Harry Potter bent his head against the strong gust of air and lifted the collar of his cloak to try and protect his neck from the cold. He wished he hadn’t forgotten his scarf, but these last few days he had a hard time concentrating on much else other than the itching and soreness. He had become absent-minded and forgetful. The previous day Gawain Robards, the head Auror, had even questioned him about it. That was when Harry finally accepted that he had to get help.
He had tried brewing his own healing potion from a couple of medicinal potion books he had bought, but they really weren’t the correct ones for his ailment. Besides, he was rather hopeless at Potions when left to his own devices. He got sloppy and impatient without any helpful shortcuts or someone breathing down his neck to make sure he paid proper attention. And anyway, he couldn’t concentrate properly on anything with this constant distracting itching!
He quickly looked ‘round the street to see if anyone would notice him give himself a good scratch. This constant scratching was so embarrassing! Harry knew he should have seen a mediwizard or visited an apothecary or a potion master as soon as he realised something was wrong, but he had been too embarrassed and had hoped it would just go away on its own. He wasn’t ready to face the knowing look on the other wizard’s or witch’s face as they sized Harry up and predictably lectured him on safety and caution. And he especially didn’t want to read about it in the pages of some gossip-mongering wizarding magazine the next day. It might have been six years since Harry had defeated Voldemort and his initial fame might have died down a bit, but the gossip columns still seemed interested in him and his private life.
Harry had had to be very discreet the past few years to keep his sexual preferences and occasional adventures out of the papers. He didn’t feel ready to have the whole world know he was gay. He actually preferred the wizarding world to know as little as possible about his private life. That was the reason why he was making his way down Knockturn Alley on a freezing February evening. Most of the shops on this road were known for their shady dealings and confidentiality. He was headed for a certain apothecary that also prepared obscure, difficult, shady or just plain complicated potions. The shop promised utmost confidentiality, and Harry was sure that a couple of extra Galleons would certainly ensure it.
Knockturn Alley was rather empty and a number of the shops were in disrepair or closed. After the war the Ministry had cracked down on anything it feared was too Dark. The street had been raided by Aurors more than once and most of the shops had come under close scrutiny. The historic Borgin and Burkes had only just managed not to be closed down.
After a few years things had eventually relaxed again, and the denizens of Knockturn Alley were now slowly returning from wherever they had been lurking. They were still leery of the Ministry, however, and Harry had wisely Apparated home to change out of his Auror’s robes before coming. His shaggy hair conveniently hid his scar and masked his features enough for him to pass relatively unnoticed when he tried.
As he carelessly rushed down the street, distracted by his thoughts and his little problem, he stepped into a puddle, sloshing muddy water over his boots and the hem of his cloak. Cursing irritably, he looked around once again. He was next to a remarkably dusty and dingy second-hand bookshop and a little way down he made out a painted wooden sign, “Adelgar’s Apothecary: Practical Potions & Indispensable Ingredients”. The place seemed in better repair than most and he guessed it was the shop he was looking for.
He quickly made his way to the entrance and let himself in. The inside was dark and much warmer than the outside, but the smell was overpowering. The shop was crammed full of shelves with all sorts of ingredients, and seemed to be overflowing and ready to burst at any moment. There were crates on the floor with jars heaped in them, and baskets with loose dried plants. Harry went straight to the counter. The dark-haired witch there seemed quite bored and gazed at him listlessly, thankfully not recognising him.
“I have come about a potion.” He was nervous. He wasn’t exactly sure what potion he needed and wanted to share the details of his ailment with as few people as possible.
The witch just stared at him for a couple of minutes before finally opening her mouth. “Which potion would you like, then?”
Harry coughed awkwardly, quickly deciding she wouldn’t be much help. “Well, you see, I’m not quite certain. There must be someone I can talk to who...” he trailed off.
“Hmmm. Yes, okay. Wait here and I’ll get you someone,” she answered shortly and abruptly turned around and left.
A little while later a tall thin figure followed her back in and made its way to Harry as she flitted to the window to stare with a glazed look out into the street.
