The Scent Of Malice | drarry

twenty three | an unusual encounter

Harry slipped out of the Slytherin forms before the sunrise that Saturday morning, and headed quickly for his own dorm to fetch his Invisibility Cloak.

He had hardly slept and felt increasingly shit on the comedown from Draco's 'fairy wine' from the night before - he was right, ecstasy was a hell of a drug. Still, he'd been warned that this part wouldn't be fun.

"I take it you'd never done molly before tonight?" Draco had asked him before they slept, and Harry had shaken his head.

"Ok, well you should know there's a hell of a comedown. Tomorrow's going to be a write-off and probably the two days after that too."

He'd checked the time; it was two in the morning. "It's Saturday," Harry said, "That means the Express leaves for London tomorrow - is it going to be really bad?"

"Yeah," Draco nodded. "You'll get anxious, dizzy, paranoid - it's not fun. Even when you take the really really good shit, which, for your information, the stuff you took was."

"I don't doubt it," Harry rolled his eyes. "Imagine you not having the best of something."

But Draco had been right again, of course. Anxiety, dizziness, and paranoia were all good words to explain the turmoil inside Harry's body that morning, and there were plenty more besides.

As he walked the empty halls towards the Gryffindor tower, Harry was glad he'd dipped from the Slytherin dorms before Draco woke up. Because if Harry felt shit, Draco always insisted on feeling fifty times worse, and had no problems taking it out on Harry as a punching bag. Things could be different after the intense romantic quality of the night before, but that sort of thing wasn't worth the risk where Malfoy was concerned.

Harry wondered if a hot bath would make him feel better, and resolved to run one quietly before grabbing his cloak and heading to Hogsmeade. He'd already bought for all his friends and the Weasleys, but it seemed that now he had one last present to buy.

***

Draco himself was far less keen to rise and shine even by late afternoon. He'd sat through plenty of comedowns before in class, but this one was gearing up to be particularly earth-splitting.

It seemed the more he took the drug, the worse it hurt him afterwards, and he'd been making a serious dent in his supply that term.

The one thing he didn't expect to see when he finally decided to get up for a drink, however, was the small form of Ginny Weasley at the foot of his bed like some sort of orange sleep paralysis demon.

"Don't scream," was the first thing she said, which Draco found both infuriating and laughably ridiculous.

"Why the fuck would I scream?"

She shrugged. "You seem prone to drama."

There was no arguing with that.

"I'll get to the point," the Weasel sighed. "You hate Harry Potter, right?"

The 'yes' didn't come as swiftly as usual to Draco's lips.

It seemed hypocritical to say he hated Harry when his bed was still soaked in Harry's scent from the night before, when his sheets were practically still warm from the shape of Harry's body, and his lips were bruised from Harry's mouth.