The Scent Of Malice | drarry

forty five | how to plan your lover's trial

Two months later.

"Another threatening letter arrived from Draco's mother this morning," Harry said, skimming the envelope onto the table in front of Ron and Hermione.

"God, what does she want this time?" Ron groaned as Hermione unfolded it. She ticked off her fingers as she read aloud.

"OK, that's defamation... that's libellous... that's slander... that's a threat... Harry, this is all nonsense!"

"Is this about the ecstasy thing again?" Ron frowned. "Why is she so desperate for you not to mention that when it's so useful in Malfoy's case?"

"I think the woman's got her priorities all out of order," Molly Weasley tutted, clattering a steaming plate in front of each of the boys before turning for Hermione's. "If it were one of my sons, I'd do whatever it took."

Harry sighed, and ran his hands through his hair. "She's not like any normal mothers though, Mrs. Weasley. Narcissa's the one who allowed him to get hooked in the first place. And besides, I think it's a Malfoy pride thing. Draco obviously doesn't want me to mention it either."

"Stubborn git." Ron shook his head, taking a big bite of the first sausage sandwich on his plate.

Harry and Draco had had a huge argument not long after the battle, after he'd been detained by the Aurors on Death Eater charges.

"I'll be your character reference in court," Harry had insisted, but he was met with a violent head-shake from Draco through the bars of his temporary cell.

"You can't, you idiot," he'd snapped. "Think that'll go down well with my parents? Having my gay lover speak at my trial? The boy who happens to be the icon of their opposition?"

"Surely the more it upsets your parents, the better?" Harry'd replied, bemused. "And surely my significance on the anti Death Eater front makes me a more respectable witness in court?"

"Listen, Potter. I don't want you to do it and that's that," Draco responded with a dark glare, and for a while, that was that.

But as Harry chewed his breakfast in the Weasleys' kitchen that morning, a week from the trial, a new idea was forming in his mind, and he knew he wasn't going to listen to whatever Draco wanted this time.

"A significant issue with Draco's case is his Mark," Harry mused, taking a thoughtful sip of his tea. "It's cold proof of his Death Eater affiliation."

Ron and Hermione regarded him with interest.

"It's undeniable," Hermione nodded. "Very incriminating."

"More sausages, dear?" Molly interrupted with a smile and a laden tray. "Better get in quick before Fred and George are up!"

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley." Harry smiled and offered up his plate, then turned straight back to Hermione. At the forefront of his mind, just out of reach, was a glimmer of a memory from a former Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

"How exactly is someone Marked, Hermione?" he asked, tapping thoughtfully on his glasses as he spoke. "It's nothing like a Muggle tattoo, is it?"

"No," she responded slowly. "It's much more complicated and involves a lot of Dark Magic. And it doesn't use regular ink - it's drawn in the blood of the recipient, which is what makes it so painful."

Harry gasped. "Oh my God, that's it! That's it, Hermione!"

His friends frowned, confused. "What's it, Harry?" Ron asked.