As the blond man neared Harry, Harry realised with a jolt that he knew those high cheekbones, that pointy nose and those grey eyes, and he definitely knew that white-blond hair. He hadn’t seen him in over five years, since the trials at the end of the war, and yet he hadn’t changed one bit. Only why hadn’t Harry realised before now how breathtakingly beautiful he was?
As Draco Malfoy came to stop in front of him, Harry realised that he had never seen that face look so tired and resigned, not even in sixth year, and he had never seen his old rival ever dressed so shabbily. Harry looked over Malfoy’s ill-fitting heavy-duty work robes before returning to his face. He registered the widening of the grey eyes as he was recognised, but the other man didn’t acknowledge their acquaintance in any way. Instead he affected a bored professional tone and drawled in a voice only slightly deepened since the last time Harry had heard it.
“I was informed you require a particular potion. One that you are not certain about, but hopefully you can give adequate clues to infer.”
Even while for all purposes being polite, Malfoy managed to sound superior and insulting. Harry suddenly felt familiarly irritated with the blond and not in the least prepared to share with him what he considered rather private details. He thought about leaving, finding another shop on Knockturn Alley where he could find the potion he wanted. Only he didn’t know another and this one had been very highly recommended for its quality and confidentiality. And, damn it, he needed to scratch again! He couldn’t take much more of this incessant itching before he went insane.
“Well?” Malfoy impatiently lifted a brow and looked at Harry as if he were wasting his time.
“Ummm, yes. I need a potion, or maybe a salve, or a powder would do?” Harry felt himself rambling. He wasn’t sure how to state his request and Malfoy’s unblinking grey stare was unnerving him. “It’s for this condition I seem to have,” he added unhelpfully.
Those strangely large grey eyes seemed to narrow in thought and look him up and down, sizing him up. “And what sort of condition would this be, then?”
Harry couldn’t believe how much he wanted to scratch himself, but Malfoy was staring at him expectantly. His eyes were roaming over Harry’s body as if he was trying to figure out what was wrong. Harry blushed and shuffled his feet slightly. At that Malfoy smirked knowingly. He leaned forward on the counter and whispered conspiratorially, “It is a private condition of perhaps a ... delicate nature?”
Harry blushed redder at that and Malfoy’s smug smile just grew wider, his eyes glittering with amusement and curiosity.
“Well... Yes, actually. I, um, have a sort of an itch... there. And, um, they are kind of... reddish. You know?” Harry managed to stutter.
Malfoy seemed to be ready to snicker, but instead with a remarkably calm and seemingly bored voice he persisted in torturing Harry by asking for more details.
“Where exactly is this itch? How would you describe it? And what precisely is red? What sort of red?” And then he added cheekily, “Maybe you should show me... sir.”
Harry sputtered in shock and stared at Malfoy as if he were insane.
“Show you?" he screeched. He lowered his voice as he noticed the sales-witch looking at him with something bordering on curiosity. “I don’t think that is necessary. A description should be enough.”
Malfoy just looked at him, big grey eyes still glittering in what Harry could only call sadistic amusement. Harry cleared his voice before manfully ploughing on.
“It's...” He dropped his voice even lower. “...my cock that itches.”
“I see. Where exactly?” Malfoy deadpanned.
“At the base. Actually, I think it’s my balls really. They are red, too.” Harry was feeling more and more embarrassed.
“I see.” And with that Malfoy wordlessly summoned a book and started leafing through it. “Is that it? No boils? No pus? No blood when you pass water?” he asked matter-of-factly.
Harry thought the constant itching and tenderness where bad enough without any of those other disgusting things.
“No!" he hissed.
“The itching is constant? The area is tender to the touch?” Malfoy persisted.
“Yes!”
“How would you say you... acquired this condition?” Malfoy was staring at him again, obviously prolonging Harry’s suffering for his own malicious entertainment.
Harry mumbled his answer while gazing at Malfoy’s elegant hands as they rested on the book. They were pale and feminine but also rather stained from potions ingredients, he absently noted.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear you... sir.”
“I said...” Harry leaned forward to practically whisper in Malfoy’s ear, “...I would guess it was from sexual intercourse.”
He distanced himself again from Malfoy, who was lifting an eyebrow and seemed unable to keep his mouth from twitching upwards.
