Reparations

iii

AN - most of the wizard drugs in this chapter come from my twisted imagination, other than Amortentia, which I've borrowed from canon for my own nefarious ends. Chromia from the Greek word for colour and Silvaso from the Latin for wood (yes, I'm a nerd and I like to play with words. Sorry about that) Meus Fabula is Draco's take on the traditional 'no gossiping' rule.

**~*~**

The following morning finds Harry standing stubbornly outside Malfoy's office by eight-thirty. When a vaguely familiar nurse emerges from the Stage One ward and throws him an odd look, he reflects that perhaps he's taking the 'I'll show you 'don't be late'' to an unnecessary extreme. He gazes at the locked door with its haughty Malfoy-esque sign and fights down the urge to try an unlocking spell.

Which is just as well because half a second later, the doors fly open behind him and a harassed-looking yet perfectly put together Malfoy stalks toward him. Harry steps away from the door and pretends not to be listening as the blond murmurs a standard unlocking spell and enters his office without a word of greeting.

The scent that trails in his wake is fresh and citrus-sharp, and Harry inhales deeply before he knows what he's doing. Mid-breath, realisation slaps him in the face, and he splutters, horrified. Malfoy eyes him as though he's something peculiar. Harry shakes himself. Frowns. Malfoy does not smell nice. That is ...all kinds of wrong.

"Are you planning to stand there all day gaping at me like a distressed trout?" Malfoy inquires. "Or will we be breaking for lunch?"

Lunch. Yes. Harry closes his mouth and folds his arms.

"Since when do you and Ginny have lunch together?" he demands, searching the pale face for any hint of guilt.

"Potter, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Malfoy demurs, settling into his desk chair.

"You fucking do. Don't lie to me, Malfoy."

Green eyes meet and lock with grey in a fierce stare-off, and Harry muses that he hasn't stared so intensely since his Hogwarts days, and never more so than with the man in front of him. Finally, Malfoy pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily.

"Fine. Despite her...unfortunate family, Ginevra and I seem to share some common ground." He shrugs, as though daring Harry to make something of it. Harry bites back the reaction to Malfoy's casual slight against most of the Weasley family. "She volunteers on the ward at the weekends, and in return, she allows me to take her out for lunch occasionally. That's all there is to it."

"That's all there is to it?" Harry echoes faintly.

"Yes, Potter. We're not having a torrid affair, if that's what you think."

The smile is pure Slytherin, and Harry's urge to wipe it off his face tangles with the sudden hot spike of jealousy, leaving him feeling slightly nauseous.

"Oh, god," he manages. "Don't say that."

"Why should you care? You've not been together in years," Malfoy points out, sounding oddly stung.

"I don't...I..." Harry lapses into silence and leans heavily on the closed door. Apart from the deception, he's not sure why he minds quite so much. "She works with you? She never said."

"You'll have to take that up with her, won't you?" Malfoy's eyes turn cold and Harry sags, suddenly wishing he'd never said anything.

"Fine."

Malfoy nods briskly and waves a dismissive hand. "I've got groups to prepare for, so do you mind terribly removing yourself from my office?"

"What do you propose I do?"