one: acrid

adj.

1. Sharp or biting to the taste or smell; bitterly pungent; irritating to the eyes, nose, etc. 2. Extremely or sharply stinging or bitter.

When Draco Malfoy entered the flat that he shared with Ginny Weasley, he was greeted with a smell so horrible, so foul, so repugnant, that he almost turned around and walked right back out the door. He had never encountered such a foul odour that so nearly caused permanent damage to three of his five senses.

She entered the sitting room a moment later, smiling happily at her boyfriend. Her hair was tied back into a loose bun with curly ringlets framing her face, and she wore an olive green sundress with a pink apron tied around her waist. "Hello, love," she greeted, kissing him soundly on the lips. "You're home early."

A noncommittal grunt escaped his lips as he attempted to keep his expression neutral. He blinked away the tears in his eyes while turning his grimace into the most convincing smile he could muster. "What – what have you been doing here all day, Gin?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprised delight. "I've been baking your favourite treats! I've already finished six or seven batches of chocolate fudge and some of those oatmeal cookies that you like so much, and I've just put a cherry pie in the oven…"

His eyes went wide. She had spent all day slaving over a hot oven, baking him all of his favourites, and he just didn't have the heart to tell her about the acrid odour he had smelt as he walked in the door. He knew he was in big trouble. He had been so preoccupied by his thoughts – worried about how he would possibly be able to show how much he appreciated her while never, ever, ingesting anything she had made that day – that he had not even heard her laugh hysterically.

"Oh, that look on your face!" she said, cackling and wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes as she doubled over in laughter.

The blond's eyes narrowed. "I don't get it, Gin."

She sobered quickly and nibbled at her lip. "Honestly, Draco, I am the daughter of Molly Weasley! Do you really think that the flat would smell like this if I were baking? And, really, you'd think I'd have a spot of chocolate somewhere on my apron, wouldn't you?"

"Oh," he replied, feeling awfully silly.

Ginny sidled up beside him, wrapping her arms around her neck and resting her head in the crook of his neck. "But, you know, it was awfully sweet of you to pretend that you were excited that I had baked you lots and lots of sweets." She kissed the side of his neck.

Draco grunted and engulfed her in a loving embrace, hands on her hips. They stayed that way for a long minute, swaying gently and holding each other, before Draco pulled back abruptly. "Ginny, if you're not in there baking, then what is that smell?"

Her cheeks turned a very bright shade of pink as she looked to the ground. "Oh, erm, about that…"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Ginny, what did you do?"

"Well, I…"

"Ginny?"

"I…"

"Ginevra, why in the bloody hell does the apartment smell like bloody burning cat piss?"

"Oh, well, I… I was trying to…"

As she stammered, he considered possible explanations, but he considered something that he previously had not. Ginny was a very capable witch who, much to his dismay, was an awful lot like her twin brothers, and something occurred to him.

Draco held up a hand, halting the words he could see forming on the tip of her tongue. "You know what? Knowing you, Gin... I don't even want to know."