Chapter Four

Harry awoke, feeling terrified, disgusted, horrified, comfortable, and gormless all at once. He lifted his head off the floor, eyes red and gummy. "Too damn bright," he grumbled, falling back to the floor once more. The lights dimmed. "Much better..."

"Enjoy getting pissed off your ass, Potter?"

"Too looooooouuuudddddddd!" he complained in a slow drawl, rolling onto his back. "Whas all the noise for? Should sleep." He tried to follow his own suggestion, shutting his eyes and pillowing his head on his arms.

"We have Potions in ten minutes, you Mudblood drunk! Get up!"

Harry propped himself up on his arms. "Think Snape'll give me a... hangover potion?" he wondered aloud, looking at Malfoy. The other boy was standing at Harry's feet, arms crossed and mouth in a thin line, looking just like Hermione the one time she'd stumbled upon him after a night spent in the company of Captain Jack.

"You're the one who decided to get drunk, you can deal with the headache, too." He helped Harry to his feet. Harry followed Draco, stumbling along in his wake. Professor Snape looked up from his desk, glaring at Harry as he moved to sit next to Ron. Draco grabbed his arm, jerking him into the desk. Harry was still trying to voice a complaint when Draco dragged him over to another table, sitting both of them down.

"If you try to brew a potion like this, you'll cut off your hand, and Weasley could cut off his hand without a hangover. If you'd like to keep your limbs, you'll shut up and do as I say."

Merlin, what had he said last night, what had he done which would make Draco act, if not nice, than at least not overly hostile? He was sure he'd done something, but the headache pounding at his temples wouldn't let him remember. He shrugged and helped Malfoy with the potion, which mainly amounted to him sitting and watching Draco do everything. He poked at a few ingredients every now and then, shelling the, well, whatever the little blue things were, but Draco made sure to keep the skinning and paring knives on his side of the table.

Snape passed by every now and then, sneering down at Harry, but not saying anything. He exchanged a few confused looks with Draco, one eyebrow raised, but the Slytherin just shook his head and mouthed 'later.'

After Harry bottled the potion (which Draco had been carefully doing, but Harry couldn't wait to get the hell out of the dungeons, so he quickly sloshed the viscous yellow sludge into the glass phial with all the grace of a toddler) he stood to make his way out of the room, his head weaving as he vision tunneled suddenly. Draco, however, had other ideas, snatching his hand once more and yanking him back into his seat. The other students filed out slowly, and Harry watched them with envy. Draco's (manicured) nails were biting into his arm, keeping him leashed down to the table and in Snape's presence.

Snape cleared his throat, moving to stand in front of his desk after everyone but the two boys had left. Draco turned to Harry, grey eyes hard. "You're going to tell him exactly what you told me last night, Potter," he commanded.

Harry's eyes darted from side to side unconsciously, lingering on the door. "What'd I tell you last night?" he slurred, judging the distance as best he could. If he tried really hard, he just might make it to the door before Snape or Malfoy could stop him. "Don't remember."

Draco sighed and stood, keeping a cautious eye on Harry as he made his way over to Snape's desk. He bent down, pulling a bottle of Firewhiskey out of one of the drawers there. "Would you prefer if I got you soused enough to tell him?" he asked, tilting the bottle mockingly in front of Harry's face. "You'll do anything for someone with a couple of fags and a bottle, won't you, Potter?"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Malfoy," he growled, the twisting of the Firewhiskey making his head head spin and his stomach clench.

"Draco, I cannot condone inebriating students-" Snape began, only to be interrupted by a smirking Draco, his eyes still fixed on Harry.

"Oh, I'm sure Dumbledore won't mind," he drawled, smirk firmly in place. "After all, he is fine with incest and rape."

Harry wasn't sure who was more shocked and sickened, himself or Snape, but he didn't care to stay and draw a conclusion. He lurched to his feet, retching as he overturned the pitted desk, stumbling for the door. He fled blindly, crashing into stacks of cauldrons and stools, shins bruised and palms scratched from catching himself as he fell.

Just as suddenly his momentum was arrested, and he fell to the flagstones, hitting his knees hard. Cool hands pulled the hair back from his face as he vomited again and again into an old cauldron. "Fucking hate you," he murmured at last, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and sitting back on his haunches. He fumbled in the pocket of his robes for a fag, lighting it with a snap of his fingers and trying not to hyperventilate.

"Draco, what is this?" Snape asked, eyes focused on the panicked student shuddering on the floor.

"It's nothing," Harry put in quickly, coughing on the smoke. "Malfoy's lying."

"It's not nothing," Malfoy spat, righting some of the furniture as he spoke. "You're falling apart, Potter. There's nothing keeping you together anymore; you need help."

"I'm fine," Harry repeated, stomach dropping to the floor. Maybe Snape would find a use for it in one of his potions. The smoke that was wreathed around his head fled as he shakily stood. He walked over to his desk, shoving the upset books and parchments into his bag roughly.

"Yes, it's perfectly fine for you to perform sexual favours for your cousin for cigarettes. And it's just absolutely normal for a sixteen year old wizard to be piss-ass drunk every day."

"Detention, Potter."

"What?" Harry turned a red face to Snape. "You can't give me a fucking detention for that!"

Snape just smirked, but his eyes were intently focused, and not at all cruel. "Students are not allowed to drink on the Hogwarts premises, Potter, nor are the allowed to indulge in those muggle death sticks you seem so fond of. Furthermore, your language is most inappropriate, and you are being most disrespectful to a professor. Detention, every night until I believe that your behaviour has changed."

"Go fuck yourself, Snape. And sod off, Malfoy." Harry thrust his bag onto his shoulder, stalking off towards the door.

"I'll expect you at seven, Potter." Harry just flipped him off, missing the loaded glance between the two Slytherins.