Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy had never been one for foolish romantic notions. Love, as far as he was concerned, was a weakness, a liability—a distraction for lesser minds who had the luxury of indulging in it. His father had always been clear about that. Love was a tool, something to be used strategically, nothing more.
So when Professor Slughorn announced that today’s lesson would involve Amortentia—the most powerful love potion in existence—Draco barely spared it a second thought.
He watched with mild disinterest as Slughorn gestured toward the simmering cauldron of opalescent liquid, his voice syrupy with enthusiasm.
“As many of you know,” the professor said, beaming, “Amortentia doesn’t create real love—nothing can truly manufacture that—but it can reveal attraction. Its scent is unique to each of us, reflecting what we’re drawn to most.”
Draco scoffed under his breath. Attraction. Another word for foolishness. He had far more important things to focus on than whatever ridiculous scents his subconscious found appealing.
He crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat as Slughorn called the students forward one by one to take a whiff of the potion. There were titters of laughter, flushed cheeks, dramatic swoons. Pansy returned to their table with a dreamy sigh, murmuring about roses and something that “smelled like Blaise’s cologne, but in a sexy way.”
Theo just smirked. “I smelled whiskey and ash. Maybe I should be worried.”
Draco scoffed. “You should be embarrassed.”
When it was his turn he remained impassive as he stepped forward. It would be something practical, he assured himself. The scent of aged parchment. The dry tang of potion ingredients. The familiar musk of leather gloves. Perhaps the subtle smokiness of the Malfoy Manor fireplace on a cold winter night.
Things that made sense. Things that belonged to him.
He stepped forward, leaned in—and his world split in two.
The first scent hit him like a Bludger to the chest—broomstick polish. Not just any kind, but the exact brand used by the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It lingered in the changing rooms after every match.
The second was freshly cut grass, damp with morning dew. The kind that clung to robes after hours on the pitch, soaked in sweat and adrenaline.
And then the last one. The worst one.
Something wild and electric. Like the scent of the sky seconds before a lightning strike. Alive, untamed, impossible to bottle.
Draco jerked back from the cauldron like it had burned him.
He barely registered the startled protest of the student behind him as he staggered to his desk, gripping the edge so hard his knuckles went white. His chest rose and fell too fast. His throat was tight.
The scents still clung to him.
No.
This was a mistake. A trick of the mind. A chemical reaction. Maybe he had stood too close to the potion earlier. Maybe his scent had contaminated the air.
But even as the excuses rushed in, Draco knew.
That wasn’t how Amortentia worked.
His pulse roared in his ears. The smells were too familiar. Too precise. Sweat-slicked jerseys, wind off the Quidditch pitch, the charged, uncontainable presence of a boy who had been the center of Draco’s universe—whether he’d admitted it or not—for far too long.
Potter.
Draco felt his blood freeze.
He didn’t dare look up. He forced himself to breathe slowly, methodically, counting heartbeats as he scanned the room for any sign that someone had noticed. Blaise was half-asleep over his cauldron. Pansy was still whispering about her fantasy perfume blend. Granger was lecturing Weasley, who looked mildly ill.
And Potter—bloody, oblivious Potter—stood several tables away, laughing at something stupid Longbottom said, utterly unaware that Draco’s entire world had just come undone.
No one had seen. No one knew.
He sat down, every muscle wound tight, trying to will the scent out of his lungs, the heat out of his face. It was fine. It meant nothing. Just a silly potion. A class exercise. It didn’t mean anything.
But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, one thought rooted itself in his mind and refused to budge.
If Amortentia revealed what someone was most drawn to—
Then why, why, had it smelled like Harry Potter?