Samsara's Curse (Drarry Slowburn)

A FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH

A/N: More recreational drug use and explicit smut. Shocker.
Photo creds: jenny_nocturna_black (instagram)

As soon as they landed, Draco placed the wooden chest on an accent table and made a beeline for the kitchen. He re-emerged with a whole Crumble Cookie and Sanguist in hand. It had been a mercilessly long day, and he was in urgent need of something to wind him down. He gave Harry his half of the cookie to ensure tonight's slumber would be painless. Even if Draco had healed Harry once, he wasn't confident that he would be able to do it again. He had no idea how long his charm would even hold up. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Draco's lips quirked into a smile as he took a bite of his cookie piece. He had become quite comfortable with being high. There was no longer any fear that followed the feeling, and he knew Harry was the overarching reason as to why. Draco used his fangs to puncture the foil of his (third) blood box, ignoring the strange look that Harry gave him.

-x-

They both got ready for bed—this time in separate washrooms. Harry offered a joint shower, but Draco claimed he wasn't born yesterday: "You and I both know we won't get any washing done that way."

Harry pointed his finger at him, preparing to argue, but he had no rebuttal.

Draco returned first and charmed the canopy of his bed to look like a star-filled night sky. The twinkling constellations put him at ease, normally, but that effect was tenfold while high. When Harry came to bed, Draco was in the middle of reading his new book, still sober.

"How is it?" Harry asked.

Draco tried not to appear too impressed, but the bright smile on his face gave it away. "The writing is spectacular, and so are the characters. Enoch is my favorite."

Harry sat up, skeptical, "Isn't he the sarcastic asshole?"

Draco's expression became defensive, "He's hilarious!"

Harry nodded, unsurprised that Draco believed that. He didn't disagree, per se, as Enoch was fairly witty when it mattered, but he always found Jacob more relatable than anyone else from the series. That, also, was unsurprising.

Draco lowered his book to reveal a carton of Sanguist in his hand.

Harry didn't believe for a second that it was the same one he had thirty minutes ago. "How many of those did you drink?" he chuckled.

"Five," mumbled Draco, low.

"Five?!" Harry exclaimed.

"And I'm cutting myself off for the day," Draco clarified, his drink having gone dry with one final sip.

Harry called out to him as he watched Draco put his book down, stand up, and walk towards the hall, "Where are you going?"

"To get water," Draco said confidently from around the corner. A minute later, Draco came back with a red carton of Sanguist, already opened by his fangs.

Harry stared at the blood box and then back at Draco. "Well?"

Draco lifted his chin. "I was weak," he said matter-of-factly, before taking a sip and trying to return to his book.

While he could read while moderately high, he found that he rarely wanted to. The only thing he really did in that state was either sleep or smile at Harry like a damn fool. He propped his chin on the palm of his hand, leering just a little.

"Come here often?" Draco drawled with a comedic tone.

Harry cackled, "I live here."

"What a coincidence!" Draco feigned surprise, "For the time being, I do as well."