“Oh? ” was all Malfoy said, however.
“Yes! I wasn’t exactly... careful. But I will be next time,” he added defensively.
“Yes, next time,” Malfoy echoed, obviously enjoying himself far too much at Harry’s expense. He moved to a cupboard and started looking through it, pulling out drawers. He came back with a small bottle that he handed to Harry.
Harry eyed it critically (the label read Aphrodite’s Panacea), and looked at Malfoy, expecting an explanation.
“It’s a simple preventative potion for most venereal diseases. There are, of course, charms for the same purpose. But charms wear off faster and can be forgotten.” With that he looked at Harry meaningfully. “All you need is to swallow a teaspoon of the potion and it will protect you for twelve hours. It is most convenient when one is seeing Muggles or when one isn’t quite sure when the desire will overtake them.” Malfoy looked at Harry meaningfully again while Harry blushed.
“Yes, thank you. It seems rather a good idea. Maybe I should buy a bottle,” Harry mumbled.
“Yes, maybe you should. I should warn you that the potion only works one way. It does not protect your partner from anything you might have. Also, it does not prevent pregnancy. We stock a variety of contraceptive potions if you are interested. The majority, of course, have to be ingested by the lady in question.” The tone of Malfoy’s voice clearly conveyed that he doubted Harry had contracted what he had from a ‘lady’.
Harry blushed yet again and cleared his throat. “No, that won’t be necessary. I won’t be needing a contraceptive potion, thank you.”
“You seem awfully sure. Are you certain your luck won’t change?” Malfoy was hardly bothering to hide his curiosity as Harry got more and more flustered.
“My luck? What has my luck got to do with it? No, I’m sure I won’t be needing a contraceptive potion. Not now, not ever.” The itching was driving him crazy and so was Malfoy. Would he just give him the potion he needed and stop the irritating questioning?
Malfoy’s eyes seemed to widen in understanding. “Your partners are of the wrong sex?” he asked smoothly.
“Yes, they bloody well are!” Harry snapped distractedly, losing his patience. “Look, the itching is driving me bonkers. Do you or don’t you have something for it?”
Malfoy seemed quite pleased with the answer as he eyed Harry speculatively. “While I successfully ascertained the salve you need, unfortunately for you it is not a potion that can be stored. If you are interested I can brew it for you.”
Harry groaned on hearing that he would have to wait before getting relief. “How long?” he asked.
“I could have it ready in... four days,” Malfoy answered, and Harry groaned again. “In the mean time we do have a topical numbing potion that might help you. It numbs any area it is applied to. That means you will no longer feel any itchiness. Of course, it also means you will no longer feel that part of your anatomy at all. Are you interested?”
Harry didn’t even think about it. “Of course I am!”
With that, Malfoy made his way back to the cupboard, looking through the never-ending drawers until he found what he wanted.
“Here it is.” He put the second bottle next to the first. “Will you be needing anything else? You should come back in four days for your salve.”
“Yes, actually. One more thing.” And with that Harry opened his moneybag to take out a couple of Galleons. He grasped Malfoy’s surprisingly smooth hand in his own coarser ones and laid the Galleons in the palm. “Anything said here today was in the strictest confidentiality. I trust I have your complete discretion?”
Malfoy studied the Galleons and then Harry in the infuriating way he had been during the whole exchange. Finally, he closed his hand around them, nodding in acceptance. “Complete discretion. When you come again, ask for me and I will bring you your salve without involving Danae over there.”
“Yes, perfect. Thank you.”
And with that Malfoy carefully put the bottles Harry was buying in a brown paper bag and handed them to him as he called Danae over. “Please charge... the gentleman ten Galleons for his purchases.”
Harry paid the witch promptly and, clutching the paper bag, hurriedly left the shop, eager to get home and apply the numbing potion.
Draco Malfoy’s eyes followed him out and for some time the blond rested in contemplation of Harry Potter and all that he had learned during one simple exchange. Shaking his head at how hopeless Gryffindors were at hiding things, he made his way back to the workroom and his potions.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Author's Notes: Lots of thanks to my beta Raisinous Fielding for whipping my grammar into badly needed shape and for putting up with a slowly developing WIP.