The Scent Of Malice | drarry

twenty eight | colours

Draco's slender fingers laced over the parcel on his knees, pulling the brown paper off with surprising gentleness. Harry forced himself to watch, though he found it immensely embarrassing to give presents to people and receive their thanks.

Slim chance of profuse thanks from Malfoy, at least, he thought wryly.

Brown paper aside, a box of glimmering paints fell into Draco's lap, and he couldn't repress the gasp that escaped his lips.

They were exquisite, presumably the best Harry could find, and each vial contained every hue imaginable.

"You can start using actual colour now," Harry said quietly as Malfoy turned the gift over in delicate hands. "They're enchanted to change to read you and fit your mood - thought it might save me from being a venting board for your frustrations a little more in the future."

Malfoy held back a cutting comment, remembering the promise he'd made to be nice. "Thank you, Potter," he said stiffly, the words foreign and sharp in his mouth. "I ... I like them very much."

Harry glowed. "Will you paint me with them, do you think?"

Malfoy looked away, staring intently at the kaleidoscope of colours. "I have something to tell you about that, actually," he said gruffly. "If we're doing gifts... you might as well see my sketchbook from over Christmas."

***

"I did write," Malfoy told Harry awkwardly as he slid the book out from under his pillow. "Just didn't send them. You can't read all of them, but I can show you some at least."

He fished out a few select pages - all of Harry, some more explicit than others, some of which had words attached, too.

The first that caught Harry's eye was a familiar scene, a skilfully captured snapshot of the event on the bank of the Black Lake, drawn out and re-imagined in lurid grey and black and indigo.

This time, Harry saw, as the images flickered and Malfoy's cursive writing captioned their movements, the blonde doesn't quite manage to leave the dark haired boy on his own in the rain with his heart falling out of the gaping hole in his chest.

He turns back, and they collide, those fragile boys who look too much like their Mothers and act too much like their Fathers.

Harry's heart lurched.

These are boys who have seen too much horror to ever sleep soundly again, boys who know death better than life; and the blonde crashes into the dark one by the lake and lets him wash all over him like the tide.

"That's how it should've happened," Malfoy breathed, and Harry melted into the offered kiss like it was the last he'd ever have.

"Why didn't it?" Harry asked when the kiss was broken. He wasn't quite brave enough to rest his forehead on Malfoy's, but he hoped one day he might be.

"You didn't ask me to stay," Malfoy replied quietly. "And besides, I was angry."

"Aren't you always angry?" Harry sighed.

"Pretty much, yeah. I'm fucked up like that."

Malfoy let the words hang in the air as reached into the left-hand pocket of his robes and drew out something small and coloured which Harry barely glimpsed before it was on the other boy's tongue, and then gone.

"What was that?" he asked curiously.

"A molly tab?" Malfoy replied, like it was obvious.

Harry's eyebrows shot up in shock, his mood completely killed, and he looked furtively around the empty dorm. "Malfoy, you cannot take ecstasy at half past fucking four in the afternoon!" he hissed.

"Why not?" Malfoy frowned. "I just wanted one. Got into more of a habit over the holidays, I'll admit."

"Do you - do you not realise how irresponsible that is?" Harry spluttered. "Do you have no sense of self-preservation?"

"Not really," Malfoy replied. He took his pictures back out of Harry's trembling hands before he could look at them properly, to Harry's mild irritation.

"Hadn't you better be going to Hall soon?" he asked lazily. "Obviously I'd rather you stayed, this is going to kick in relatively quickly and it tends to massively increase my sex drive, but I understand you may have other plans."

Harry's mouth fell fully open. He couldn't believe how casual the other boy was being. "What is actually wrong with you?" he asked, deadpan. "I can't tell how much of what you're saying is a joke right now."

"I'm not joking about any of it," Malfoy replied, nose crinkled in confusion. "What would I gain by joking?"

"You're unbelievable," Harry shook his head dazedly.

***

He didn't stay, but he couldn't get the image of Malfoy out of his mind as he ate, and was so distracted that he may as well have not been there.

Ron had to ask him four times to pass the pepper before he gave up and Accio-ed it for himself, making sure the shaker clunked his friend's skull on the way past.

"Sometimes I swear you live in a different world, mate," he muttered.

"Sometimes I swear the same," Harry agreed.

The image was still in his head even when bedtime rolled around. Malfoy's skin, starkly pale against the pop of colour on his tongue, that beautiful vivid colour that would send the chemicals pouring through his bloodstream and transform him into that heavenly figure Harry had met at the Christmas party.

He thought about heading down to see him (he knew he'd be welcomed) but decided he didn't want to encourage the reckless behaviour. If he wants to fuck up his life, Harry told himself as he rolled over to sleep, that's a problem for him and his friends. Like he told me himself - I'm not his fucking boyfriend.

It was 4 in the morning when the pounding on the door began.

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a/n: thanks for reading! please vote and comment if you enjoyed, sorry it's just a short one but there's plenty on the way 🤍🤍

~ paradisedraco