Title: Drag (Part 1 of Addiction)

Author: Sacharissa Donerail

Rating: T/T+

Content: adult language, implied m/m,

Pairing: DM/HP

Disclaimer: None of these characters, places, etc. belong to me. I claim no ownership to the characters. No profit is being made off this story.

Summary: Draco and Harry. Complicated? Yes.

I can't really remember when I started.

One day, I just picked it up, and I haven't been able to stop since. It's the sort of thing most never expected someone like me to do--no, not me the pride of the Malfoy family. He's too clean, too polished, too unlike the rest of the common world in which he must suffer. That's what I was born for anyway.

I'm the example of the perfection that one can achieve when one tries hard enough.

I don't have any siblings because they might have compromised the success my father has had with me. He couldn't afford mistakes. My mother is so bloody in love with having a child--something to call her own--that she doesn't care about much else. She keeps me well-dressed and my pocket well padded with spending money, and I love her dearly. She is such a soft, gentle creature.

How she could marry a man like my father, I will never know.

I don't know if he's ever had an ounce of paternal instinct in him. He allowed my mother to conceive me because he need an heir and a trophy, but ask for any more than that, and you'll be disappointed. I've never asked him for anything.

I think it's that supposed perfection that makes me do it. Addiction is a muggle weakness, and if my parents knew I was doing anything remotely muggle-like, they would be very displeased.

It's amazing that something as meaningless as smoking cigarettes could mean so much trouble for me.

It's Severus' fault really. He is the one who taught me. I caught him in the dungeons after class one day, puffing away like he was sucking air. Poor guy. He really wasn't meant for teaching. The stress is too much for him. Being a Death Eater, no problem. Handling a bunch of kids and grading papers, and we're talking core melt-down. Go figure.

But I like Severus, and he likes me. He's rather stuff, and he's got a bloody strange sense of humor, but he's been there for me more times than I can count. When I was younger, I thought it was one of those teacher/student crushes, but now I know that he an I have something in common that bonds us together--we've both been neglected by Lucius Malfoy.

Severus doesn't like that I'm a smoker. "It's going to yellow your teeth," he grumbles, even as he lights up his own. He really is such a dear. It's a shame he can't show that to more people.

So, I sit up here in the Astronomy tower, home to many a midnight fumbling by the strangest pairings of students you can imagine, and I smoke. I usually sit on the roof to avoid embarrassing my hormone-fueled classmates, blowing the smoke up toward the blue-black sky and watching it dissipate almost immediately. I let my legs dangle over the edge and lay against the rough surface, barely noticing the way it digs into my back. The smoke burns my throat and my lungs, but I savor it. I only smoke mentholated cigarettes because I like the touch of cool just before the burn.

It's nice up here--me, my cigarettes, and the stars. It's my alone time. I'm away from the rest of the Slytherins, all of them scrambling desperately for my approval. I'm free of that insufferable mudblood, Granger, and her little lost puppy, Weasley.

As I inhale and hold the smoke for a few moments, I find, however, that this night shall not be Potter-free. Midnight broom ride, eh, Potter? Quite the rule breaker.

There's a little something most people don't know about Potter and myself. We don't especially hate each other. Everything about who we are says we should. He's a Gryffindor, I'm a Slytherin. I'm rich, he's poor. His family fought the Dark Lord, my family worships him. I should hate him, but I don't. I torment Granger because she is unfortunate enough to have muggle parents, and Weasley because he's poor and pathetic, but I don't hate them. Hatred is a pretty wasteful emotion.

Potter and I...there's some sort of understanding between us. In public, we carry on because it's what we're expected to do. When no one else is around, we tolerate each other. I think he's got a crush on me. Isn't that cute? I guess I slightly fancy him in that moth to the fire way. Heaven knows I've never fancied girls.

Except Pansy Parkinson that one time after the Yule Ball, but that's another story.

I sit and watch Potter zoom around on that broom he takes so much pride in, and I have to admit to myself that he flies remarkably well. It doesn't look forced or like any sort of hardship on him. He's a natural. That's when he notices me noticing him, and his smile shines through the moonlight speckled darkness as he flies over ad lands delicately beside me.

"You really should be more careful, Potter," I say as he makes himself comfortable and sits down beside me. "The wrong person might see you gallivanting about and get you into trouble."

"Sod off, Malfoy," he replies with a crooked grin. "If you were going to tell on me, you would have done it by now."

He's right. And I have told, but when I told Severus, he grumbled and mashed his cigarette out while already lighting another. "Oh, let the git have some fun, Draco. He is going to be our savior, you know. He deserves it."

Harry Potter has never been the savior of anything, if you ask me.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" he asks, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Composing a symphony," I answer. "You're sitting on my sheet music."

He rolls his eyes. "Do you ever stop being a smart ass?"

"You should know the answer to that by now," I reply, flicking the column of ashes off my cigarette. A few stray ones land on his thigh, small white flecks on his worn blue jeans. He brushes them off with an annoyed puff of air through his lips. "You're going to get caught one of these days."

"So are you." Dammit, Potter, can't you just let me enjoy my one solitary moment of joy?

"If I go down, I'm taking you with me," I say after a moment of silence.

"Likewise," he answers. "Though I'm sure Snape will bail you out and leave me to hang."

"Probably." He doesn't realize that Severus doesn't hate him either. He's just unwillingly bound to some stupid idea that he has to pay James Potter back for saving his life almost twenty years ago. Severus has a hard time forgetting the past.

"Slytherins stick together and all that," he mumbles. He says something else, but he turns his head away so I can't hear him.

"You Gryffindors aren't any better," I say, flicking my cigarette away. It lands far below us with a tiny fountain of sparks.

"It's what we do," he answers. "Part of our charm."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, yes, charm is practically oozing out of your ears."

"Seems to work on you."

I don't voice a comeback because I'm not quite sure what to say. He's taken me off guard, which doesn't happen very often. He gives me this stupid little grin, which is just a touch too victorious for my liking.

"Well, goodnight, Potter," I finally say. "You'd better get inside before you catch cold, seeing as you don't have anyone to warm you up."

The corner of his mouth goes up in a half smile. "You don't have anyone either, as I can recall."

"Yeah," I answer bitterly. "But I could if I wanted."

Then I lean over and press my lips against his. They're warm and soft and very nice, but I don't linger. I pull back and flash him a toothy grin, his dumb-founded look staring back at me. "Night."

It's only when I'm almost across the courtyard that I hear the soft 'whoosh' as he takes off again, and I realize that I left my cigarettes on the room.

I'll get them tomorrow night.