, horrendous Christmas-themed joggers and pink slippers.
Great. Draco had hoped to avoid an encounter since he knew exactly what it was about. He tried to keep the bird hidden, pulled back his shoulders, and hoped this wouldn’t turn ugly.
“Malfoy! It’s the third! Where’s the rent?!”
“Good Evening, Witherby. I’m sorry, you’ll get it as soon as the Owl Post office pays me.” His hand holding the bird was shaking inside his winter coat. Please don’t let him discover the bird on top of it all. “We’re overrun with customers this close to Christmas. It must have slipped Willis’s mind that it was the first two days ago. I’ll remind him about my salary tomorrow.”
“Humph,” Mr Witherby narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. He was almost a head shorter than Draco, but that didn’t change the fact that this was his shop, his house, his cellar, and if he wanted, Draco would be homeless in a heartbeat. “You do that, boy,” he said between clenched teeth, stabbing a finger repeatedly into Draco’s ribcage. “You bring me that money. Just because I knew your father doesn’t mean you get to stay here for free! Got that?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Draco nodded once, said “Good night” and was finally able to flee down the stairs to his room. When the door closed behind him, he walked the three steps to his bed on shaky legs and sat down heavily.
“Merlin,” Draco muttered.
Excited chirping brought him out of his thoughts, so he shrugged his coat off and held the bird closer to his face.
“Hello, you! I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make you wait,” he said, trying to go for a cheerful and carefree tone. His little guest had quite enough troubles which needed to be taken care of first before Draco could think about wallowing in self-pity.
“Right,” Draco yawned and got up from the bed. “Bath, food, sleep. First you, then me. And maybe a name for you, what do you think?”
Draco chatted on while rearranging a few things on his work table, making space for the bird with one hand before carefully setting it down and taking off his gloves.
His room didn’t hold much. A single bed was standing along one wall with a small bookshelf at its head. He’d engorged his favourite potions books and a few of his dragon sculptures when he’d moved in, and left most his other possessions shrunken down in one of the trunks at the end of the bed. Seeing those familiar items always gave him a sense of safety and home. The same could be said about his blue cauldron and his brewing utensils which were on the work table standing opposite the bed. A small sink with a cupboard above it was on the wall between bed and work table, and right next to the sink, a door led to the bathroom. Draco had tried to make the place as comfortable as possible, hanging up the posters he’d had in his dorm room at Hogwarts, on which famous Quidditch players zoomed around on their brooms or posed enticingly. A huge Slytherin banner was stuck to the wall next to the entrance. Above the banner, a tiny charmed window close to the ceiling gave the illusion of a view into rolling hills under a starry sky. In reality, the window just let you see the dirty facade of the houses opposite; not even a tiny bit of sky could be seen through it, no matter what angle you tried. So Draco had charmed the window as best as he could, and had tried to replicate the view out of his bedroom window at the Manor. On the floor of his basement room was a thick warm rug, also from his room at the Manor. He’d had this dark purple rug forever and loved curling up on it with a blanket, a cup of tea and a good book. He could read there for hours.
But first things first! Draco looked at the dirty bird, which was more mud brown and grey than anything else right now, and fetched his wand from his coat on the bed.
“Well then, what do you actually look like under all this dirt?”
Draco performed some complicated wand movements and spoke the accompanying cleaning spell — an appropriate one for birds since it didn’t destroy the water-repelling properties of their feathers — and came face to face with a still disheveled, yet clean red-yellowish bird. It had about doubled in volume, now that the dirt wasn’t weighing down its feathers, and looked like a ball of fluff on thin legs, quite a few feathers still going in all directions.
Draco just stared at it, and the bird stared back at Draco — with its cute green eyes, encircled by dark round markings.
“I…,” Draco swallowed. Fuck! This damn bird looked like a certain disheveled Gryffindor, glasses and house colours and crazy hair and all. Only the famous scar was missing. He narrowed his eyes, pulled a few times on his bottom lip while thinking and then said determinedly: “Git.”
The bird, which had started hopping around on the table, exploring its surroundings, was currently facing away from Draco. When it heard the one-syllable word, it looked back, watching Draco curiously.
“Your name’s Git. I think it’s fitting.” Draco proclaimed. “You’ll probably be nothing but trouble,” he grumbled, then couldn’t help himself and continued: “But damn it, you’re a cute ball of fluff, aren’t you, my boy?” He stroked Git over his tiny head, then accioed a small plate, filled it with a careful Aguamenti and put it in front of the bird.
“Now let’s see what we have to eat for you. I think I have some owl treats left. You could nibble on those for tonight, and we’ll get some more appropriate food for you tomorrow. Maybe some sunflower seeds? Would you like that?”
Draco rummaged through one of his trunks while talking to the bird. He never got owl post here, his mother’s letters were always delivered to the Owl Post office, so he didn’t have any treats at hand, but maybe there were still some between his Hogwarts things.
“Oh, wait, I might have a few in my coat pocket.” And yes, there were two owl treats and a few crumbs left from his work day. “There you go. Bon appétit, mon petit.”
Draco let the owl food drop on the table next to Git’s plate before being finally able to take care of his own needs.
After a hot shower and some cold dinner with bread, cheese and a green apple, Draco felt infinitely better. He’d eaten at his work table next to Git and shared his food with the little rascal. The bird had wanted to nibble on everything.
Now, Draco was sitting on his bed, leafing through one of his potions books, while Git was still on the work table, hopping around, inspecting everything and chirping happily about his discoveries.
Draco had had to put up heavy silencing charms when he moved in because of his nightmares. He renewed them regularly, which meant that Git could now make as much noise as he liked without any fear of disturbing the landlord.
Ah, there it was. Draco had finally found the chapter about mending bones, and was now trying to figure out how many drops of Skele-Gro he could safely administer to Git in order to heal his wing. Thank Merlin, all the potions and ingredients from the Manor — at least those which weren’t confiscated by the Ministry — were also in Draco’s trunks. Buying potions really was out of the question with his meager funds.
Draco yawned again and rubbed his eyes as the letters started swimming on the page. He really needed to get some sleep; he only had to figure this out first. The day had been hell, and tomorrow, it all began anew. Just this time, he had a little fireball of a bird to keep him company; at least until Git was well enough to find a warm spot during winter.
Bon appétit, mon petit. = Enjoy your meal, my little one.
