In honor of me having more than 50 lovely followers, have a 2.3 k word Drarry oneshot!
Note: this oneshot was posted in my kinda embarrassing Wattpad acc a few weeks ago so it’s kinda weird. No smut or angst. Mostly fluff! This happens during their Hogwarts days with Amortentia (need I say more?). A lil bit of Snape bc he’s the prof, a lil bit of Hermione bc she’s perfection and the rest are supporting characters.
P.P.S. The italicized stuff arent italicized, sorry! Hope this doesn’t confuse anyone!
Harry Potter couldn’t help but despise the Classroom of Suffering, the room Hermione and most people called the Potions classroom. The Boy Who Lived certainly did not make the list of ‘most people.’ To begin with, nothing, he thought, could ever make this classroom bearable. Also, he noted that the cold dungeon, the dreaded classroom’s location, was horribly dark, musty, and underlit. Every time he entered the room, he could feel a particular uncomfortable prickling sensation on his arms—as if all the light in the world was gone. If there was one thing that was sure, it was that Harry especially hated his Potions class because of the fact that a certain nasty Slytherin professor and a group of Slytherin students kept barging into his already chaotic life.
“Potter!” Professor Snape struck a hand on a student’s table noisily, glaring poisonously at him. The Gryffindor students flinched, to which the Slytherin students snickered.
Harry was brought out of his trance almost immediately. Merlin, couldn’t Snape give him a break? He groaned inwardly, but held Snape’s gaze with the same amount of viciousness.
The professor walked towards Harry’s seat at the last row. All the Gryffindor students he passed shifted their seats slightly away from the biased professor.
“Tell me, Potter,” he said sneeringly. “Do you think of my class as a joke?”
The green eyed boy grimaced. If he said something, Gryffindor would surely lose at least ten points. If he didn’t, he’d lose House points just the same.
He looked away to see Hermione shake her head in disapproval.
He decided to answer anyway. Points would be lost either way. With his steady gaze, he said coolly, “No, sir.”
Snape raised an eyebrow menacingly. “Is that so?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, now glaring murderously. His fists were balled at his side, and they were turning into a pale white color.
Some students sighed audibly at the exchange.
“Then why,” Snape bellowed, “aren’t you paying attention, Mr. Potter?”
Now, even Harry flinched. “I don't—”
“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Professor Snape said, walking back to the front of the class. “I would appreciate if incompetent and bigoted students pay attention during my class.”
The Slytherin students grinned maliciously at Harry, Hermione, and the others. They ignored their taunts diligently.
“Now, I will pair you all up. One Slytherin student with one Gryiffindor student,” said the professor, flicking his wand in the direction of the whiteboard. Only one word appeared: Amortentia.
Harry rolled his eyes contemptuously.
Slytherin. It didn’t matter if it was Amortentia; he’d be partnered with a Slytherin. They had expressed their extreme dislike for Harry more times than he could count.
Apparently, he was the only one who felt this way. Girls sighed dreamily at the prospect of being able to brew the most powerful love potion in the world. Guys laughed and grinned. The room was filled with loud chatter and excited whispers, even if they realized that they had to brew the potion with someone from another House.
“Silence!” Snape shouted.
When the students quieted down, he said coldly with his steely gaze, “Remember that no one is allowed to drink from the potion they’ve brewed. Take only a whiff of it and note down your observations—ten inches of parchment by tomorrow. If any student is foolish enough to attempt to drink it, be my guest. Expect never to pass the NEWTs in Potions. Brew it correctly and pass. But brew it wrongly, and suffer the consequences.”
Snape’s eyes scanned the room wildly, waiting for anyone to say anything. At that, all the students looked anywhere but at Snape’s cold black eyes.
Harry stared at the potions set in front of him, wondering if Snape would again try to shame him.
“Malfoy!” said the professor loudly, jerking everyone back to reality.
“Yes, sir?” said Malfoy condescendingly, looking pointedly at Harry.
“With Potter!” he ordered, pointing to the empty seat beside him since Ron was out sick today.
“What, sir? But—” Harry protested weakly.
“Scared, Potter?” Malfoy interrupted loudly and smirked.
