Three Decembers

Part V: Complications

One fluid gesture, like stepping back in time.
Trapped in amber, petrified.
And still not satisfied.

Airs and social graces, elocution so divine.
I'll stick to my needle, my favorite waste of time,
Both spineless and sublime.

Since I was born I started to decay.
Now nothing ever - ever goes my way.

~Teenage Angst by Placebo

--__--__--__--

"Valerian roots," Harry whispered to himself.

He was almost in a frenzy as he chopped them up and put them into his cauldron. He counted three clockwise stirs, and two counterclockwise. The steam of the potion came up to meet his already sweaty face. Harry wiped his forehead with a dirty cloth, leaving a black streak unknown to him across his scar.

"Moonstone."

Harry dropped it in and stirred two more times counterclockwise. His previously brown potion changed to a silvery-grey color. More steam rose around his head, making him feel as if he just entered a sauna. Knowing what even a drop of sweat could do to a potion, he constantly wiped his face with the dirty rag, not caring that it smelled of old fish.

A vial of bundimum secretion was poured into the rippling surface, changing it a shocking color of yellow for a moment before it mellowed out.

"Sopohorous beans, whole."

Harry cradled a handful of the beans in his palms and counted out the amount he needed. After he had them in the cauldron the potion transformed from its pale yellow color to a hot pink. He stirred until it darkened to a purple and wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve. The room was growing steadily hotter, and Harry gasped for air even as he searched the desk for the next ingredient.

Belladonna, aconite, flobberworm mucus (to thicken), and hellebore.

As he added the last of the hellebore, Harry smiled lazily and searched for the last (and incidentally, his favorite) ingredient.

It wasn't there.

His breath caught in his throat. Several times, his eyes jumped from item to item, scanning the entire desktop. The mallowsweet was nowhere to be found.

I know I bought it. I'm sure I had it in my hands. I know I bought it. I must have!

Harry's thoughts flashed passed his eyes like lightening as he searched the drawers of the desk impatiently.

Seeing the mallowsweet in the last drawer at the right, Harry felt like he had a breath of fresh air after drinking in polluted oxygen all of his life. It was beautiful, and excitement thrummed through his body in steady pulses. After picking the right amount, he slammed the drawer closed again in victory. Harry turned towards the cauldron again, took a step closer to it, and felt resistance on his arm. Without looking back, Harry tugged and heard a loud ripping sound.

A distant part of Harry's mind told him he got his sleeve caught in the drawer. He didn't care.

He only cared about getting the mallowsweet into the cauldron. All he cared about was completing the potion.

Once he added the mallowsweet, the potion changed to a milky white. It was the sign of his success. Harry bent his sweaty face over the cauldron and breathed in the vapors deeply. The first time he had tried this it was overwhelming. He had keeled back and coughed until his throat was dry and sore. After time, patience, and much practice, however, Harry had soon gotten to inhaling the clouds as if it were an art.

He inhaled. Slowly taking in the magical smoke into his lungs and building to something much faster. His mouth opened, letting it seep in slowly. The world tilted underneath his feet and Harry clutched the desk for balance. His brain was spinning in his skull and sweat dripped down his cheeks like tears. They fell, one by one, into the milky white substance, as they always did. As always, Harry did not notice. If he did he would have realized sweat didn't to a thing to this particular potion.

Happiness spread through his heart like an expanding balloon. A childish smile flitted across his features. He was flying. The sensation of soaring, of eating sweets, of playing a game of exploding snap with Hermione and Ron, the sensation of laughing with them... The sensation of being carefree and happy. The sensation of having no guilt. The sensation of bliss was his at that moment. Everything was forgotten as he treaded the steps to ignorance as the potion slowly evaporated from the cauldron and into vapor. Into Harry.

Everything spun. Harry giggled and fell to the floor. His eyes began to close. He began to sleep.

