Warm But Tainted Blood (Drarry)

chapter three

Harry has decided he picked it up from living with the Dursley's, but other than that he tries not to think about it. He identifies people off of everything but sight first. Memorizing the sound of people's footsteps was his norm, and smelling Aunt Petunia before she fully arrived at the garden was expected.

It helped him prepare for what was to come. Uncle Vernon's pounding walk or overpowering scent of AXE bodyspray meant he was to get up for chores; Aunt Petunia's clicking heels or strong perfume meant he was about to be berated for some made up fuck up; Dudley's thumping stomps or greasy aroma meant, quite simply, run.

Hogwarts put a wrench in this. Too many people always walking to be able to safely pick out who's footsteps belong to who and who smells like bubblegum compared to lavender. It is exceedingly difficult, but that's doesn't mean he doesn't try.

A boy in his grade and house sits next to him in the common room during supper (Harry has been avoiding public settings as much as possible, Ron and Hermione have been such lovely friends and bring him shit to eat). Harry hears his foot steps, trying to categorize him, but he hasn't heard him walking on his own enough to say anything for certain. He's able to smell him perfectly clear, though, and the scent of herbs, citric, and dirt make themselves obvious.

It's Neville Longbottom, then.

Harry opens his eyes and turns to see the boy in the armchair beside his (relishing in the fact his deduction was correct) and gives the boy a small smile. He takes note of the other's apperance, because sound and smell are not always reliable and he doesn't want to make himself stand out than he already does. Neville is pudgy, with dark brown hair that is somewhat greasy, badly cut bangs, and fair skin. Harry thinks that if he took care of his hair, he could be quite cute.

"Ello, H...Harry," he gives a weak smile, trying to smooth over his stuttering and hoping Harry won't comment on it (he won't, he never does). "I came to, erm–"

Harry resists the urgue to rush him, only giving a small encouraging nod of the head. Neville swallows.

"Malfoy's been asking for you," he finally spits out, and Harry raises an eyebrow. Unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome.

Harry thinks that this is the perfect opportunity to ask Malfoy about the rune. "Where's he at?" he asks.

"Um, the l.. library," he says, seeming a bit disappointed Harry wants to meet up with Malfoy, who has been tourmenting him since day one, but Harry pays him no mind.

"Thanks, Nev." With that he pushed himself out of the chair, grabbed his rune notes from his trunk, and left Gryffindor tower swiftly.

He is halfway to the library when he hears the Prefects.

They are running down the hallways, yelling that students need to go their respected House areas. There is a sense of urgency all around. Harry is somewhat bewildered by it, and decides that sticking around for just a bit to see what's happening can't hurt.

He casts a disillusionment charm on himself and a Prefect soon runs past him, unaware he's passing the Golden Boy by. Harry stands perfectly still, closing his eyes, listening intently to his surroundings. It is only a minute or so more before the Prefects quiet entirely, as it is likely they have retreated to their House dorms now. He can hear something distantly rythematically thumping againist the ground; a roar; an animalistic huff. He can smell sweat and fear; the dust of crushed stone; and...

Burning.

Harry's eyes snap open, realization washing over him like a wave. Though the past dragon he faced did not use flame againist him (was the dragon disabled or stupid? Harry doesn't know), he is overly aware that most dragons do shoot flame.