The Scent Of Malice | drarry

six | a little experiment

Hermione had assured Harry that people would get swiftly bored of the gossip and the hassle would stop within a week, but three weeks after the fateful Potions class, the bullying was getting worse than ever.

The Slytherins thought it was beyond hilarious that Harry had lost his place on the Quidditch team over the incident with Malfoy, and took great pleasure in spraying large amounts of Dior Sauvage around, or eating crunchy green apples in front of Harry, and sneering "Potter" at him to get a reaction.

Draco joined in too, of course, but often found that he preferred just to watch the other boy's reactions with a mixture of revulsion and amusement.

He didn't know what fascinated him so much about the idea of Potter's attraction to him - it was true what he'd told him; he was not short of admirers by any means. Whatever it was, it fed his vanity excellently, and he found himself spending even more time on his appearance to get as much attention as he could.

Harry, meanwhile, was having an enormous identity crisis over coming to terms with his memory of the Amortentia experience. He'd thought about it enough that he had convinced himself maybe it wasn't even Draco he'd smelt after all - like Hermione had said, plenty of people wore Dior Sauvage.

Or maybe he'd imagined the more complex, more obviously 'Draco' notes in the scent - or maybe they weren't even Draco's scents?

You know what you smelt, taunted the voice in his head, but he refused to let himself believe it.

I'll just do a little experiment, he decided instead. Just once, just to make sure. Then I can stop thinking about it.

Making another batch of Amortentia was out of the question, of course. Snape kept all the ingredients under lock and key in the store cupboard, and Harry was already far enough on the professor's bad side that term with all his vial-smashing and running out of classes.

No, there was only one option, and testing the Amortentia wasn't it.

The next Quidditch match was to be Slytherin versus Ravenclaw, and while Draco was looking forward to showing off immensely, Harry was plotting on how to sneak into the Slytherin dorms while the other boy was occupied.

"I'll just test out the scent of one of his sweaters, and maybe his sheets," he mused, "And swipe some of his hair gel, just to be sure."

When he told Ron and Hermione of his plan, they burst out laughing.

"Did you literally just say you're going to break into his dorm and sniff his sheets while he's playing Quidditch?" Hermione wheezed, wiping a tear from one eye before descending into uncontrollable giggles again. "And there's still a doubt in your mind as to whether you fancy him?"

"That's the creepiest thing I've ever heard, mate, but you do you," Ron added, equally hysterical.

"It's not like that," Harry huffed, but he realised with irritation that he couldn't explain it away any better than how they'd put it.

"He's going to steal his hair gel," Ron choked,  and Hermione's laughter echoed off the walls delightedly. "Why don't you just lick his toothbrush while you're at it, Harry? Are you going to sniff his boxers too?"

"If you can't take this seriously, I won't tell you guys things," Harry sulked.

Ron's eyes widened in panic. "No, please do tell us," he begged. "It provides the best laughs I get these days."

This was the final straw for Harry, who glowered at them both before stomping off, muttering about disrespect.

"Thought you were waiting till the match to go sheet-sniffing," Ron called after him.

"Shut it, Ron!"

***

Saturday morning arrived, the day of the match, and Harry was ready. He waited till the other students had flooded out of the castle to the stands, then made his way slowly down to the Slytherin dormitories.

"Password?" the serpent on the portrait demanded, and Harry sighed.

"I don't know it but can you let this one slide?" he asked in Parseltongue. The snake looked surprised, as far as a snake can ever look surprised, and willingly swung back to allow his entrance.

"The gift," it hissed after him appreciatively. "Not often one of you comes by."

"Thanks," Harry nodded awkwardly, and then wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs. So this was where the serpents slept.

He was slightly concerned that he wouldn't be able to find Draco's bed, but it was clear after a brief surveillance of the room which was his.

Who else would have their emerald silk sheets so pristine and sharply folded in? Who else would have a robe with the Malfoy family crest hanging from their bedpost?

As Harry approached the bed, he took a small amount of pleasure in the knowledge that Draco would probably be disappointed not to see him. He knew the blonde played better when Harry was there for him to show off to, and to deprive him of this was very pleasing.

Thinking of Ron, his cheeks flared, but nevertheless Harry steeled himself, then got on his knees on the hard wood floorboards and pressed his face into the pillow to inhale deeply.

His heart began to pound harder as the scent flooded what felt like his entire nervous system - unmistakeable, again.

It was deliriously appealing to Harry, perhaps not because it was Malfoy's specifically, but because there was something so attractively masculine and rich in it that it made his head spin.

He pulled back the covers with shaking hands, careful not to crease them as he did so, and then did the same thing down the soft sheets where Draco slept. He stayed on his knees for a while, drinking in the scent, then groaned and sank his face into his hands. He was getting aroused, he couldn't deny it, and he hated himself for it. Hot embarrassment coursed through his body even though no one was around to see, and loathing quickly followed.

"This is pathetic," Harry muttered, but it didn't stop him from leaning to breathe in the scent of Draco's robe too, and loving it.

He found himself closing his eyes and imagining what it would be like to lie here, in Draco's bed, the scent of cologne and hair gel and fabric softener washing luxuriously over his skin. What would the scent smell like up close, not in the usual way he was close to Draco (previously only ever when fighting him), but in a different way...

Stop it, stop it, stop it.

Harry pulled back from the fabric as quickly as if he'd been scorched, and groaned again, loudly. Fucking hell. So it worked, he thought grimly. I have a huge crush on Draco Malfoy.

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a/n: thanks for reading!  please vote and comment if you enjoyed it

i'm torn between focusing on this one more regularly or on 'where the sun drops' when fatherhood is finished but i guess for now i'll just update whenever i feel like it, maybe 2/3 times a week

i do like this story though so i'll keep up with it eventually!! harry's got it baddd

~ paradisedraco