The Scent Of Malice | drarry

two | overheard

Harry was shaking, literally shaking, with the shock. For a second, he tried to convince himself that he'd misinterpreted the scent, but no, it was unmistakeable.

He'd been in enough classes with Malfoy, been shoved around by Malfoy enough times, fought him for the Snitch enough times, to know exactly what the other boy smelt like, without a shadow of a doubt.

Dior Sauvage.

Green apple.

Vanilla.

Even the scent of his fabric softener and broom polish were recognisable in there.

In the fucking Amortentia.

Harry pressed his burning forehead to the cool wall of the dungeon while he waited for Ron and Hermione to appear, too shaken to go much further without them. What the fuck was going on?

He'd expected to detect something more feminine in the scent, at the very least, though admittedly Harry had recently been wondering if he was bisexual.

But he thought that this questioning was because of boys like Cedric Diggory, or Oliver Wood, or even the Weasley twins at a push, in an illicitly sexy 'friend's-older-brother' kind of way.

Not because of Draco fucking Lucius Malfoy.

Harry tried to steady his breathing. It was unmistakeable, he thought again. Amortentia doesn't lie. I recognised it. Fucking hell.

How could he be attracted to Draco Malfoy the most in the world and not know it? God, had he confused his hatred for sexual tension all this time?

Thinking about it, he felt as though he still despised the other boy, but there was no way that the batch he'd brewed with Hermione had been anything other than perfect, and who was he to argue with the love potion?

"Harry, would you care to explain what the bloody hell just happened?" Hermione snapped angrily, jerking him out of his thoughts as she swept out of the classroom.

"You were being fucking weird in there, mate," Ron informed him, following closely behind her. "Is there something actually wrong with you?"

Harry looked around nervously. More students were pouring out of the class as they stood there, and he didn't want to risk being overheard.

"Don't be so loud, both of you," he said, grabbing his friends by the arm and pulling them down the corridor behind him.

"I just don't understand why you had to be so weird, Harry!" Hermione pouted as they walked. "Or why you smashed it, when we worked so hard to get it right. I didn't even get to smell it for myself, and now I suppose I'll never know-"

"Hermione," he hissed, cutting her off mid-sentence once they were safely round the corner and out of sight. "I smelled Dior Sauvage."

Her eyes widened, but she tried to play it cool. "I'm sure lots of people wear Dior Sauvage, Harry," she tried.

"Not like this, they don't. It's very specific. Besides, there was something else in there... hair gel, I think. And green apple for sure. Broom polish, too. The good kind."

Hermione bit her lip anxiously. "God, Harry. You fancy Malfoy? More than anyone else in the world?"

Harry ran his hands through his hair and groaned. "I don't fucking know! Apparently, yes! I still feel like I just want to choke him out in a totally not-sexual, totally trying-to-kill-him way - but I guess my dick has other ideas that I didn't know about!"

"It is a weird choice for you," Ron conceded. "Although I guess it explains the obsession with him?"

"I was never obsessed-"

His friends gave him a long, hard stare. He quickly re-evaluated his response.

"Fine, maybe a bit. But only because he doesn't leave me alone! Nobody irritates the life out of me the way he does. God, I want to slap his smug face so badly every time I look at him."

There was a silence, where Hermione and Ron didn't know if they should laugh or skip straight to comforting him. Harry turned to them, wild-eyed, his hair sticking up manically where he'd shoved his fists through it.

"Be honest, should I just kill myself?" he asked.

"Fucking hell, Harry."

***

Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing, glad Pansy and Blaise had dragged him down the corridor to hear it. Potter, attracted to him? Enough to smell him in his Amortentia?

The idea stroked his ego enormously. Potter. Perfect, insufferable Potter. Vulnerable to Draco's charms. 

Lots of people were attracted to Draco, he knew that. It was the whole sexy, insufferable, Daddy-issues, rich boy thing he had going on. But Potter? That was new.

"Didn't know he was a poof," he muttered incredulously to Blaise and Pansy, who didn't respond.

Both were trying to smother hysterical laughter, which annoyed Draco. This was far more fascinating than it was funny, for now. Maybe he'd laugh about it later, but for now his brain was busy calculating how to use this against Potter in the most hurtful way.

Part of him was annoyed with Potter for changing the dynamic between them so dramatically. How was he meant to be a dick to him now if Potter would be constantly fantasising about him like everyone else? What if he liked it?

It made it weird.

It made it ... gay.

Draco couldn't afford that on his perfect Pureblood reputation.

God, has Potter been loving how I treat him the whole time? Is he a little freak? Does he rile me up on purpose to get a reaction and then get off over it later?

Potter had at least seemed shocked when talking to Granger and the Weasel, but still, like he'd said himself: it was unmistakeable. Those were Draco's signature scents. That's what Potter had smelt in the fucking love potion.

This changed everything.

And God, Draco was going to have fun with it.

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a/n: thanks if you're reading this, i hope you enjoyed it!

please comment and vote if you did, i'd love to know what people think 🤍

~ paradisedraco