Snape, he thought bitterly, didn’t even bat an eyelash in their direction. The moody professor continued to bark the pairings at random. Hermione ended up being paired with the toad-like Millicent Bulstrode, Neville was paired with the mysterious Blaise Zabini, Dean was with Draco’s minion, Crabbe while Seamus was with the other minion, Goyle. The other Gryfinddor students were paired with the people Harry was less familiar with.
Harry glared. “You wish, Malfoy. Let’s just get this bloody potion over with. Personally, I don’t want detention today.”
The Slytherin boy sat down on the seat beside him and scanned his book. “Says the boy who can’t even make a simple sleeping potion,” Malfoy sneered. “Hand me the chopped ingredients. I’ll do everything else. Don’t touch anything. You’re a walking disaster, and I don’t want to fail Potions, got it, Potter?”
The Gryffindor boy didn’t reply. He sulkily went to the supplies cupboard near the blackboard and gathered the ingredients—with the help of Hermione, of course.
There were long shelves filled with a wide array of ingredients and containers. There were eyeballs, feathers, powdery substances, plant extracts, and many many more. The sight made Harry dizzy. He remembered more than ever why he hated Potions class.
“Hermione, which ingredients do we need again?” Harry whispered, looking quickly through the shelves absentmindedly. “I’m just rubbish at Potions.”
“Oh, Harry.” Hermione plucked a couple of jars from the top shelf—one for her and Millicent and another set for Harry.
“Here. Don’t let Malfoy get to you,” she murmured, giving him the jars and equipment as well. “Good luck, Harry,” she said supportively, smiling a little and squeezing his arm.
“I’ll try. Thanks, Hermione,” said Harry gratefully. He had a feeling he truly needed it. Nobody could push his buttons more than Malfoy. With him around, Harry needed a lot of patience or things would get ugly faster than he could say Wingardium Leviosa.
When Harry got back, the blonde haired boy had already started a small fire below the small potion cauldron. Malfoy read concentratedly with his back straight and two elbows propped delicately on the table. Without looking at Harry, Malfoy said, “Took you long enough, Potter. I was wondering what happened to your sorry self in the supplies cabinet.”
The black haired boy gritted his teeth but said nothing. No, he thought determinedly, I will not lose any more House points. Ignoring Malfoy, he opened his Potions book and followed the exact instructions for how to slice each ingredient to perfection.
“Impressive,” whispered Malfoy at some point when he thought Harry couldn’t hear.
Harry lost track of time while he finished with the ingredients. Quietly, he pushed the tray of ingredients towards Malfoy.
Malfoy looked at the ingredients incredulously. He looked ready to say something rude but decided against it. Even he knew they looked just about okay. So he put the ingredients in one by one, following the exact instructions.
Soon enough, Harry and Draco’s potion was finished. Surprisingly, they had finished first. The room was filled with the sweet smell of whatever that certain person desired the most; in fact, the other pairs couldn’t concentrate properly. It took another one of Snape’s yells to keep the room quiet.
Both Draco and Harry’s eyes were fixated on the sheen of the potion, and their noses were practically stuffed inside the small cauldron.
“I can’t smell a thing!” claimed Harry. “Your bloody perfume’s clogging my airway, Malfoy!”
Harry had had it with politeness. He tried so hard, only to be let down by the supposed king of Potions.
What a waste, he thought.
“Easy for you to say, Potter! I’m practically drowning in the scent of your shampoo!” Draco crinkled his nose in disgust.
“This must mean you’ve gotten the potion wrong!” Harry taunted loudly.
Now, their classmates had stopped making their respective potions to watch the fight.
“Like hell I did, Potter! I followed all the instructions and you know it! Tell me exactly who didn’t slice the ingredients properly!” the other boy retorted angrily.
“Merlin’s beard, Malfoy! I did everything right this time and you know it!”
“Maybe if you hadn’t doused that evergreen shampoo of yours all over your hair then I would be able to properly smell it!”
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t poured a whole bottle of lavender perfume on yourself today, I’d be able to smell it too!”
“Mr. Potter! Mr. Malfoy!” Snape barked suddenly, whirling towards their station. His jet black cloak billowed as he strode.
If looks could kill, Professor Snape would’ve killed Harry a million times over already. “Potter,” snarled Snape, “would you like to give me another reason to deduct House points? My class is no playground.”
The angry professor conveniently “forgot” to reprimand Malfoy. Harry enviously snuck a glance at the other boy, who looked away. He wanted more than anything to punch the boy’s his pale face.
