Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I still have some crackers though. Might go get a soda or something to wash them down. My life is very boring, isn't it?

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Grape—

Thursdays were probably Harry's favorite day of the week. Fridays were good of course, since they were the last day of classes before the week-end, but that usually meant that those classes would feel longer and be more difficult than any other day.

Thursdays however, were usually lovely with class after class falling like dominos until it was time to go to lunch, or dinner, or to practice.

The autumn air was crisp and bright, with shards of sunlight streaming across the high tree tops of the forbidden forest, tangling with the tentacle branches of the Whomping Willow.

Harry wanted to be outside; if for no other reason than that the fresh air might kill of his recent tendency towards alliteration.

The other students seemed restless as well. Harry saw them fidgeting idly in their seats as McGonagall droned on about tempests and tea cups and transmogrification.

There was a heavy, succulent smell in the air, sweet but difficult to place and Harry refused to look around. He knew Draco was somewhere in the room, but he didn't want to give in as he was about ninety percent sure that the Slytherin boy was smelling delicious on purpose in order to drive him insane.

It just smelled so… purple, and Harry couldn't place it any more clearly than that. He closed his eyes, trying to figure out what the aroma was, heady and full of some kind of potential.

"Mr. Potter, are you still with us?"

McGonagall's voice snapped Harry out of his daze and he opened his eyes to see his Head of House less than six inches from his face.

With a strangled shout he jumped, smacking his forehead into her nose, and then fell to the floor.

The other students jumped to their feet. Some ran to the Professor, guiding her, her hands pressed tightly to her face, to an empty seat, and others to Harry, to help him up and covertly offer either censure or congratulations.

His face feeling hot and red as a tomato, Harry got up, slapping away the more hindering than helping hands and walked over to the Professor. Hermione had pulled McGonagall's hands away and performed a basic examination, gesturing away the milling students who had gathered to see a Professor do something as everyday human as get injured.

"I'm so sorry-," Harry started, but McGonagall waved him off.

"No, no. I am fine, just a bit of a bump, nothing broken, nothing bleeding. However," the Professor went on, a steely glint appearing in her eyes, "I think a detention or two will teach you to pay attention."

Harry nodded in acquiescence, secretly relieved. Since Voldemort's death many of the Professors had become more lax in their discipline, but McGonagall and Snape had retained their reputations for being complete hard-asses while evening their scope among all four houses and not one or two.

"Yes, Potter. You do seem to be drifting off lately. That's not very safe," Draco drawled from a few feet away, where he had stood, hands in his robe pockets, watching the chaos.

Harry glared at the Slytherin.

"This is all your fault, Malfoy," Harry muttered half under his breath, "You smell too good."

At the sight of the fierce glare he was receiving, Draco laughed, an open free laugh that Harry rarely heard from the Slytherin. Then, hands still in his pockets, Draco walked out of the room past Harry, knocking their shoulders together as he walked.

"I'll get Pom to take a look at it, just in case," the Slytherin said as he exited the classroom.

Harry just stood, mouth agape. When they touched, Harry's nose, his mind, had been filled with that strangely… purple… scent.

Grapes.

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Note: Here we have another chapter. I have one more written and an idea for another. If there are any particular fruits you guys are interested in, let me know. As long as it isn't cherries. I have a plan for cherries.