Sleep was muddled and confusing for Harry that night. He knew he had to wake up, but awareness seemed to always be an inch too many from his fingertips. He was underwater, but he could breathe. His head still spun, he still reached, but sleep kept him under for many hours after that. He gave up and let the wave sweep him away. Everything would be all right.

Everything would be okay.

It was cold. So cold. Light was hitting him in the face, making Harry see orange while he kept his eyes closed. It was hard to wake up; so hard. Harry finally forced open his eyes. The light struck him like a blow and suddenly everything came into focus: including the pounding pain behind his eyes.

Harry moved to a kneeling position, and promptly threw up his dinner. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. He gasped for air. Everything hurt. Everything felt wrong. The air around him was too cold, but he felt too hot. Sweat coated his body and made the clothes he wore the day before stick to his skin.

Harry moaned in pain and fell back onto the floor, shivering and needing to get out of his clothes at the same time.

What's wrong with me? What happened last night?

He strained to remember.

There was no better explanation than some sort of hang over, but that was strange. He never had one this bad before... Harry strained to remember what he did last night, then an idea lit up his head.

I must have taken too much,

Harry thought, turning towards the cauldron. I wasn't paying attention. I must have inhaled too much.

As a particularly bad pain erupted, Harry swore to himself, never that much again.

I could have really been hurt, he mused.

Feeling a little more awake than previously, Harry slowly put away all of his potions ingredients and tried to fix himself to the best of his ability. Checking his watch, he was startled to see it was about seven a.m.

Damn it.

He wasn't prepared to spend the night. He had no clothes, no books, not even an invisibility cloak. Harry sighed and made his way outside. There was no one in the hall. Harry practically ran around the corner to the stairways. He knew a pretty good shortcut to the Gryffindor common room behind a portrait on the second floor. As he ran with thoughts of victory in his head, he slammed straight into another student.

All this movement wasn't helping his head much, which he cradled in a bout of fresh pain.

"Potter?"

There was no way of recognizing the voice with the steady pulsing in his temples. He wished the person would just shut up and go away. Instead they knelt by his side.

"Are you okay? Potter?"

Harry could barely register the voice.

This is no ordinary hangover.

The person next to him put a steady hand on his shoulder, and pried his fingers away from his head.

"Look at me."

Harry opened his eyes. Draco Malfoy was giving him a very strange look indeed. He couldn't quite figure out what it meant. Malfoy tilted his chin up with one slender finger.

"Now, listen to me."

Harry blinked blearily.

"Are you all right?"

"I- I think so."

Harry's throat was dry, and his voice cracked as he spoke.

"Is there anything dangerous that caused this? Anything that could hurt me or you, or anyone

else?"

Harry shook his head, feeling more than a little confused.

Draco gave him a hard look. "Then I don't want or need to know."

Harry's eyes widened and Malfoy tilted his head a bit higher.

"Did you sleep last night?"

Harry nodded.

"I don't believe you," Malfoy said, and suddenly tightened his grip on Harry's chin.

As quick as lightening, Malfoy had his lips on Harry's and was kissing him. Harry, out of his mind in confusion, found himself kissing back. Malfoy tasted like toothpaste and Harry found that he liked the taste a lot more than he thought he would.

As fast as it began, it ended. Malfoy licked his bottom lip.

"You weren't lying. The only way to get that kind of morning breath is a full night's sleep and a lot of alcohol," he told him, raising one eyebrow in challenge.

"I didn't drink any alcohol..." Harry replied, even more dazed than he was before.

"Then I feel bad for your dorm mates. Go wash up, Potter," Malfoy's voice was suddenly cold.

"I'm sure your little lover can wait until then. Who is she?" He asked.

He swooped down on Harry.

"Or is it a he? It isn't a Slytherin, is it? I would have known."

Harry blinked up at him. "You're bloody crazy, Malfoy. I don't know what you're talking about."

Malfoy sneered at him. "Sure you don't."

Suddenly he turned on his heel and stomped away.

Harry watched him go, feeling as if his life just got a lot more complicated.

What the hell is going on?