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Raspberries.
That was what he smelt in the potion, and he couldn’t believe that he wasn’t smelling the familiar citrus-y scent of his sometimes-but-not-really-girlfriend (who was really only more of a good shag when he was up for it).
He furrowed his brow and leant over his perfect Amortentia and gave another cautious sniff, hating the relaxed, content feeling that settled over him as the potion fumes took their toll on his brain.
Old leather. . .freshly washed cotton. . .and. . .
Raspberries.
He sighed and leant away from the damned cauldron and smashed the lid on top tightly so the fumes would stop messing with his head.
Who smelt like raspberries?
Draco Malfoy furrowed his brow once more and glanced at his best mate, Blaise, who had an incredibly dopey look on his face as he inhaled the fumes of the potion.
Draco rolled his eyes—Blaise was never one to take caution when working with lethal potions, and now the dark-skinned boy was nearly completely out of it, his black-brown hair falling into his wide eyes as he just stared into the distance, the grin never leaving his face.
The blonde leaned over and closed his mate’s cauldron tightly, and waited a few moments, a smirk on his face as Blaise’s expression slowly cleared and he began to look bewildered.
“What happened?”
“You were. . .ah. . .entranced by whatever it was you were smelling in the potion.”
Blaise rolled his eyes good naturedly. “You smell Pansy in yours?”
“Not even close.” Draco replied, sighing again before coming to the realization that he let out huge gusts of air far too often for it to be healthy.
“So who’d you smell? Daph? Milicent?”
Draco wrinkled his nose at the second suggestion.
“I don’t know.” He replied, shaking his head and letting his eyes dart around the classroom absentmindedly. “It’s vaguely familiar, like I’ve only smelt it a handful of times before.”
“So what was the scent?” Blaise pressed, “I could help you look.”
“You’re offering to sniff girls to see who I smelt in the damned potion?” Draco asked flatly.
“It’s not as if I’d just go and sniff them,” Blaise said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, “We’d be doing some extracurricular activities that involve us being rather close. Close enough for me to smell her, anyway.”
“I’d rather you didn’t shag whoever it is that I smelt in the potion.”
“Is ickle baby Dwaco a bwit pwosessive?” Blaise taunted and Draco rolled his eyes.
“You sound like a prat, mate.”
“I was trying to be you.”
Draco didn’t let his amusement show on his face at Blaise’s quick replies, but he knew his friend had noticed the twitching lips.
“But seriously,” Blaise said in a low voice as they exited the classroom a half hour later. “What was it that you smelled?”
“Raspberries,” Draco replied after a half second of deliberation between telling his friend and keeping it to himself. “I smelt raspberries.”
*
It was four days later and Blaise was grumbling about getting detention for being ‘overly creepy’.
“You smelt Weaslette.” Draco repeated flatly. “You just smelled her?”
“It sounds creepier in hindsight than it did when I thought it over.” Blaise admitted. “I was wondering if it was a Gryffindor and so then I checked Weaslette.”
“You think it’s a lion?” Draco sneered disbelievingly. He’d gone four days with his mental best friend smelling all of the Slytherins (yes, even, horrifyingly enough, the blokes and the first years), most of the Ravenclaws, and about twenty Hufflepuffs. But this? Blaise thought it was a bloody Gryffindor?
Merlin, I need new friends, he thought sulkily as Adrian and Theo snickered at the horrified look on his face.
“But anyway,” Blaise continued after his rant that Draco hadn’t listened to at all, “Weaslette smelt like strawberries, so she’s a no.”
Draco scowled darkly at his giggling friends. “You lot sound like fourteen year old girls when you giggle like that,” he snapped, smacking Blaise upside the head for good measure.
“Look.” Blaise said firmly as they crossed the entrance hall, “You said you wanted to know who smelt like raspberries. So I’m just being a good mate by helping you out. Really, you should be grateful for me—I even bloody got detention for you!”
Draco shoved his white-blonde hair out of his face, regretting that he hadn’t felt like gelling it up this morning and scowled at his friend once more.
“Careful, Drakey-boo,” Blaise cooed, shaking his black hair out of his own face, his brown eyes lit up with mirth, “You’re going to get wrinkles.”
“Only if you keep talking to me, I will,” Draco replied sarcastically, and Blaise opened his mouth to respond when something—or rather, someone—smacked into Draco. Hard.
“Granger?” Blaise’s bewildered voice rang out loudly from beside the blonde and then the pressure against his body was gone a split second later, and there was a furiously blushing Granger standing in front of the four Slytherin boys. She was obviously trying to cover up her rising blush with her copper-toned curls, because they were all in her face, but, contrary to her evident embarrassment, her honey eyes were wide with suspicious apprehension.
But Draco didn’t even know what to say. He just kept staring at her, finding himself quite unable to wrench his eyes away from her petite frame, completely bewildered. He wondered where all of his lithe comments and his snarky attitude went, and why they’d chosen now to vacation.
“Excuse me,” she murmured after a few moments of them just staring at each other. She was obviously growing uncomfortable, but had decided that they didn’t pose an immediate threat. Her cheeks were still a brilliant pink and her hair was still in her face as she finally pushed past them.
Draco just let her go, still completely unable to say anything even remotely rude. It seemed as if his tongue had shriveled up and fallen out of his mouth. He was speechless.
Because her scent still remained clouded around his head.
And she smelt like raspberries.