The Scent Of Malice | drarry

thirteen | dirty mind

Now it was Draco's turn to be tormented by his own mind.

Visions of Potter's brazen face as he openly degraded himself in front of the entire student body filtered through Draco's eyelids every time he closed them, and he heard a bold voice spill out over his memories.

"I want you to spit in my mouth next time, Malfoy.... God, I want him to ram his tongue down my fucking throat-"

Christ.

And then the fact that he'd swanned down to breakfast the next morning as though nothing had happened - Draco had to admit he sort of admired Potter for that audacity. What he wouldn't admit, however, was that he also found it weirdly hot.

Draco still hated the other boy, that was fortunately very clear to him. But this new reversal of roles had him feeling thrown, almost weak, which was decidedly not a sensation Draco Malfoy was accustomed to.

He had assumed, for example, when Potter strolled over to lean on the Slytherin table, that he was coming to apologise or make some excuse for his behaviour the previous evening, defend himself somehow - but no.

"I just wanted to assure you, Malfoy - about last night-" Potter began, helping himself to a leisurely swig of the other boy's glass of juice and ignoring all protests. "I meant every last word I said and I don't regret a single one."

Malfoy's body tingled with a hot rush of hatred as Harry's gaze slipped up and down him, but he didn't let the smirk fall from his face. "You should, you really embarrassed yourself," he said, making sure to keep his tone cold.

"No, I don't think I did," Harry grinned carelessly. He placed the now-empty glass back down by Draco, who recoiled as if he'd been slapped. "I was just saying what everyone else wanted to hear, anyway. I'm sure no one was shocked. And I certainly didn't see you complaining, by the way. Front-row seats, wasn't it?"

Draco shifted in his seat and he helped himself to a green apple from the dish in the centre of the table, anything to occupy his hands. He was at a total loss of what to do; completely out of his depth.

How could he and Potter both play the dominant role in their rivalry? It just wouldn't work. Potter needed to learn to stick to his own fucking role as the victim and stop getting above himself.

Why was it, Draco wondered, that he found it so easy to shut off all emotions when he was hurting Potter, but now that the boy was standing up for himself, all Draco could feel in response was frustration and confusion? He bit into the apple harder than necessary, careful not to let Potter see what had suddenly ignited inside him.

"You loved it, didn't you?" Harry asked, as though he genuinely wanted to know the answer. "You had a great time watching me go on about you?"

This is a trick, Draco's rational Slytherin mind told him, so he stayed silent, forcing himself simply to stare up at the other boy with his usual demeanour artificial amusement and contempt.

"Cat got your tongue, Malfoy?" Potter pressed. "You gone all shy?"

"You care a lot about my tongue, don't you?"

"Of course," Potter grinned. "I think I told you about that yesterday."

Draco glowered. He did remember it and found he didn't appreciate the reminder.

"Disgusting," he said, but the words 'I want Draco Malfoy to ram his tongue down my fucking throat' were echoing loudly around his ears again, practically scorching him with their volume and potency.

He couldn't believe Potter had said that in front of Snape, of all people, and didn't seem to give a single fuck about it now.

"You've got a dirty fucking mind, Potter," he managed with a shake of his head.

"And you're all over it," the dark-haired boy shot back.

With that, he turned and all but strutted out of the Hall. Draco couldn't keep his darkened eyes off of him, trying to burn holes in the back of his cloak with the heat of his hateful gaze.

"You guys go on without me," he said, turning to Pansy and Blaise, who could not conceal their mirth. "I'm going to, um... have some coffee."

He didn't trust himself to get up without tearing after Potter and punching his smug fucking face in, or banging his own head against the wall in frustration.

"Didn't you already have two cups, Draco?" Pansy's eyes danced with wicked merriment. "Wouldn't want you getting jittery, now."

"That's none of your business, Parkinson."

Either way, there was no way he was standing up for the next few minutes at least, so eventually his friends gave up and left him sat almost alone in the Hall.

Their laughter echoed off the walls on their way out, and Draco slammed his head on the table with a barely repressed groan. He kept his forehead pressed to the cool wooden surface as he waited for his blood pressure to drop to a normal level once more, and for the anger to seep out of his body like the tide.

Conflict consumed him. Wasn't this what he wanted - Potter publicly worshipping him, making him feel even more desired than usual?

He supposed it was, but something was missing. It felt like he'd had his power stripped from him, like he was vulnerable in some way he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"I didn't ask for this," he muttered to himself, finally pulling his head up and running a hand through his hair. "I didn't bloody want it."

But the boundaries between what Draco wanted and what he didn't were becoming increasingly harder to tell apart.

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a/n: thanks for reading, hope you're enjoying the story so far! i know this one was short but there's a lot coming ✨✨

please vote and comment if you enjoyed draco's little crisis🤍

~ paradisedraco