The Scent Of Malice | drarry

thirty four | the date that wasn't a date

That next Saturday was a blazingly beautiful early Spring day, the sky a soft cornflower blue splashed with sunlight.

It was one of the odd occasions that Malfoy hadn't slept in Harry's bed or vice versa but Harry knew the other boy would be awake already for the Slytherin Quidditch practice, and he intended to sneak down and watch him for a bit before taking him off for the day to monopolise his attention.

It had been a good week since he told Malfoy he was taking him out - he hadn't been called once to pick the other boy up over the past three days, which he took to mean that Malfoy had been staying away from the drugs for once, and might not be in his usual state of going up or coming down.

"That's all I want from him," he'd told Ron and Hermione in a tearful confession one night. "I'm so sick of watching him come up and down, I want him level and stable for once."

As he dressed and then collected everything he needed for his plans, Harry hummed cheerfully to himself. It was going to be a good day.

***

When Harry got down to the viewing stands, the Slytherins were already on the pitch and practicing drills together. Malfoy clocked him immediately, and soared up effortlessly to hover by the stands.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?" Malfoy hissed, ignoring Flint's heckles for him to come back.

"I'm allowed to watch my greatest Quidditch rival while he trains, aren't I?" Harry grinned innocently, lacing his hands behind his head and flexing. "Just getting some ideas, Malfoy. Don't let me distract you."

"Well, as a matter of fact, you are distracting me," Malfoy snapped. "I deeply resent the fact that you came here to perv on me, it is a violation of my human rights-"

"Malfoy!!!" Flint bellowed from the centre of the pitch. "If I have to come up there and drag you away myself, I'll Hex your fucking balls off! Don't test me!!"

Malfoy paled. "Don't fucking watch me, Potter," he snapped, before wheeling round and heading reluctantly down to his captain for an angry lecture.

But Harry did watch him, and he did so with great pleasure. Despite his complaints, Malfoy was playing extremely well that morning. Harry was reminded again what an excellent Seeker the boy was, and how much difficulty he'd have keeping up with him at the next game. Why was it that difficult feelings made Malfoy such a great player, and made Harry so much worse?

***

"You're still here," Malfoy glared when he emerged from the changing rooms, looking delightfully ruffled-up in the way that Harry liked him best.

"Yes," smiled Harry sweetly. "Today is the day we get to do what I want."

Malfoy's eyes widened. "I told you to give me time to think about that!" he protested. "Not just spring it on me!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ok, drama queen. If I asked, we both know you'd say no. So I'm telling you: this is the schedule for your day. You're spending it with me, and you're not getting high, and you're going to be nice to me."

"You can't control me," Malfoy snapped. "I'll come with you but if I want to get high I will, and if I want to be mean to you I will."

"Merlin, Malfoy, give it a fucking rest!" Harry laughed exasperatedly. "It's one day of your life, ok? And I'm not going to do anything terrible."

Malfoy surveyed Harry doubtfully. "Should I get changed?" he asked.

"We aren't even leaving the castle," Harry replied. "I'd say you're more than great as you are."