"What the fuck happened to you?"

Harry stopped in his tracks. It wasn't like Hermione to swear so brazenly.

The entire Gryffindor table were gawking up at him as though he'd grown another head.

"He's covered in blood again. Why is it he's always covered in blood?"

Harry rolled his eyes as Ginny began to fuss over him - jumping to her feet to dab a napkin over his face. He threw Dean an apologetic glance who looked less than amused at the sight of his girlfriend fawning over another man.

"Leave it, Gin," Harry muttered, placing his hands either side of her arms to gently push her away, "it's just a little scratch."

"Just a little scratch?!" Ron spluttered, spraying breadcrumbs from his mouth. "Blimey Harry, you look as though you've been wrestling with a wild beast."

Harry smirked to himself as his eyes flicked over to the Slytherin table where Draya Malfoy was sat looking as equally dishevelled and unkempt. Buttons had ripped off the top of her blouse revealing the top of her red bra and stubborn bits of twig remained tangled in her hair.

She glanced up and their eyes locked, her face immediately contorting into a scowl. She mouthed something at him, and despite Harry being shit at lip reading, he was pretty sure she said, 'Fuck you, Potter.'

"What's so funny?" Hermione frowned, a forkful of beef bourguignon dripping at her lips.

Harry continued to chuckle to himself, shaking his head as he squeezed himself in between his two best friends, reaching out to pinch a sausage from Ron's plate. "Nothing. Now, tell me, what did I miss?"

******

Not going to lie, Dumbledore made it so fucking easy for me to want him dead.

I nearly fell asleep face down in my stew as he droned on and on in riddles about choosing the right path to take in life... bla, bla, bla.

In theory, that would be perfectly fine if you had a nice, uncomplicated path already lit up for you with lick-arses ready to throw rose petals at your feet along your journey. But I didn't have that luxury, so Dumbledore could just shut his hairy trap and save it for the Chosen One.

During the entire 'welcome' feast, I barely acknowledged my fellow Slytherins, let alone spoke to anyone. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Pansy shooting me furtive looks, but I ignored her.

Sighing heavily, I pushed my untouched dinner aside as Dumbledore finally wrapped up his god awful manipulative ramblings.

"Let us therefore say goodnight. Pip pip!"

I tutted as I followed everyone out of the Great Hall. I mean, who the fuck says pip pip?

"Dray, where are you going?" Pansy asked, grabbing at my elbow as I tried to walk on past the stairs that led down to the dungeons, "it's bedtime."

I shrugged her off, barely glancing at her. "Going for a walk." I muttered dryly. "On my own."

Clearly shocked by my hostility, she took a step away from me, her eyebrows knitting in the middle of her creased brow.

"I don't know what's going on with you, Dray," she said, her voice low and shaky, "what with that stuff you were saying on the train earlier- and, somehow, you look as though you've since been in a fight. But enough is enough, Dumbledore was right: we need to stay safe-"

"Like I need protection," I snapped, glaring back at her as I gave a loud, bitter laugh, "least of all his."

Without waiting for her response, I flicked my hair over my shoulder and marched towards the marble staircase.

I did not stop until I reached the seventh floor. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and conjured up the room that I would spend most of my sixth year getting very much acquainted with.

It was going to be a long fucking year indeed.

*******

My eyes bored angrily into the back of Hermione Granger's bushy hair as her hand punched the air yet again.

"It's Amortentia!"

Fucking Mudblood. Oh how I missed Snape teaching Potions. He would have given her a detention right there and then for showing off.

Yet Slughorn seemed to only want to shower her with the most sickening of praises and award her twenty points for Gryffindor.

And he calls himself a Slytherin? Huh! Just wait until my father hears-

Oh... of course. Azkaban.

Sniffing, I turned my attention back to my book whilst Granger began listing all the scents that made her horny ("Freshly mown grass and new parchment and- oh... perhaps I shouldn't say!").

Clearly a pedophile, Slughorn then asked the rest of the class to share their horny scents.

Unsurprisingly, Dean Thomas favoured the scent of a pack of freshly opened football cards, Lavender Brown liked rat cages, and Ronald Weasley liked lavender ("Uh- as in the stuff my mum puts on my pillow at night to stop me from having bad dreams about spiders.").

When it got to Harry's turn, I curiously arched an eyebrow. No doubt he would detect the stench of the Weasley's pigsty of a hovel.

"Wood."

He would.

"And something else... sorry, sir-" Harry stumbled, leaning his nose further into the cauldron, "I can't quite detect it, Ron's cologne is drowning it out."

Next to him, a pink faced Ron hit him hard in the stomach as the entire class erupted into loud, raucous howls.

"What's the matter, Dray?" Theo chuckled next to me, clutching at his side. "You look more furious than Weasley."

"She's probably just trying to work out which cologne Weasley buys," Blaise snorted under his breath behind us.

"I- I- am not!" I said indignantly, my face feeling hotter than ever as I glared back at my so-called friend. "As if I'd ever be caught dead wearing something so cheap."

Slughorn told the class to calm down before proceeding to tell us all how we could win some liquid luck.

Oh boy, I thought, my heart soaring. Perhaps this Slughorn guy wasn't so bad, after all.

He was.

******

Harry stared down at the tiny vial of Felix in his hand, swallowing.

He could scarcely believe he'd won it (or cheated, as Hermione kept annoyingly hissing in his ear). Jealous nag.

He now held the power to make sure everything would go his way. But when should he use it? And for what, exactly?

There were many things, of course, he needed help with.

Firstly, that Defence Against the Dark Arts essay of which he was ready to rip to pieces - Snape knew exactly how to make his favourite subject his worst. Oo- perhaps the liquid luck could take care of that greasy haired guy for him? Maybe have an 'accident' at the top of the Astronomy Tower or something?

Harry snickered evilly to himself as he rolled the vial between his fingers, imagining his most loathed professor falling to his death.

But he already knew it was just a fantasy - for he wouldn't waste such a precious gift on the likes of Severus Snape.

Oh no - he had other plans for this little beauty.

A certain white-blond haired Slytherin flashed in his mind's eye: skin so pale, it looked frozen to touch; grey eyes ice-like and cruel.

He fidgeted in his seat, trying to ignore the twist in his stomach and the sudden racing of his heart.

For he had lied during that Potions class, of course.

It had actually been a relief for Harry when - for a change - he was free of the stench of Ron's overpowering cologne (which smelt like rats' piss on a good day).

What he had detected as he leant over the sheen of spiralling mother-of-pearl steam, however, was the most alluring scent in the world.

It was Malfoy.

*******