Snape chose this moment to look at Malfoy, who looked back meekly. “Try smelling the potion again, Mr. Malfoy. Try not to disrupt my class again, Potter,” he said.
Harry grumbled a string of curse words angrily. Why was Malfoy never reprimanded by Snape? Damn Slytherins, he thought in annoyance. It wasn’t only his fault!
“Potter,” Malfoy said irritably, tapping his fingers lightly on the table.
“Go away, for Merlin’s sake!”
“No, you don’t understand,” Malfoy said exasperatedly. At this, Harry looked at him expectantly. “I—”
“I what, Malfoy? I suppose you want to make me look more like a fool,” he said sarcastically, glaring.
“Oh, whatever, Potter. Just sniff the bloody potion again, why don’t you?”
A thought just occured to Draco Malfoy—something so strange to the point of outrage, but it was a thought nonetheless. As he had stood there bickering with Potter, he realized that Harry could smell his lavender perfume even if he hadn’t worn perfume today. The mere thought of that made Draco’s stomach churn wildly, and his pale cheeks blush furiously.
Bloody hell, he’d really rather not think about it.
He stole a glance at the Boy Who Lived inconspicuously; Harry was still looking at the potion in confusion.
Potter is as dense as a rock as usual, he thought in satisfaction. It was a thought that comforted him. Surely, Harry wouldn’t ever realize—realize that Draco fancied—
Absolutely not, he chided himself. Anyone but Potter. Impossible.
He wanted to scream out in frustration. Why Potter, you idiot? You’re a Malfoy!
But in consolation, at least, based on logic, Harry seemed to fancy—
He took a deep breath. He knew that he could never look at Harry the same way again for the rest of his life. For that, he cursed the inventors of Amortentia. Why did he have to smell Harry’s evergreen shampoo?
His heart was pounding in his chest. The scent of evergreen was still there mocking Draco—taunting him. But now, he could smell other things, although they were much fainter and lighter. He could smell the library in the Malfoy Manor, his favorite snacks that the house elves always made for him, and many other things.
Let Snape dismiss class, he wished. It was the first time that he wanted to get away from Potions.
“I think…,” Harry murmured mostly to himself. “I think I smell something.”
Then, thankfully, Snape dismissed the class. Draco packed up his things and walked faster than ever, bolting past Crabbe, Goyle, and the others, who looked at him strangely. Once he was in the hallway again, he started to breath normally.
His thoughts and feelings were still running wild. He didn’t know if he was supposed to be happy Harry fancied him or disgusted because he liked him as well.
At least nobody else suspected anything was up, he thought in relief.
But he spoke too soon.
A few feet in front of him, Granger was talking to Potter consolingly. Granger, he noticed, looked a bit distressed, but tried not to show it. It alarmed Draco because he knew that if she knew and she told him, it would lead to embarrassment. Forever.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said to him reassuringly. “I’m sure there was just a minor problem with your brewing.”
“But Hermione, I was so sure I got it right this time! Maybe—”
“It’s nothing, Harry. Just write down what you smelled,” she said slowly. Staring at Draco, who was watching the conversation unfold, she said firmly, “It will work out in the end, I promise. One of these days, something… surprisingly good will happen.”
It was a good thing Harry was looking the other way or he would’ve noticed Draco staring. Granger saved me the trouble of having to explain everything.
Then, Granger tugged Harry’s arm and they went on their way to their next class.
One of these days, he would thank Granger. And Harry for being a daft idiot sometimes.
Also, he realized, that if he wanted something—anything at all—to change with him and Harry, he had to act immediately. And he would. It was as if he was a Seeker and the Snitch was buzzing around his ear again—all he had to do was catch it and everything would be his.
“Draco?” Crabbe interrupted curiously. “Are you all right?”
The boy nodded, his haughty facade showing. “Of course, I’m fine! What do you think, Crabbe? Where is Goyle anyway?”
“Here,” the other boy mumbled.
“Let’s go then!” Draco said impatiently. “I don’t want to be late for class. I don’t have time for you two and your nonsense.”
As he walked with Crabbe and Goyle, he wanted nothing more than to stop and think. But of course, he couldn’t.
But maybe someday it would really work out, as Granger had put it. He didn’t want to say the word but he had a feeling that love quite possibly could be on its way.